A/N:
Lowbrow jokes. They’re gonna come hard, and they’re gonna come fast. Buckle up, Buck-o.

**Baltimare, Equestria**
**010 Summer CC**
**Predawn Remissions**

She said, 'Yes.' Sweet Celestia, she said, 'Yes!' Truth Seeker and I made our committed friendship official the other evening, and -oh, my- we celebrated. Open Mic even got swept into it.

My upstairs neighbor has been staying with me while her unit gets some work done on it due to some issues from another unit. I've mentioned her to Seeker. She got home from work and heard us snuggling vigorously and asked to join us. I asked Seeker to allow it, and she said, 'Yes.'

Truth gave us some tickets to one of the Mayor's Summer Balls and told us she would meet us there.

We just arrived.

Open Microphone is wearing a red and black dress that compliments her red mane and tail. The blacks stand out against her white coat. One can see her mixed lineage from her rounded Elysian horn and pronounced Astral tuft artfully flowing out of the front of her dress.

My darker Thestral colors tend to clash with bright clothes, but white goes with almost everything. My tufts aren't as controllable as Mic's. It has been a while since I've been to a fancy gathering like this. I was younger last time, and the stares made me self-conscious. I think I can tolerate the ogling better, because Truth and Mic really like it.

Mic boggles, “Wow. I knew Truth was an important pony, but it’s something else to see it in pony.”

I nod, “Yeah.”

There are several large pavilions surrounding a wide-open park. Each one seems to have various themes. In the center, there is mostly a wide area with dancing, but there is also a lot of concentrations of ponies mingling.

"I've never been hired to direct music for anything this fancy," Mic admits while looking at the live band near the dancers.

I smirk, "Maybe that'll change?"

Many important ponies are here. Mic nudges me and politely points towards the Baltimare Councilmare, Sawn Maiaz mingling. Her black and white stripes are noticeable against the sea of pony colors.

"Truth said she'd meet us here," Mic says, "but I don't see her."

"Let's stick together," I suggest. "Maybe we can find her?"

She asks, "Where should we start looking?"

"Well," I sigh, "she does seem to prefer liquids." I've never seen a pony consume more drink than food before. I don't know why. Maybe that's how she maintains her figure? I should ask her sometime.

We don't search very long before we hear some of the waitstaff mention a shortage with their ciders. A worried manager asks, "Why?"

Her subordinate says, "I can't get the storage shed open." Looking, I see several small permanent structures adjacent to the pavilions. I look at Mic to ask her. She looks back with her electric blue eyes and silently nods; so, we follow the mare to one of those sheds.

She doesn't pay attention to us as she takes out her keys and unlocks the door. Truth Seeker rolls out with a deluge of empty bottles.

The caterer's jaw drops, but Truth wakes up to see Mic and I, "Hey~ there you are. You made~ it. I was~ looking for you two." Shakily, she gets up and greets us both with some nuzzles that smell strongly of fruit. "Come on. This way," and we follow our lead mare as she lights one of those hay-things on her horn.

She's wearing her detective's jacket like usual the brown of which clashes hard with her magenta coat and the mint streaks in her white mane. However, she does have a white and a dark crimson crumpled corsages to match Mic and my coats.

I know she doesn't seem like the type to dress up, but I know she holds her uniform in high regard. It takes effort sometimes to get her to stop thinking about her cases after work. In fact, I've only ever seen her take her coat off when showering or when we snuggle.

I'm not entirely sure what kind of unicorn she is. Maybe she has a bunch of other tribes in her family? I should ask about her family sometime. I wonder when she'd like to meet Mic's and mine.

Mic nudges me and motions to Truth. My eyes follow hers to our mare's flank. It looks just as good as it usually does. I look back to Mic questioningly, and she whispers, "Under." I raise an eyebrow and look around to see if anypony might notice me looking somewhere that is generally frowned upon in polite company.

I think I have a moment clear of anypony who would notice me peek, and I tilt my head and -oh, my. Our lead mare is wearing something new. There is a thin bit of cloth wrapping tightly underneath her tail and covertly hugging her curves. Where did she get something so form fit-

-I'm knocked out of my thoughts by the very flank I was focused on, "Oof." She stopped.

Mic asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I answer as I get back up. I think I was drooling.

"I would like to introduce you two," Seeker says to Mic and I, "to the Mayor of Baltimare." With a flourish of her hoof, presents a smiling grey mare with a light blue mane in a tuxedo who walks over to us. It looks like she just finished with another group of attendees.

“Mayor Mare, Kettle Black," she introduces herself with the Equestrian title and her name with a tip of her top hat. "So good to see you, Detective! Baltimare’s best, and," she stops when she notices me and Mic standing tight to Truth, and her smile grows all the more, "Oh, my, did some ponies capture the heart of our city’s most eligible bachelorette!? You lucky ducks, you. Seeker, your tastes in friends do not disappoint!”

Her laugh reminds me of an arctic bird I saw at a zoo once that might be gargling water, “Gwa, gwa, gwa!” But I cannot doubt that she’s genuinely happy to attend the parties that she is hosting.

Truth introduces us, "This is Predawn Remissions. She's a solicitor in my district-"

"-Oh?" Kettle says looking my way.

I greet her, "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Mayor."

Truth continues, "And this is Open Microphone. She... is not a party pony."

Our political host raises an eyebrow, and Mic adds, "I conduct the musical accoutrement at several establishments in the city."

Kettle Black blinks for a moment before acquiring an epiphany, "Ah! You're a 'mistress of ceremonies.' Gwa, gwa! Well, I welcome you both to the first of my Summer festivities."

Our lead mare asks, “How’re your Balls tonight, Madame Mayor?” She is well known to host fancy celebratory events like Balls and Galas in close proximity. As a politician, she's reported to be a 'quantity increases the odds of quality' type.

Mic whispers to me, "What's the difference between a Ball and a Gala?"

I whisper back, "I think -um- one is a fund raiser and the other might be more about dance activities."

“Oh," the Mayor takes a moment to ponder with a wide brandishing of her hoof to tap her forehead, "I think I'm hanging on four Balls all night tonight.”

Seeker seeks clarification, “Two pairs?”

The politician taps her chin with a hoof with wild abandon, “Mm~ yes. Is that the unit of measurement for these? How delicious.” With her polished white and black walking cane that matches her tuxedo, she starts to explain with animated twirls and points, “There is one in each direction: north, south, east, and west.”

Indeed, there is a large space in the middle for dancing and lined with tables of food, drinks, and tables. Now that we're closer, I can now see a bunch of stallion wallflowers are all waiting in one area for mares to come ask them to dance or eat or talk.

Truth nods and puffs out some smoke, “Surrounded by Balls.”

“Make sure to avoid being smothered,” she warns as she balances her top hat on her cane on the end of her nose. “We’re joined tonight by the local dockworders, some merchant mariners on shore leave, the local Royal Coast Guardians-”

Seeker states, “-Your Balls are full of seamares.”

Catching her hat on her head and cane in a hoof, “To the brim. Absolutely o-ver-flowing!” The Mayor giggles, “Gwa, gwa, gwa,” and motions to Truth, “They're not the only mares in uniform, however. There’s also one for our ‘girls in blue.’”

Our magenta herdsmare raises an eyebrow, “Just one blue Ball? Quite the enigma.” Mic and I just silently watch this political discussion. This conversation is clearly above our pay grades. I've never met any of the gentry outside of a judge in the courtroom or -Harmony forbid- the Princess, but I wonder if it's nerve-racking like this.

The mayor taps her hat with her cane, spins it around, and admits, “Yes, there’s usually two. Boggles the mind how it happened.” She taps the ground three times with her fancy stick, “but I could try to get you mares backed up into another. I have so many Balls this time of year.”

At the third rap, the music changed to an elegant tune that invoked thoughts and feelings of the emerging stars above as the light of day begins to fade, and the lights around reflected this with new calming colours. Open Microphone watches this with rapture.

But Truth didn’t seem to be affected at all, “We’ll need proper notice, of course. I’m sure the precinct can find ways to keep your Balls busy.”

“Oh, I do understand scheduling, believe me,” Miss Black nods, “nopony wants to be blindsided by some Balls -let alone any as hot as mine. Although, the fire brigades can always cool everypony off.”

This does get a reaction from the detective, but she covers it with a slow and deliberate tranquility, “They are here?” Truth has not talked about her issues with the fire brigade to me yet, but I gather there is something there of which she could unburden herself.

Sensing something amiss, Mayor Mare blinks and extends some pacification, “Now, detective, I know these Balls can generate a lot of friction, but I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.” She changes the subject again and points towards the food, “Among others, the Milky Whey company have donated a large portion of the delightful treats you’ll find.”

Seeker rolls with it, “Your Balls are heavy with cream?”

The politician lights up, “Cheesy treats, colostral desserts, buttery delights, and some milk-based drinks abound. One of those drinks are as strong as some ciders, I’m told. Keep an eye out. Gwa, gwa. Things will really start to heat up once ponies begin to mare up and thin out those wallflowers, and the dancing really gets going.”

“Likely to get sweaty,” Truth says.

“An unfortunate side effect of having so many active Balls in such close proximity,” Kettle admits, “but I can assure you that there are Aide Stations and hydration aplenty. I am determined that a good time should be had by all. My Balls are meant to please not to squeeze or freeze these bees.”

“Oh, you tease,” Truth says.

The Mayor just laughs, “Gwa, gwa, gwa!”

Seeker notes, “Until all that cream starts to make its way out.” Too much dairy can give a pony some digestive issues. That’s our Truth Seeker for you: always concerned for the wellbeing of others.

Assuring the representative of law enforcement before her, “I can guarantee you, Truth Seeker, no Balls can overwhelm my pipes. I had them cleaned out thoroughly recently,” and the mayor adds with the grace of an experienced social butterfly, “oh, but I do have to keep swirling and juggling around my Balls. Lots of ponies to meet. You know how it is. It’s wonderful to see you and your two herdsmares! Really. Truth Seeker: finally settling down. I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

The Mayor of Baltimare begins to distance herself but stops and flamboyantly turns back to us, “Oh! Before I forget, Detective, I approved that request of yours. You find that foal. Okay?” And then she disappeared into the crowd only for her tophat or cane to wave themselves above the sea of attendees once in a while followed by her unique laugh.

Mic breaks the silence, “She really likes her Balls.”

Truth sighs and turns to us, “You have no idea.”

“What mare wouldn’t like a good, healthy-?” Before I could segue into an invitation to dance with my two special someponies, Seeker sees a large banana wearing a chef’s hat and uniform walking around stocking the food tables with what looks like banana cream pies. I’ve never seen such a creature before. I wonder if that’s an acceptable thing to prepare in their culture?

Seeker’s head snaps in the direction of the creature; and before I know what it is I’m looking at, she makes chase. Somehow being alerted to danger, it flees almost immediately; and as it does so, it takes a normal sized banana from one of the food displays, peels it, and throws the peel at her. She trips on the peel and knocks over another display of those cream pies which launch across the way into a large fountain of melted butter which spills all over the dance area. A large white pony with glasses, a hat, and a long brown coat protect the cakes from getting caught in the golden wave. The greasy tide swept up Councilmare Sawn Maiaz into the mass of stallion wallflowers who start laughing and wrestling each other once drenched in the slippery substances like school foals given a snow day.

Everymare in attendance becomes captivated by the pile of oiled stallions.

In the middle of the ruckus, there was the Mayor. I think I heard her over the cacophony, “Maiaz!? My Balls!”

Mic and I notice a first aid station with several ponies being treated for various issues from the recent bedlam. One pony slipped and scraped her knee. Another took a whole pie to the face -the poor dear.

We run on by and over to Seeker where a medical pony was pulling some needles out of her.

She noticed us approach and asked, “Are you her herd?”

With worry rising, I answer, “Yes, is she alright?”

The nurse tilted her head from side to side and said, “Yes, and no. She took a fall and will wake soon. She was hit by some stimulants from the first aid table which is surprising as I didn’t think the kits for these were stored near the food. They were sterile which is good.”

Mic asked, “What kind of stimulants?”

The medical mare sighed a bit but held out one of the syringes and told us seriously, “Estrogen.”

“Wh- what does that mean?” My voice rises.

She puts her hoof on my shoulder reassuringly, “It will be okay, but you should take her home and keep hydrated.”

I nod, “Okay. Keep her hydrated. Okay.”

The nurse shakes her head, “No. All of you need to keep hydrated.”

Mic and I both stop and look at the medical pony in tandem, “What?”

“When she wakes up,” the nurse explains, “she is going to become friendly -very friendly- for a while. A day or two, maybe. Just take turns so you don’t get worn out or injured and stay hydrated. It will work its way out of her system eventually.”

**Ponyville General Hospital, Ponyville, Equestria**
*011 Summer CC**
**Doctor Greymare Horse**

A dragon, a griffon, and a crab walk into a bar… No, no. Maybe a donkey?

A dragon, a griffon, and a … donkey? Or maybe all four walk into a bar? …Still missing something.

I’ll have try these on my sister, Ivory, at dinner later. She’s been helping me get my seasonal ‘laughter helps health shows’ down in the hospital lobby. The next one is about 200 days away for the coming Autumn.

I look up from my notes to see Nurse Heart Out approaching. She’s one of the newer nurses to the hospital. Her circle of friends is pretty small, but she conducts herself professionally while she’s on the job.

She hoofs me the next patient’s file with a smile and goes to fetch the patient from the waiting area. It’s not a small file. Inside are notes from a doctor who retired a few years ago. I’ve seen this patient a few times myself. He has a long history of a rather rare condition amongst the population; although, we have yet to determine the medical cause.

Over the years, we have eliminated pharmacological and dietary possibilities. The Pears have no recorded family history of this. It appears there could be something psychological at play, but we have gathered no clinical evidence to support this as of yet. Perhaps if we could convince an expert to visit…?

The patient only has one offspring. Now that I think about it, I saw her about a week ago, and she seems to have the complete opposite issue which is another mysterious piece to this puzzle. The results of her tests came back from Canterlot, and they were remarkable.

I look up to see Heart and the patient patiently waiting on me in the examination room to finish looking through his file.

Alright, Greymare. You went to school. Doctor school. You got grades. You're a doctor. You can do this. You are a doctor.

**Ponyville General Hospital, Ponyville, Equestria**
*011 Summer CC**
**Grand Pear**

He’s been staring off into space for a little while now. The nurse is patiently waiting and smiles when she notices me looking. At least, I think she does. I look away; so, she doesn’t think I’m being an improper friend. I don’t really have many of those as it is.

The past few Seasons, I haven’t paid much attention to much; but I think I’ve seen her around town a little recently. Her cloudy light grey coat, blue-green mane, and soft cerise eyes make me wish I was younger.

If I wasn’t a herded stallion, I’d say she’s pretty -as pretty as the mares my baby’s been bringing home recently. She’s a good mare, my Butter -better’n me- and that’s what every parent could ever hope for. Ever since she came back, things have been changing -her and my grandfoal.

As for me, I was raised right. A herd is important line. Somepony who crosses it without permissions is… well, it’s not good thing to do. But if I didn’t have one? After that letter I got yesterday, I-

The doctor takes a sharp breath inward suddenly like he was holding it for some reason and looks at me, drawing me back to the visit, “I’m Doctor Greymare Horse -as you probably know- and this is Nurse Heart Out. How’s that hoof, Mister Pear?”

“Howdy-” I cut myself off and tilt my head, “Hoof?”

He clarifies, “Hasn’t fallen off again, has it?”

That’s a little worrying. “It has never fallen off before,” I say.

“Really?” He seems somewhat surprised and relieved, “Well, that’s great news!” Then he adds, soberly, “But seriously, keep an eye on it.”

“Which one?” I ask.

He takes a notecard from his lab coat. Looks at it, turns it ninety degrees, then again, then again before putting back into his breast pocket, “You know what? Maybe just let me know if you notice you’re down to only four.”

I look at the nurse, but she is going through a cupboard and putting together a tray on a stand. She might be fetching something for later. Returning to the doctor, I tell him, “Ponies only have four.”

He rolls his eyes, “Okay~” And he puts his hooves up in mock surrender, “I get it. Punk the young doctor. You got me.”

I blink, “Ponies only have four.”

“Hm,” he huffs, “that wasn’t as funny the second time. Okay. So, I’d like to start by getting a stool sample.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Even though I haven’t told you why I’m here yet?”

Answering with his eyes closed and a forehoof over his chest, “You can find out a lot from a stool sample.”

I should probably have expected this from Doctor Horse. I look around the room, grabs a sitting stool from right next to himself, and puts it in front of the doctor.

He studies it for a moment with a discerning eye and a hoof below his lip. After some time, he concludes, “That is a pretty good stool sample. I feel like I’ve seen this one before, but I can’t quite put my hoof on it.” He reaches out puts his hoof on it. “Oh, wait,” and he narrows his eyes at the stool which has the words, ‘property of Ponyville hospital,’ on it. “Hm~”

He shrugs and looks back up to me, “How can we help you today, Mr. Pear?”

I nod. We’re on to the topic at hoof, “Mah potatoes have been achin’.”

The doctor blinks, “Potatoes?”

Surely, he knows what I mean? My cheeks warm as I sputter, “Ah got two. You got two. Stallions generally have two. You know?”

“Ah~ your gonads, yes” he realizes. “What do you mean, they’re ‘aching?’ How would you rate the pain on a scale of one to 10? Have things changed from your previous issue?”

‘10?’ It’s a little odd that a nature-pony in a nature-pony town would ask a nature-pony this kind of question with unicorn numbers. If I remember right, 10 in that system is six-and-one. So, the scale he’s asking for is actually one to seven, I think.

Even the pegasi’s base-ten make more sense, but I thank Celestia that some of the old nature-pony numbers are still in use. If I put a rope with one knot together with another rope with one knot, then I either have one bigger rope or three knots. So sometimes, 1+1 can equal 1 or 3. A dozen is easier as twelve instead of eight. That’s the nature-pony way my dam taught me, and what I taught my filly.

Why do unicorns have such a hard time with that and make it all more complicated with their magic stuff? It’s just better being a simple pear farmer. Let them worry about their fancy numberologies up the Mountain.

“Ah’d call it a three,” I answer, ‘well, Ah’ve never really noticed them much. Ah think everystallion’s sat down wrong at least once in his life. Though, Ah’m more cognizant of my pulse back there now. Like a throb.” Just concentrating on the area makes me wince. “It ain’t slowin’ me down none. And the old issue has been continuing as always except it isn’t.”

The doctor investigates, “‘Old issue?’ Can you give a little more detail?”

I sigh. I’ve discussed this with the older doctors, but they always want me to talk about it again. I’m not lying. And why do they always need nurses nearby? “They’re still acting like animals over there, but… suddenly it’s quite so nauseating. In fact, I’ve started -uh- noticing ponies again.”

His ears perked up and tilted his head, “Noticing?”

I gulp. My eyes flit over to the nurse, “As in: potential friends like… like it’s not -um,” I lower my voice and lean close to the doctor, “bad.”

He shivers a bit and inquires but collects himself, “Wh- who have you discussed this with?”

This startles me a bit, “What? Nopony, Ah guess.” I know I haven’t always been the friendliest stallion around, but I’ve never wanted to be like that mare. Anything that would set us apart is a good thing, as far as I can tell.

The doctor ponders a moment before stating with purpose, “I suppose we’re discussed-ing it right now. Please continue.”

Shuffling my forehooves, I tell him, “Well, it doesn’t exactly help that my daughter’s bringing home young, healthy, fertile ponies. Ah mean, Ah’m happy for her, but Ah’m now very aware that my mares are… somewhere. Guess Ah’m wantin’ them back or... some friends of mah own again. Ah don’t know.”

Doctor Greymare gives me an almost sad smile while taking some notes, “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I admit while lowering my head, “Ah’ve had a few -uh- dreams.”

“Dreams?” He asks while making another note.

“You know the type -the types of dreams a young stallion has and,” I can’t even look towards the doctor let alone the nurse right now, “wakes up needin’ a shower.”

Nodding slowly, he mumbles, “Right. Nightly discharge.” Before addressing me directly, he ponders a moment, “Since these recent events began, when was your last one of those? What has the frequency been?”

It’s getting way too warm in here. “Ah don’t know. A long time, Ah guess. Ah can’t rightly remember. Even once is more than Ah’ve had in a long time, but it’s been several.”

“Since that last time, have you been,” the doctor looks to the nurse briefly, “emptying your -uh- tanks regularly?” I blink at him, and he rephrases, “You know? Your potatoes? Have you been using them?”

I shake my head, “No. Ah haven’t broken any trust or friendships like that, Doc.”

He pushes further, “Infrequently?”

I answer, “No.”

“Just to be clear,” he inquires, “Not at all?”

“Not at all,” I tell him firmly. “Last time was when Ah made mah daughter.”

He makes a note, “And before that?”

I shrug, “Probably when Doctor Horse -uh, you know, the other one- wanted a sample fer those tests.”

He wiggles his nose briefly before pressing for more details, “And before that?”

“Ah don’t know, Doc,” I give up. “Ah don’t mean to sound frustrated, but what’s all this got to do with mah taters gettin’ sore all of a sudden?”

He breathes out slowly and furrows his brow, “Anything happen that you might consider, ‘out of the ordinary?’ New food, bug bite, exercise routine? You do look like you’ve gained some weight -eh- in a good way.”

I shrug and admit, “Well, Ah have been eatin’ better since my baby girl came back from Baltimare. Insofar as, ‘out of the ordinary,’ Ah can’t think of much. Ah’m doin’ some easier chores than before, sleepin’ a bit better, helpin’ with the grandfoal.” I think for a moment, “There have been a bunch of plants croppin’ up on the farm and mah Market stall Ah don’t remember plantin’, but Ah ain’t been bit by nothin’.”

He sets down his quill and looks at me, “Mind if I run a few tests?”

I shake my head, “No.”

Greymare gets up and washes his hooves in a little sink, “Alright. Stand up, please. Turn around. Widen your hind legs and lift your tail.”

I ask, “Need me to cough, Doc?” My back twitches as he starts his exam back there.

“Well,” he declares as he looks around my flank towards me, “the good news is that they are not twisted.” Twisted!? That’s a thing that could happen?

Nurse Heart Out took up the quill and marked the medical document in a few places as the doctor spoke.

I gasp from a squeeze, and he informs the nurse, “They are a healthy size which is noticeably larger than they were previously.” He says to me, “Mr. Pear-”

I cut him off, “-Yer hoof is fondlin’ mah potatoes, Doc. We’re more familiar than, ‘mister,’ right now. Ain’t we?”

He nods as he moves over to the sink to wash his hooves again, “I suppose so, Grand. So,” he pauses before continuing, “I’m going to need another sample today.” Nurse Heart Out places a sterile cup on the exam tray.

I sighs, “Ah ain’t got mah mares to help with that right now.”

**Ponyville General Hospital, Ponyville, Equestria**
*011 Summer CC**
**Doctor Greymare Horse**

Gently, I tell him, “That’s fine.” I can understand completely. There are friends a pony can talk with and friends a pony can party with; there are friends a pony can work with and friends a pony can laugh with; there are friends a pony can snuggle with and friends a pony can struggle with. It is good to have friends with all kinds of ponies, but there are certain lines that need special permissions to pass. However, this situation is something of a gray area: a medical exemption.

I take a small stopwatch from one of my lab coat pockets and ask, “Nurse Heart Out?” This duty would fall to her as the mare.

This is not a common situation as most stallions do not experience anything like what Grand Pear is going through right now. It is additionally extraordinary as his herd is -for whatever reason- away for an indetermined timeframe, and he never had a large group of friends close enough to help with this type of thing to begin with.

The nurse understands this and smiles determined to be soothing to the older stallion’s emotional state given the situation. Turning around and lifting her tail to reveal herself, our patient’s eyes go wide, and he drops out of his sheath in short order.

A few quick clicks on the stopwatch shows Mr. Pear’s best clinical time he has ever recorded. I’d expect this number from a colt who recently got his Cutie Mark. Not bad.

The older stallion stutters like he believes he did something wrong, “Ah! Ah- Ah’m so sorry. Ah didn’t mean-”

Nurse Out shakes her head and does her best to comfort him, “Nothing to apologize for, Grand. It makes me happy. After all this time, I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with me.”

He shakes his head quickly, “N- no, no, no. There’s n- nothing wrong with you.”

Heart steps to him for a nuzzle, and I make my way towards the door; but he flinches with worry, “W- wait. Ah’m still married. Ah can’t.”

She whispers, “You have a medical condition, Grand, and we need to find out what is going on. Since your mares are not present to help you, I would be honored to be your friend and help you with this. And if -or when- they ever come back, I will make an account to them. I promise.”

Grand gulps. After a moment of thought, he nods.

I step out with my papers as quietly as I can. There is a little cabinet built into the wall next to the door. It is like a small milk box for deliveries with a door inside the examination room and one outside. When the sample is placed inside, the exam-side door locks and will show a ‘deposit’ on the outside like a mailbox with its flag up. I unlock the exam room side of the Sample Box door before I make my exit. Somepony separated from the collection process can take the Sample for processing.

The nearest desk is the Nurses’ Station; so, I go over there with my documents to clean up my notes a bit. After a minute, I look up, and the Sample Box still shows it’s empty. Huh. I look to the clock. Yeah, it’s been more than minute now.

At the two-minute mark, I place my quill down, close the file, and walk over to the Sample Box to the exam room. Still shows empty. What- *click* -ah. There it is.

I open the little door to reveal a small container that is full to the brim. What? That shouldn’t be possible from one production. The average stallion should only fill the bottom quarter of these cups. The last time Grand Pear was measured at the bottom percentile -barely a fraction of average- but this is full. What went on in there?

I place my ear to the door and feel my face heat up. They’re not finished? Wow. After all those years, it sounds like Grand Pear found a way to unblock his ‘repression.’

I am bound by my profession with a code of confidentiality. Having read his file from the previous doctor who presided over Grand Pear’s issue, my eyes can’t help but overflow. We tried everything; and now, some miracle has occurred, “Thank Celestia.”

After wiping my cheeks with a fetlock, I reach over to one of many little boxes that are hung on nearly every wall in the hospital and remove a bit of rubber. Everypony plays with these. It’s like they were almost modeled after those long balloons that can be twisted into the shape of a pony, a dog, a donkey, or whatever has four legs and a... Oh, he was right. Ponies do have four. Silly me. I knew that.

…I knew that.

Now with hoof gloved, I collect the cup and bring it to the Nurses’ Station. I hoof it to one of the nurses who looked like she didn’t have any tasks at the moment, Bedside Manners, “Could one of you prepare this? Two samples to Canterlot and one to process here.”

“Right away, Doctor,” she says. Her eyes bug out when she sees the sample container, and she gulps as she reaches for a glove of her own.

The door to the examination room opens. Nurse Heart Out wobbles out, and Grand Pear hurries to help her balance.

“Thank you, Grand Pear.” She says, “That was… sweet Celestia, that was amazing.”

He hesitantly nuzzles the nurse’s cheek as they slowly walk over towards me, “Ah suppose it was. Wasn’t it?”

The nurse admits, “You know, I don’t have a herd. I’d love it if we could become friends going forward. When that business with your mares-” Grand Pear looks a little uncomfortable but nowhere near as resistant to the ideas of such friendships as he has been in the past.

He quickly tells her, “-I’m an old stallion. You know? You should probably-” Ah, he’s trying to run from the opportunity at another friendship, again; but he’s trying to hedge his response this time. He’s not outright refusing.

Heart Out doesn’t want to hear it and purses her lips, “-After what you just demonstrated? No.” She relaxes her face and smirks at him, “‘Old,’ is the last thing you are.”

He blushes, “Uh -you- uh, would you like to come over for dinner sometime… tonight?” Woah. His defenses crumbled. Just like that?

Her smile widens and softens, but she maintains a snarky edge to her voice, “You know, the mare usually asks the stallion out.”

Grand Pear shrugs, “Ah have a farm and a big house. Ah guess Ah’m used to eatin’ with family.”

Heart answers with a nod, “Okay. But when you want a private dinner,” and leans closer to him, “we’ll have it at my place. Deal?” My patient gulps nervously as he agrees as the two arrive the Nurses’ Station.

After they say their goodbyes, Nurse Heart Out turns to me, “Doctor, I would like to -urp-” she hiccups some ivory custard and reaches for a tissue, “ah, e- excuse me.”

I tilt my head, “Is that?”

She blushes and her ears lay back, “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

I ask, “Is that a, ‘yes?’”

She swallows with some difficulty but answers, “Yes. I -uh- I’m going to take my lunch break now and go lay down. Kinda tired.” As long as there is not emergency or other duty requiring her attendance, I have no reason to object.

“Of course,” I say. After she turns to go, I notice she isn’t going toward the dining area. “What about your lunch?”

Hesitantly, she looks back, “I’m pretty full. I- I don’t think I need it right now.”

This makes my ‘Doctor Senses’ tingle; so, I ask, “How full?”

“Uh,” she starts, “Like a Princess-sized meal at the Hay Burger.” The nearest one is in Canterlot, I think. Medical ponies would visit back when I was going through the program.

The volume to make an average stomach feel full is more than what a dozen stallions should produce in a day, and that’s if they really buckled down and gave it their all. Plus there is what made it into the sample cup… and they sounded like they moved way past typical sample collecting when I overheard them.

I’d assume it was some blockage from years past that somehow became unblocked, but he claims to have had some nocturnal releases which means all those semares are fresh.

Maybe he’s taking some supplements? Like most nature-ponies, farmponies like Grand Pear have a strong sense of honour when it comes to their bodies and agricultural techniques; so, he’s unlikely to be trying any experimental magical enhancements. Whatever he’s doing looks like it’s working. I wouldn’t mind getting my own hooves on some of it.

Nurse Manners return a little sweatier than when she left, and I ask her, “Could you prep the exam room for the next patient, please?”

She smiles, “Sure thing, Doctor Horse.”

First, Pear Butter gets pregnant out-of-season and seems to realize it within the first week. The baker at the Sugarcube Corner came in the other day and has somehow induced to lactation without the foaling needed to trigger the hormone cycle for that. A few others have come in exhibiting milder symptoms than these. Now Grand Pear -a pony previously diagnosed with the worst case of sexual dysfunction we have alive today- not only has all of his functions but has exceeded normal parameters.

“What the buck!?” I look up and see Bedside Manners backing away from the exam room. “Ah,” she looks back and apologizes, “S- sorry, I -uh- need to go get a mop with a... long handle.”

I’ll wait and see what the labs show before making any conclusions yet, but there is definitely something strange going on.

Oh! I got it! A dragon, a griffon, and a crab walk into a donkey. “Yeah~ there it is.”

**Canterlot Castle, Canterlot, Equestria**
**014 Summer CC**
**Mi Amore Cadenza**

The Baltimare Sun, 011 Summer CC, Vol. 01, Issue 06, front page.
”Oiled Stallions Bring Ms. Mayor’s Balls, Big Surprise”

“…What?”

Extra A/N:
Stay frosty out there.

Author's Note

I wrote the dialogue with Mayor Kettle Black for that scene first. It was maybe five hundred words worth of Ball jokes, but the more time I spent with her the wackier she became. In my head, her voice is like a female version of John DeLancy doing Discord with a little bit of Chuckles the Clown.

Somepony is playing 'Where's Wally.'

I don’t know why but writing Doctor Horse’s scenes just flow out so easily. Also, I never expected Grand Pear to acquiesce to that request. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him anymore.

Just that one blip about numbers required me to do some research on how to answer Base-7 and Base-10. I think I’ll make the ‘old nature-pony’ number system like the Empirical System. Instead of a mathematical system that unicorns use for magic and scientific purposes or pegasi use for navigation, the nature-pony system is more like an application of measurements and conversion than of calculation. 2 cups to a Pint; 2 Pints to a Quart, 4 Quarts to a Gallon. 1 Pint to 1 Pound, 16 ounces to 1 Pound. 12 to a Dozen and 13 to a Baker’s Dozen. And so on… Because different Base systems aren’t already hard enough.

Nature-Pony math reminds me of Ma and Pa Kettle.

Grand Pear’s doctor’s visit was partially inspired by a scene from Naked Gun 33 1/3.

I’ve started to come to the realization that there are some Spanish and Portuguese readers of this silly story. ¡Hola! Olá! I am curious: do my jokes translate at all? I have no idea how to figure that out.