A slightly strange method

by BestiaAuris

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Random
Length: 4941

Is Ditzy up to the great responsibility of delivering very special letters from Princess Celestia?

Is Ditzy Doo up to the great responsibility of delivering some very special letters from Princess Celestia? If she was there would not be much of a story, now would there?

Now with pre-readers! Thanks to popolopolous.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-05-23 12:36:46 UTC

Chapter 1: The Doo's

The Doo’s house sat on the outskirts of the village.  The house had the unfortunate location of being too far away from the center of town to be fashionable, yet too close to be desirably rustic or rural.  Unlike almost all of the buildings in ponyville, the Doo’s was a squatish, brown brick building with shingles upon the roof.  Soon after the original owner had built the house, their 3 month old unicorn had an accident involving a candle. Said accident had the happy result assisting in the discovery of the 5th law of thermodynamics.  Unfortunately the owners did not see this leap forward the same way as the local physicists, only seeing the 6 figures worth of property damage resulting from the fire. The roof was rebuilt, using shingles on the roof instead of thatching it.  In the ensuring 50 years, the house had literally fallen apart under the ownership of over 30 families.  Through tax audit, fire, flood, fleas, baby unicorns and frog invasions, the house had been slowly reduced to a 3 bedroom cottage on about five-hundred square meters.  The only ponies to which the house had any significance were the two occupants:  Ditzy Doo and her daughter, Dinky Doo.

Ditzy opened her eyes.  Instead of seeing the peeling plaster of the ceiling, all she could see was a thick inky darkness, swirling in upon itself.  Ditzy soon arrived at the seemingly logical idea she was dreaming.  From the dark came a voice she knew:

“Mummy? Can I see Scootaloo today?  I’ve been very good.  Mummy?”.

Ditzy instantly recognized the voice as Dinky Doo’s, her daughter.  Ditzy groped out in the darkness, helplessly trying to find her little filly.  Her flailing hooves found nothing.  She fell, hitting something hard.  Her purple quilt fell from her face, the sudden light blinding her.  Ditzy blinked on the floor, completely confused.  Dinky giggled, “Mummy, you’re a very silly pony.  You always fall out of bed.”

Ditzy stood up, stretching herself.   Dinky mimicked her mothers stretch as best as she was able. Ditzy flexed her wings, almost hitting the young unicorn.  She hated work mornings, they usually meant she couldn’t spend much time with Dinky.  This was not to say, as she was quick to say, that she did not enjoy working as the mailmare and meeting all the ponies in the town, it was the requirement of her to actually turn up to work which she disliked.

“Wont Scootaloo be at school today sweetie?”

“But you’re here, that means that today is a weekend!  Weekend means no school, so Scootaloo won’t be at school.  Can I go see her?”

Ditzy smiled sadly down at her daughter.

“I'm only here because I haven’t left for work today sweetie, I need to deliver letters to everypony.”

Ditzy walked through their small house to the bathroom. Dinky trotted behind her trying to keep up.  Ditzy tried to whistle, contorting her mouth and blowing. She shook her head, grinning and content.  Once inside the bathroom, her new shoes clicked on the tiles. She grasped the manebrush, promptly dropping it upon the floor.  She Clicked her tongue in irritation as she bent to pick up the offending brush before pulling it through mane. Dinky flopped on the chipped tile floor, frowning.

“But mum, its too late for you to go to work, Its almost ten. And if you don’t go to work, then it’s a weekend!”

Ditzy blinked. Ten. Ditzy paused mid stroke, her eyes lost focus as electricity sparked in her brain.   The number seemed… too big.  Ten was a dozen muffins if she had eaten two, the number of bits for a bag of apples from the apples, the smallest Noncototient, ten was the number of fillies in Dinky’s class, ten was one more than nine.  In her mind, the time of ten meandered until it bumped into the time of nine.  Funny that, she thought, work started an hour ago.

“Oh.”

Ten was later then nine.  By an hour.  She was an hour late.  Miss Black would have her head.  On a pointy stick.  Probably.  Ditzy trotted into the kitchen as fast as her daughter could manage and started to shove food (including a jar of mustard) into her daughters school bag.

“I… we… You have to go.  We are a teensy-tiny late.  You need to go to school.  Your a big filly now, you will have to go alone.  Can you do that for mama? Here, take this.  ”

Ditzy hurriedly put the school bags over her fillies shoulders.  Dinky smiled knowingly up at her mother.

“oh, so it is a weekday? Then I'm… late.  Can you write a note to Cheerilee to tell her I’m late?”

Ditzy looked up at the kitchen clock.  Ten past ten.

“sorry sunshine, gotta fly.”

Ditzy placed a kiss on Dinky’s forehead, almost poking herself in her eye with Dinky’s horn.  She quickly galloped outside and took off towards the post office.  Dinky sighed.  No note, again.  She slowly followed her mother out the door, hoofs dragging on the floorboards.  Her mother was very forgetful. Cheerilee would understand.  Hopefully.  If not, well, there were only ten desks she could hoof clean.

Chapter 2: The Post Office

16 down: Does pie throwing take place in the serial? 8 letters. Penny Black, the old earth mare tutted. Second letter was 'p', not that it helped much. She had never been very good at crosswords. She massaged her forehead, deep in thought. She (and everypony in town) had come to associate pies and the throwing of, with a certain lodger at the bakery. Penny stretched her cream-coloured body as she lay behind the counter. Her parents had a slightly cruel sense of humor. It was a slow day in the post office, one only briefly punctuated by the occasional customer and the more frequent growls of frustration from the sorting room. She adjusted her glasses, tempted to go for a quick trot. Perhaps a nice cup of hot coffee upon her return. Coffee made everything better; even Francesca was bearable after a cup of the inky liquid. The bakery (at her request) had started selling coffee to compliment their biscuits. Penny liked biscuits. Her daydream was abruptly ended when a gray mare burst into the post office. It seemed the mailmare had finally arrived.

Ditzy trotted as quickly as was permitted towards the counter, around the various displays of envelopes, coins and stamps. There was nopony in the front of house except her boss, Penny Black. Breathing heavily, she tried to explain: “I am so sorry, so sorry, Miss Black. I... uh- must have overslept. Then I needed to get Dinky off to school an-“

Penny sighed as the mare approached. "Don’t worry about it dear, I’m- I’m used to it. I’ve long given up on trying to run the post office with any scrap of efficiency. Just, just go get your bags from Francesca.” She gestured vaguely to the back room. ”And do try not to upset her; you know how… delicate she can be."

Ditzy gulped, “Has she started? Already?”

Penny nodded. She didn’t like to see others upset, but she was tired. Ditzy was late, she reasoned, and perhaps Francesca's anger might encourage her to turn up on time.

Ditzy slowly trotted into the back room. Light streamed in through narrow windows, illuminating the dust hanging in the air. A large white griffon sat on the floor, surrounded by an explosion of papers. Muttering darkly, she roughly shoved the small papers into the hessian mailbags, occasionally having one of her feathers drift off and join the letters on the floor. Ditzy’s shoes clicked softly against the old floorboards as she approached the sulky griffon. Putting on the biggest grin she could muster, Ditzy greeted her.

"Oh, hello Francesca. How many bags today?"

Francesca growled softly. “Derpy, my name isn’t ‘Francesca’. My name is Fang. You should know that, Penny is always yelling at me to do something-or-other. I'm the only one around here who does a feather of work.”

Ditzy nodded in agreement, attempting to appease the grumpy griffon. Ditzy hated being called ‘Derpy’; it brought back painful memories of her youth. A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Francesca did as much work as she told everypony that she did, when so much of the post was still on the floor. Ditzy poked her tongue out at Francesca, trying to remind her it was all in good fun. Poking one’s tongue out at a griffon is never a particularly good idea, even more so if one has a fondness for one’s tongue. Griffons are often foul tempered, seemingly having the worst from the personality of both lions and eagles. They also share the rather unfortunate attribute of some other large feathered creatures: moulting.

Griffon moulting is a month long period for most griffons: for the unlucky ones it can stretch on for many weeks more. Like most birds when moulting, griffons’ moods sour. They become short-tempered, quarrelsome and generally less friendly than usual. It was even written into the constitution of the griffon kingdoms (pointed out to be a misnomer by various scholars), that no law would be passed during the month long period. More liberal employers in the kingdom had been known to make working during this period entirely optional, in protection of both their employees and their property. Sadly for griffons (and everypony else) living in Equestria, the law had not being adopted there as of yet. As one pony explorer who arrived in the middle of the season put it:

“Griffons are possibly the least likable, foul mannered barbarians one will ever meet. Do not ever let them direct you. Fantastically soft plumage though…”

This particular traveler later made a small fortune in Manhattan selling shampoo. Pegasus ponies are in a state of constant moult, yielding a steady supply of quills for the local population.

"Hey, Fr-Fang can you give me a hoof - or is it claw - saddling up?”

Francesca glared at Ditzy the way one does at something one regards with a mixture of contempt and irritation. The grey mare giggled, suddenly feeling very small.

”I can get out of your mane… or feathers sooner.  If you help me."

“Grunt"

" 'Grunt'? Is that a yes? Fang?”

Francesca rounded up on the unfortunate mare. “What is it with you? You just don’t know when to quit.” She paused slightly and continued glaring at Ditzy. “Have you ever seen what griffon claws can do to living flesh?”

“Uhhh… No. Not up close.” Ditzy ruffled her wings, unconsciously taking a step backwards. A soft rustling behind her distracted both the mare and the griffon.

“Francesca. Are you threatening Ditzy again?” Penny had nosed open the door.

Francesca slowly massaged her forehead with her claws, breathing slowly. This was quite a feat, as griffon claws are best described as having the sharpness of scalpels.

"Fine, I’ll help you with your bags. Just... just stand still. Don’t move. Don’t say anything."

Ditzy froze completely still, barely breathing in case that broke the ‘stand still’ rule. Francesca lethargically dragged herself to a standing position, squeezing every possible weary sigh out of her body. She trudged slowly towards the saddle, located in the far corner. Ditzy rolled her eyes. When she had finally completed her marathon and reached the saddle, she proceeded to drag it across the floor towards the mare. Ditzy stared at her curiously, and opened her mouth to voice a suggestion. Francesca was quicker though.

“Derpy, be quiet! Don’t say anything. Nothing at all.”

Ditzy exhaled heavily. The griffon clipped the mailbags onto the frame, tightened the neck strap slightly harder than necessary and stepped back to grimace at her handiwork.

“Thanks Fangy!”

“Fang. I'm not done yet.” The griffon raised from the floor a small blue box, ornately carved with the royal seal emblazoned on its lid. Francesca clipped the box to Ditzy’s harness.

“Remember, you have a special delivery today. You mustn’t, under any circumstance, let out of your sight. Got that? You cannot lose this.”

Ditzy eyed the package suspiciously. There were not any labels on it, no heavy, fragile or bio-hazard warnings.

“What is it, anyway? It’s… it’s not from Blueblood, is it? I still have nightmares about that…”

“No, this one is not from Prince Blueblood. I spent a week trying to clean the… fluids from the ceiling. But you wouldn’t know that, you don’t clean anything. Anyway, these are the invites to the Grand Galloping Gala, from the princesses.”

Ditzy blinked. "Wow! We get to deliver the Invites to the Grand Galloping Gala?"

"Derpy... we are the only post office in Ponyville. How else are they going to deliver the letters? We did it last year."

"We... did?" Ditzy tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowing. Francesca sighed.

“Get outta here, freak."

"Oh, we did deliver the letters last year," Ditzy giggled nervously. "Silly me."

"The door is, uh, over there." Francesca plopped herself on the floor and started sorting the remaining mail.  Feathers continued to join them in the remaining bags.

"See you later!" Ditzy trotted out of the sorting room, humming softly to herself. She had given up on whistling, at least for the moment. She quickly paused to grab her hat of office. The hat was - like everything else in the post office - old, worn out and temperamental. The once-shining copper wings that emblazoned the sides were dented and greening. The blue felt was pale and worn in patches, the silk lining drooped sadly. Ditzy still loved her hat.

“See you later, Miss Black. I probably won’t be joining you for lunch; I have to deliver the mail.”

Penny Black sighed. She had never invited Ditzy to lunch though every day, Ditzy said the exact same words.

“Yes Ditzy.”

“Miss Black, you know you shouldn’t drink too much coffee. It’s bad for ponies.”

“Right you are again Ditzy Doo.”

Ditzy gleefully trotted out the open door, into the bright sun. Penny closed her eyes, letting her head thunk against her paper resting on the counter. Her head started to pound. She needed a coffee. Or four.

While Penny Black made her third cup of liquid gold, a rather unusual visitor entered the post office. Anypony seeing him enter would likely not have given him a second look. He muttered about a small, smoking metal pen as he walked in before stopping and looking around.

“I'm in a post office.”

This rather unusual (though correct) statement was followed by a brief pause. The slight frown that he had been wearing quickly dissolved into a child-like rapture. He slowly walked around the office, peering into the displays of rare coins, photo albums and gift sets that were impersonal enough to be given to anypony. Eventually, the brown pony made his way to the counter. There was a small silver bell sitting on the desk with a hoofwritten note tied around its neck:

“Ring if unattended”

Having no need for assistance, the stallion rang the bell. Or rather, he tried to. He reached for the bell, but with a level of extreme uncoordination usually reserved for the very young or the very ill, knocked the bell clean off the desk. The stallion watched it tinkle to the floor and slowly roll to a stop. A voice yelled from the back room, awakening him from his daydream.

“Be there in a second!”

The stallion looked back to the bell. He tried to pick it up; instead he sent it skidding across the floor and under a set of draws in the corner of the room.

“I- I should get that.”

The stallion trotted to the piece of furniture before dropping to the floor and peering into the darkness under it. Amongst the dust, hair and feathers, the bell glimmered. Just out of reach of the pony. Snorting the dust away, the stallion reached, flailing, under the draws. He tried to force himself closer to the draws with his hind hooves and ended up almost toppling a rather expensive looking display of vintage breath mints. Francesca would have been devastated if the display was ruined; it seemed to her she always had to set them up.

It was in this rather inelegant pose that Penny Black found the brown stallion. She was mildly surprised; if she were any other pony she would have dropped her coffee cup in shock. Working in close proximity to Ditzy and Francesca for an extended period had dulled her to any sense of bizarreness or absurdity. Instead she merely observed the stallion’s rear for a few moments as he scrabbled on the floor. After a moment she quietly coughed. The stallion froze for a second, looking at Penny.

The next moment the stallion was standing upright, awkwardly smoothing his mane.

“Yes uh, hello. I-I rang the bell as the note said, then it rolled under the…”

Penny black stared suspiciously at the nervous stallion who continued to talk. He seemed to have the ability to keep talking for an incredible amount of time without saying anything at all. He simply continued to speak in one long, unbroken sentence. It was quite hypnotic, really.

"That's fantastic. I haven’t seen you before, have I?"

The stallion gulped, "Who, me? Not likely; I’m new in town, just passing through. Official business."

The look this statement received could have been used as a straightedge.

"Uh-huh.”

“Here is my identification. As you will see, I am here on... official business. I’m looking for my blue box that has gone missing.” Having regained some of his bravado, the stallion reached towards his chest. Penny looked at him for a moment as he slowly patted himself, as if looking for an opening. She waved this strange gesture away.

“Uh-huh. That-that won’t be necessary, I just sent out our best mailmare to deliver the box."

"Sorry, I beg your pardon?"

"I, being the manager of the post office, sent our mailmare out to deliver the package. If you are waiting for it, you are going to have to wait like everypony else.”

“Everypony, mailmare! Anyway, how are you holding that cup?”

“Do… you- are you a friend of Ditzy’s?”

“I might be. I'm friends with everyone- everypony, sorry.”

Penny smiled. On rare occasion, one of the mailmare’s friends would wander into the office, looking for her. Most of her friends were as strange (or more so) as her.

"I take it that you would like to actually see Ditzy? She is not here at the moment, you will have to go and find her.”

“Okay... What does she look like?”

Penny frowned. He was definitely a friend of Ditzy.

"Grey, pegasus, bubbles for her cutie mark, please don't ask why because I don't know. She has this... thing with her eyes, you can’t miss her."

"Thing? I love things."

Penny simply stared as the peculiar stallion trotted outside.

Chapter 3: Sugar Cube Corner

Ditzy Doo smiled as she walked through the bustling town markets. She enjoyed the markets, though she rarely had many bits to spend in the shops or stalls. The Ponyville markets were unusually large for a town of such size; while most small towns would require ponies to travel to larger locations for rarely-bought goods, Ponyville stores had historically possessed almost everything ponies needed to live. The two major exceptions, gemstones and iron shoes, caused grief to two very different sections of Ponyville. While most ponies were completely unaware of the shortage of the first (save for those who spent any time with the resident dragon or designer), the second had been rather more problematic. The high prices of shoes forced most ponies to go without, and they soon became a symbol of wealth and stature. This in turn lead to the rather unusual local tradition of hanging shoes upon walls, or using them as door handles instead of wearing them. Even after the large fall in price caused by the development of railways, the rather strange practice had survived. Of the few hundred sets of shoes that were imported, about ninety percent were never worn. Ditzy was one of the few who did wear shoes though: she spent all day on her hooves.

Ditzy had arrived at her favourite place in the markets: Sugarcube Corner. Like every other weekday, she sat at the table numbered 8 and upended one of the mail bags onto it - then another, and another. Francesca, for all her boasting, never sorted the mail in any way that made sense to Ditzy. She had gone through stages of sorting it: alphabetically by recipient, by species and by colour of the letter itself. Ditzy put the important blue box on the bench next to her, so as to not forget it, and started to sort the mail properly, humming as she did so.

It was soon after the mare sat down that she was interrupted by the resident baker, Pinkie Pie.

“Hi Ditzy! What are you doing today?”

“Oh, hello Pinkie. I’m just re-sorting the mail. Franchy was extra Franchy today: she didn't sort it very well at all. How about you?”

“Me? I’m just hiding from the Cakes. I let Pound try some of the special frosting I was making for Berry Punch’s cupcakes. I thought he liked it. But Miss Cake asked me to get some apples from Applejack. And a recipe book from Twilight. And ask Rainbow for a forecast. And to go talk to Fluttershy for a while.”

Ditzy stared at the pink mare in mock horror. ”Pinkie, that was terrible! Why would you do that to those poor, poor innocent things? Frosting muffins is horrible, I strongly disapprove. I should complain to your manager.”

Pinkie giggled. “They aren’t muffins, Ditzy! Icing cupcakes is fine.”

“Speaking of cake, what did you bake today?”

The pink mare tapped her chin in thought. “Mrs Cake baked a carrot cake, rock cakes, apple turnovers. I just finished Berry’s order and I think there are some un-iced muffins left. There just might be a little itty-bitty of the straw-slices left over from another order.”

“Those lonely muffins. I’ll grab some in a few minutes.”

“See you later then!” Pinky trotted into the crowd, whistling. Ditzy jealously watched her depart. She returned to sorting the mail only to be almost instantly interrupted by a growling rumble emanating from her belly. Perhaps, the mare thought, I should get the muffins sooner rather than later. She looked guiltily at the mail, still covering the tabletop completely. A few minutes would be fine, she reasoned. The mare wriggled out of the remains of her harness and gingerly placed it on the letters, to stop them flying away. She trotted happily to the inside of her favourite shop. The small blue box stared accusingly at her back.

Inside the large establishment, there were fewer ponies than usual. Three young fillies sat bickering in a corner, arguing as to what they should buy with their limited bits. The town librarian sat inside one of the booths with an irritable dragon. The blue mare was serving. Everypony in the town, even those older than her, referred to her as Mrs Cake. She had long ago given up trying to convince them to call her anything else, and secretly, she enjoyed it. A cream mare with a purple mane gleefully trotted outside and Ditzy approached the smiling Mrs Cake.

“Hello Ditzy. How’s Dinky?”

“Hi Mrs Cake! Dinky is great, thankyou.” The mare peered into the glass cabinet, stacked three-deep with cakes. “How have you been? How is Mr Cake?”

“Same old, same old. Carrot Top is out of town this week, flour convention in Manehattan.”

Ditzy looked at her quizzically. "Flour convention? Is there really that much to flour?"

"Apparently there is. Anyway, what can I get you, deary?"

“Pinkie told me that there were some muffins left over from Berry Punch’s order. Can I grab three of them?”

“Sure honey. For you, two bits.”

Ditzy smiled happily and reached for her money bag. For a moment she stood awkwardly, reaching for the non-existent bag that  was in fact attached to her saddle located on her table outside.

“Can... can I quickly pop outside and grab my purse?”

“Sure.”

In a rather probable chain of events, there was no disaster in Ditzy Doo going to collect her purse. She returned inside, engaged in the ancient tradition of purchase of goods and service and left the building. The next event (as Ditzy Doo was finishing sorting the mail and spreading muffin crumbs throughout the letters), was more unlikely, but still not improbable. The three stallions that Ditzy disliked the most in the entire town spotted her: Dumbbell, Score and Bench Press. One of the three, perhaps a slight soft in the head, started to call out to her in a friendly manner. This brought him an elbow to the ribs from the other two. It was only now Ditzy noticed them.

“Oh- that’s just- oh ponyfeathers.”

There was an awkward pause while the three decided what to do. Throughout high school, they had made her life very unpleasant. This was due to the first encounter between them. On Ditzy Doo’s first day at her new school at Cloudsdale Loft, she had been queuing for lunch. She misjudged her footing and stumbled directly into the three. Lunch that day had included pea soup which was both the favorite of the three and very, very hot.

The three circled her.

“Hey Derpy. How have you been?” The one who called to her asked. The other two glared at him.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Because… you’re stupid.” replied another.

Inside Ditzy’s mind there was an elegant verbal riposte forming, one that would make her assailants curl up and whimper, never to be the same. One that would ensure that they would never hurt her, or anypony else ever again. It was just on the tip of her tongue. What came out of her mouth was completely different.

“I’m not stupid.”

“Yes you are. You work in a post office, you deliver mail to ponies.” They started to walk slowly around her.

“It’s not a career, it’s a job for a highschooler.”

Dumbbell flicked some of the re-sorted mail off the table. “What are you gonna do about it? You broken any more buildings lately? Cause, you know, you’re a klutz?”

Ditzy started to panic. She was not particularly worried about the names she would be called, she was more worried about the three taking the mail. One of them reached over and started to pick up some of the letters. She hit his hoof and he dropped the letters.

“Oh. Look at you, sticking up for yourself for a change. What’s in this blue box?”

While she struggled to follow the three of them, she saw something that scared her more than the three pegasi. The world began to blur.

“Hey, We’re talking to you Derpy. What’s in the box? It looks important, Derpy.”

There seemed to be two images in front of her, similar but not quite the same. Colours changed and swirled, folding over themselves. The sounds of the teasing from the three stallions became muffled. Directly behind her eyes, there was a dull pain. Shapes began to stretch. Suddenly, just as if somepony turned off the lights, everything went dark.

Unlike almost all awakenings by those who recently fainted, pain was not Ditzy Doo’s first recollection. A severe lack of warmth was her first sensation. This was closely followed by an understanding that her spinal column was going to be very unhappy with her for quite a while. She cracked open her eyes. Cake. Specifically, Mrs Cake’s face. The blue mare was staring keenly into her eyes.

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

From the floor Ditzy groaned something incoherent. Her mind had not quite recollected itself and was still babbling information to her inside her head. She had a sudden impulse to find a chalkboard and a physicist. Something about cats in boxes. Ditzy Doo blinked and with great mental effort quietened the voice inside her head.

“Uh, Mrs Cake, why am I lying on the floor?”

“Erm. I found you outside. Lying on the ground with letters and your harness around you. You were unconscious so I brought you, and your mail inside. Are you sure you are okay?”

“I… I’m fine.”

Ditzy Doo sat up and rubbed her head. Then came the pain. Dull, throbbing, aching pain directly behind her eyes. “Actually, could I have a glass of water please?”

“Sure.” The blue mare looked at her distrustingly. ”Did Pinkie give you any of her… special brownies?”

“What? No. I, I just have this thing with my eyes sometimes. Moving objects, bright colours and flickering lights set it off sometimes. I fainted at one of Cheerilee’s parties actually. My eyes... they look in different directions.”

“Oh… okay then.” Mrs Cake quickly fetched her glass of water. Ditzy drank it greedily. “You should probably go to Nurse Redheart, she might be able to give you something…”

“Thanks. I should be fine now. I’ll be going now, thanks again.” Ditzy heaved the harness over her shoulders.

“Stay safe. Remember to go to Nurse Redheart!”

“Will do!” Ditzy turned to leave.

Ditzy stretched in the warm sun outside the shop. It was a sunny afternoon, and she was happy. Today would be a good day. She reached to her side, where earlier that morning a rather irate griffon had clamped a blue box. And she kept right on reaching, pulling a letter out of her mail bags. Pokey Pierce, the address read. Deep in the mare’s mind there was a nagging hint of doubt: had she left something somewhere? Did she need to do something? No, she decided. Just the letters.