The fur around Winona’s ever-smiling face fur stuck up in thick, damp tufts. Were Babs Seeds visiting, Applejack imagined she and Apple Bloom might arrange Winona’s fur in exactly that fashion, a hundred tiny Mohawks ready for cutting and styling. Applejack chuckled.
She heard a dull crash. Winona snapped her head in the direction of the noise. Applejack copied her.
Apple Bloom had hurled her bucket to the wet ground. “This is the worst thing ever!” the filly shouted. Her face streamed with tears.
“Apple Bloom—!”
“You ain’t even sad!” Apple Bloom screamed. She spun on her heels with a squelch and galloped headlong towards the lane that led into Ponyville.
Winona barked and tried to scramble out of the washtub. It took both of Applejack’s hooves and a significant amount of strength to hold her in the tub. Water sloshed all over them both.
“Apple Bloom!” Applejack shouted futilely. Apple Bloom passed the empty henhouse and branches heavy with unpicked apples, and kept running. Her sobs drifted back to Applejack’s ears.
Applejack could see Big Mac watching in the window. He must have heard Apple Bloom crying, although he had undoubtedly been watching anyway.
“Con-SARN it!” Applejack shouted.
Winona whined. Applejack turned her attention back to her beloved pet, stroking Winona’s wet head until the dog grinned again. Winona’s face wasn’t the only damp one; Applejack’s was as well.
Applejack picked up her bucket and poured more water into the washtub, since half what was originally contained therein had been relocated to the grass by Winona’s squirming. Steam wafted past her face, curling against the cloudless sky, changing it into something more appropriate and familiar. After a moment it vanished.
Winona lapped rapidly at the falling water. Combined with the splash of her tail on the water’s surface, Sweet Apple Acres became a veritable soundscape of wet and whimsical things: Applejack’s mane dripped into the puddles atop the sodden grass, waves sloshed against the sides of the tub, and water trickled constantly from the hose into another bucket.
Applejack shifted to put the bucket down, splodging the mud beneath her hooves. Winona scrabbled against the washtub’s wooden slats. This time she successfully (albeit clumsily) escaped, tumbling over the side of the tub into the mud like a water spirit given soggy form. The long-absent aroma of wet earth swamped Applejack’s nostrils.
“Hey there!” Applejack objected as Winona capered around her. “Come ‘ere, you!”
Winona dodged Applejack’s lunge, ricocheted off both buckets with a crash, and careened across the grass towards the verdant orchard. Her paws kicked up globules of mud and then blades of grass. Applejack wasn’t sure if Winona wanted to pursue Apple Bloom or if she just wanted to play: bath-time had always been an opportunity for them to roughhouse a little.
Halfway across the field Winona paused, looking back at Applejack expectantly. Even across the distance she’d put between them Applejack could hear her panting up a storm. Her heart sped up in anticipation of chasing her down. Winona was the liveliest thing in Sweet Apple Acres by far.
The tension built for two heavy seconds before breaking: a shiver started in Winona’s nose, overtook her body in a full shake, and finally ended at the very tip of her tail. For a moment a rainbow shimmered in the air. Applejack closed her eyes before it inevitably vanished as the water droplets fell.
“Oh Winona,” Applejack murmured, hearing Winona bark, “you’re only makin’ it harder on both o’ us, you know.”
She denied herself with a brisk shake of her head and reached for her drenched hat. “Winona, come here,” Applejack ordered, placing her hat on her head. It drooped into her line of sight, briefly blocking her view. Water droplets trickled down the side of Applejack’s face and neck from the inner sweat band. “C’mere, girl,” she repeated.
The only time Applejack ever allowed playful disobedience was once her hat had been discarded: when all of the day’s work was done. Winona’s frame quivered for just a moment before she obeyed, bounding back to Applejack. She never looked away from her mistress.
“Attagirl,” Applejack praised, petting Winona’s head. Winona closed her eyes and enjoyed it. Her tongue rolled out of her grinning jaws once again and drool slowly pooled there. She would have been content to stay like that forever. So would Applejack.
Later, Winona would be too clean to roll around on the grass without causing Applejack to fret. So Applejack gave in to temptation, just for a little while. “One more for the road?” she sighed.
Winona barked and rolled over onto her back immediately.
“You big softie; you’re still a pup at heart, ain’t ya?”
Winona lived for simple things: a kind touch, a sweet treat, a good run. She cared nothing for status symbols like big houses. But to argue that she had no need of such things – that wasn’t entirely true.
Applejack remembered when life was simple. Make friends, save Equestria. Love dog, corral critters. Have family, run farm. She wished she could just enjoy their interaction without a darn lump in her throat, so she concentrated on furiously rubbing Winona’s belly until her dog went limp from pleasure.
“Good girl,” she told her, “you’re such a good girl, Winona.”
Winona whiffled. A line of spittle dribbled over her upside-down cheek.
All good things come to an end. Eventually Applejack rapped her back hoof against the washtub. To her ears the tap sounded hollow. She was probably imagining it. “In ya get. Gotta…” She cleared her throat. “Gotta look your best for tomorrow.”
Winona enjoyed bath-time. But she gave a low whine and looked mournfully at Applejack. Applejack tried not to think it was because Winona knew what her bath meant.
“C’mon now,” she repeated, nudging Winona’s rump with her muzzle. “Tomorrow’s just another day.”
Though Winona gave another soft whimper, she did as asked. Applejack poured another bucketful of water over Winona’s back, dousing her thoroughly. Then she leaned over the tub and plunged her hooves into the warm water, using small splashes to wet Winona’s face again.
Winona managed to land a long lick on Applejack’s cheek. She scrunched her face up, which Winona took as an invitation to repeat the action. After a while, her attention combined with the steam softened Applejack’s grimace. The body couldn’t stay tense in the presence of such warmth.
She tried to keep an eye on Winona as she reached for the soap – some fancy stuff from Rarity that smelled like spring flowers after the long winter. It was probably incredibly expensive. Applejack poured half of the bottle on to Winona's back.
She had to stand half in the washtub in order to balance properly, one front hoof on the bottom of the tub. She would have preferred to use the hose, but she knew Winona just couldn't resist it; one way or another she'd get out of the tub and start racing around in the mud again.
As Applejack stroked firmly from back to croup, Winona spun around in the tub. Her tailed smacked the water again and again, whole body wiggling from side to side with the force of her affection. She pushed her head under Applejack’s hoof, begging for stroking.
“Aw, Winona. We’re gonna be at this for ages if’n ya keep this up.”
Still, Applejack obliged, using the full-body stroking Winona so desired to massage the soap suds through her fur, hoof moving round and round until she’d worked up a thick, fragrant lather. Methodically she circled her hoof down one side of Winona’s body, and then the other, and then along her head, and then each leg: one, two, three, four. Winona panted like a locomotive, tongue lolling from her grin.
Winona’s tail had been hitting the side of the tub in leisurely thumps, similar in timing to apple bucking. When Applejack started to wash it the pace quickened, splashing Applejack with warm water repeatedly. Winona’s eyes were half-lidded, as though she was caught in between bliss and torture.
Applejack stepped out, took the bucket in her mouth and again poured water slowly and carefully over Winona. She used the same methodical approach to rinse all of the suds from Winona’s fur, this time leaning right over the tub to the point of discomfort to make sure she covered every sinew and hair. The proximity meant she could feel Winona’s body trembling with repressed energy all the while.
Nearly all of the water in the tub had been replaced by the time she was done. “Attagirl,” she said softly into Winona’s ear. “Come on. Out ya come, good girl.”
Winona leaped from the tub and this time she instantly shook herself with gusto. Applejack chuckled despite the wetness that soaked her face and got in her eyes and nose. Watching Winona carefully to ensure she didn’t roll around in the mud, she trotted to a dry area where she’d laid several towels. Winona followed at a playful amble, gumming Applejack’s tail.
Applejack sat down with Winona on the grass and rubbed her muzzle. She towelled them both dry, concentrating especially on Winona’s muddy paws. Then she took Winona’s brush in her hoof and with rhythmic motion groomed her until her coat shone.
“There,” she said finally. “Who’s a good girl, puttin’ up with all that?”
Winona nuzzled against Applejack. The ruff of her neck was unimpeded for the first time in many years by a collar, fluffy and soft against Applejack's snout. Applejack hadn’t the energy or inclination to retrieve the collar from beside the washtub.
She pushed her head against Winona’s. Winona’s warm panting dampened her face again. For few moments they sat like that together.
Winona suddenly broke away, tail wagging. Applejack watched her with a heavy heart. Winona gambolled to the orchard and pawed at the foot of one the apple trees briefly, then trotted back to Applejack, carrying a stick notched by many tooth marks.
“You wanna fetch, huh?” Applejack asked, as Winona dropped the stick.
Winona heaved out a breath and pawed the barrel of Applejack’s chest.
“All right, then. C’mon, girl.” Applejack slowly stood up. Winona bounced up on legs built like springs, muscles coiling, intently focused on the stick. Behind her, the ripe orchard in dire need of tending extended to the orange horizon.
Fire kindled in Applejack’s heart. With all of her might she hurled the stick towards the sun. Winona went after it at the speed of an arrow. “Go get it, Winona!” Applejack hollered.
Stick clamped between her jowls, Winona ran back towards Applejack, and Applejack’s hooves pounded the dirt as she met Winona mid-charge. They knew this breathless dance of hard play. Winona dropped the stick and Applejack barely broke her stride to collect it with her tail
“Yee-haw!” Applejack cried, rearing and spinning and lobbing the stick away again. A brown blur flashed past her. “Get it, girl!” she shouted, hot on Winona’s heels.
She flung the stick into the sunset over and over, blood thundering around her body, heart beating the same frenetic rhythm as Winona’s wagging tail. Winona always brought the stick back, imploring Applejack for another throw. Her heart never tired.
Applejack couldn’t say the same of her own; it weighed her down like never before. In the corner of her eye she saw Big Mac hobble out of the shabby farmhouse. Applejack listened to his hooves clop slowly across the farmyard and plod across the grass. She hurled the stick away again, giving Big Mac the time he needed to recover his breath. He needed less these days. Still, he’d never breathe well again.
“Looks mighty fine, don’t she?” Applejack asked. She cleared her throat. “Reckon they’ll be right pleased with her.”
“Eeyup,” he agreed, quietly.
Winona sprinted up and accepted Big Mac’s petting. Then she looked back at Applejack, big intelligent eyes glinting. She cocked her head in anticipation.
“Go on, then,” Big Mac said. Did he speak to Applejack or to Winona? Both took it as a command regardless. Applejack lassoed the stick with her tail and tossed it high and far. Winona gave chase.
Shortly a joyous yip announced that Winona had caught the stick mid-air. She had so many years left in her strong body. “Would ya look at that,” Applejack murmured.
Big Mac surprised her by muttering, “You think she’ll be all right?”
Too many painful arguments with no pleasant answers had been had over that question, and one like it. The memory lingered between them. Winona trotted towards them, grinning, proudly displaying the stick to both.
“Course she will,” Applejack said at last, echoing words she’d yelled in anger and in despair. “She’s strong an’ clever. She’ll get used to ‘em.”
“I guess it’s the kindest thing,” Big Mac said, almost – but not quite – like it was a question.
“It is. T’ain’t right to keep her somewhere she can’t run all live-long day.”
“Nnope.”
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get the glare of the sunset out of her eyes. “We’ll be all right too,” she started to say, but though she knew it was true her throat was too tight to speak easily. She hated it.
“We still got tonight,” she said instead in a small voice.
Big Mac said nothing. Applejack threw the stick into the sunset again.
Author's Note
Written for the weekly character prompt 'Applejack' in the Hazardous Writing Materials group (14/09/15).
