FEAST your EYES on a tale of EXCITEMENT! (with your doctor's supervision)
Once upon a time, in a land not unlike our own… and in fact, may have been our own… and in fact was our own … lived
WINDY WHISTLES THE GREAT! … great! … great!... (great!)
Who was Windy Whistles? A mare, a legend, a historic figure who defined grace, agility, majesty, nobility and elegance. Self-published books were written about her, epic poems on defunct online blogs, even popular songs were remixed about her on third-tier streaming platforms. A pony of the common folk. A pony not unlike you or me. Any of us could have been Windy Whistles, and in fact might have been… but there was truly only one Windy Whistles, and she herself was it. Her. Born to hardworking, humble yet noble folk in the bustling pegasus realm of Cloudsdale, Windy Whistles might have been like any other little pegasus… except that she walked in the hoofsteps of greatness. And those hoofsteps of greatness were the ones she made herself, to walk in.
Windy Whistles made her mark even from an early age, no matter where she went. As a filly she saved innocent songbirds who were blown off course by storms, and tenderly nursed them back to health in her bathtub. As junior student class president, she campaigned on a platform of ‘Bird Undergraduate Territorial Taskforce of Safety’ (‘BUTTS’) and organized a school-wide coalition to aid injured migratory birds in flying south for the winter. Imagine a yellow warbler in adorably tiny crutches, and you would have only an inkling of what an incredible filly Windy Whistles was. While other foals worried about their boogery noses, Windy Whistles led with her compassionate heart! (Some would go so far as to say that she had an even gentler touch with animals than Goodheart the Gentle, and would also imply that he in fact stood in the shadow of Windy Whistles’ greatness, but this author would never stoop so low as to make that implication. This author is merely referencing the gossip around town, with no inference as to its truthfulness.)
But Windy Whistles’ greatness wasn’t limited to charitable endeavors, oh no. It seemed like she wouldn’t have any time for scholastic achievement, in addition to all of her charitable work! But not only was she junior student class president, she was also a member of the track team, the flight team, and the flag team. Why, because of Windy Whistles, they had to invent a rule about how many school sports a single pony could join! Windy Whistles also planned to join the air hockey, buckball, and ribbon dancing competition teams, but with the new rules in place she had to settle for joining clubs. Windy Whistles not only founded the air hockey club at her school, but also won the yearbook awards for ‘Most Activities Enjoyed By A Single Student’ and ‘Best Haircut’ as well as ‘Most Photos In The Yearbook.’ Ironic, given that Windy Whistles also served on the yearbook committee! And you better believe she made the best yearbook that Cloudsdale High had ever seen, because not only was Windy Whistles talented, accomplished, tenderhearted and a lover of foals and animals, but she also had an incredible eye for photography!
Now, you may think, sure, any filly can be driven. Most ponies like animals. Many foals could be described with thirty to seventy-two superlatives. But she probably grew up to be an average adult, right?
WRONGO!
Windy Whistles continued to set records and inspire other ponies all through her life! As a young mare she married a handsome stallion in a spectacular and bespoke wedding (the colors: neon pink and electric blue) which was attended by all of her scores of friends - it was the fête of the year! They actually had to shut down several local stores for the day, because everypony would be at the wedding! They even set a record for Longest Conga Line at the reception! And when she had her appendix removed, she set the record for fastest recovery in the hospital’s history! (The hospital refused to confirm or deny any actual record-breaking, claiming they didn’t keep organized records of that sort of thing, but clearly that was a lie to spare the other patients’ feelings.)
But one of her grandest adventures only happened last week… at a place you might think would be the safest, least offensive spot in Cloudsdale: Plucky Lucky’s Grocery.
Plucky Lucky’s was, as some might call it, a store where you could buy food. But on that day, Plucky Lucky’s almost became the sight of a HORRIBLE, INCENDIARY, DEADLY INFERNO OF SUFFERING.
How could such a thing come to pass? Let’s set the scene. The time: last Tuesday, around eleven in the morning. The place: Plucky Lucky’s Grocery. The players: hapless, innocent townsfolk, focused on their grocery shopping, unprepared for disaster … and the magnificent Windy Whistles.
Windy Whistles was going about her business, as any mare of above-average intelligence, talent and beauty might be expected to. Like I said, Windy Whistles was a mare of the common folk; she still did her grocery shopping herself and put on her horseshoes one hoof at a time, just like you and I. She waved to the first cashier she saw. (Petunia Floss, who happened to be the flower filly from her wedding. Windy Whistles made note of this because in addition to her kindness, compassion and friendly nature, she also had a memory like a steel trap, and the observational skills of a Peregrine Falcon.)
Once she had chosen her cloud cart, Windy Whistles began her shopping trip of DESTINY. For on that fateful day, Windy Whistles would not merely purchase Dracorni Chips, Nacho Cheese Unicurls or Breezie Caramel Puffs - she would save Plucky Lucky’s Grocery. Nay, the lives of all its employees. NAY - the very lives of EVERY PONY LIVING IN CLOUDSDALE!!!!!
“Um, Mister Hothoof? Was Plucky Lucky’s going to - explode?”
“ABSOLUTELY!”
A chorus of shocked gasps filled the rapt silence of the room. A mare hastened to intervene.
“I’m sure what Mister Hothoof means was that it felt like something scary was going to happen! But I’m sure Plucky Lucky’s was just -”
“AS WINDY WHISTLES GALLOPED THROUGH THE BILLOWING CLOUD OF SMOKE THAT HAD BEGUN TO FILL THE DELI AISLE -”
“Mister Hothoof, this is the children’s reading hour. When you said you would volunteer for storytime I thought you meant something along the lines of Goodnight, Lunaor The Very Hungry Draconequus-”
“ - SHE FOUGHT HER WAY THROUGH THE CHOKING SMOKE, AND EVEN AS IT STUNG HER EYES AND THROAT, SHE KNEW SHE HAD TO SOLDIER ON, FOR THE SAFETY OF THE GROCERY STORE! Nay - ALL OF CLOUDSDALE!!”
“ - Mister Hothoof these are young foals and you are going to give them a complex about grocery shopping!” While Mister Hothoof’s voice rose into a dramatic cadence, the librarian’s voice got lower and lower until she was hissing directly into his ear like a viper.
“AND AS SHE APPROACHED THE DELI COUNTER, SHE SAID, COOL AS A CUCUMBER -”
“Are those carrots rotisserie style? Because they look smoked to me.”
Bow Hothoof gasped and covered his mouth. “Babe, you interrupted my story at the perfect moment!”
“Only because your storytelling is so illustrative and well-projected that I was able to hear you three streets away, honey,” Windy Whistles cooed and fluttered over to her husband, ignoring the librarian whose gaze attempted to bore holes into the back of her head. As the librarian stared them down and several foals began to sniffle, the pair nuzzled one another happily.
“How was storytime?”
“It was a triumph! I was just sharing a little bit about my amazing wife - you know, just the hero of the local suburb, friend to all, the mare who saved Plucky Lucky’s from burning down!” Bow chuckled and pressed an impetuous kiss to his wife’s nose. “I thought the kids would want to know a little about their local news, and the heroic mare who saved all of their lives.”
“Nopony wanted that!”
The lovey-dovey couple ignored the librarian’s outburst.
“Oh, honey! You are sooooo sweet! I wish I’d known, I would have come to cheer you on!” Windy Whistles crooned as she brushed back her husband’s rainbow mane with her hoof. “My literary champion! My wizard of words! My man-mountain of memoirs!”
“Don’t worry babe, I recorded it for you!” Bow Hothoof gestured to the video camera he mounted behind the seated semicircle of foals. “AND I made a commemorative scrapbook! See? Here’s a photo of the foals thirty seconds ago when they started to well up with tears of gratitude for how you saved Cloudsdale!”
“M-My Mommy works at Plucky Lucky’s, is she going to be okay?”
“Miss Peachy? Is Plucky Lucky asploded?”
“No, the Plucky Lucky is fine - the Plucky Lucky is okay! It’s okay, foals, it’s okay!”
But it was no use. As Bow Hothoof and Windy Whistles fluttered out of the library, floating on wings of love, a high-pitched chorus of wailing rose behind them.
From that day forward, the guest reading program at the children’s library of Cloudsdale was canceled.
