Heat Wave

For a tired and exhausted Snips, it was not easy attending school; spending merciless hours solving arithmetic, spelling simple words, coloring a picture book, and the most punishing task of all: napping.

Thus, he was particularly excited to be home, where his bed waited for him to sprawl his flabby self out upon its cushiony goodness, which he did so willingly.  His eyes became heavy after several minutes, and he was just about to sleep until his door creaked open.

“There you are, buddy!” Snails cheered in his deep, hoarse tone.  “I've been looking all over for ya!  We have a peeping raid prepared, and you're just going to nap?”

Snips groaned and rolled over to his side, facing away from his friend.  “I'm tired; get somepony else.”

“Uh...there's nopony else to get,” Snails said, his energy deflating as he continued.  “You're the only friend I have.”

“What about Spike?”

He paused, the little hamster inside of his head running at full sprint in its wheel as he processed the information.  “I don't think he would like it too much when one of the mares we'll be peeping is Twilight,” Snails confessed.

“...that is bad,” snorted Snips.  “You're just going to have to do it alone.”

“C'mon, it's not the same without you,” pleaded Snails.  “Our teacher will be on the list,” he enticed.

Well, that was a convincing argument.  Ms. Cheerile does have a nice flank..., thought Snips, and this was enough to persuade him.  “Wait for me outside; I'll get my stick.”

The other unicorn happily nodded and trotted outside.  With a loud groan and a quiet burp, Snips rolled off of the bed and onto his hooves.  From there, he walked to the coner of his room, where his handy wooded stick awaited him.

He was proud of that stick, and he prized ever since he had found it in the park.  It was long, but it was also light and well balanced, enough so that he could hold one end in his mouth and still control the other quite well.  There was also a little branch that jutted out from one of the ends, and it was perfect for lifting a mare's tail without their notice.  Sure, it was a sick game that only a foal would play, but it was the only kind of action he would get before he became a stallion...and even then, that was questionable.

Self degrading thoughts aside, he grabbed the stick in his mouth.  He made to leave, but when he caught a glimpse of his calendar, he froze and his jaw went limp, dropping the stick.  After a minute, he finally worked up the will to ensure that his revelation was correct.  He went up to the calendar, and sure enough, he had been correct.

A horrifying realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

With lightning speed, relative to him, he rushed outside, his legs stumbling and fumbling to bring his already heaving and winded body outside.  When he was to the door, he slammed it open and skidded to a halt in front of his friend.

“There you are...uh, where's you stick?” he asked as Snails caught his breath.

Snips looked up at Snails with a horrified expression.  “Snails, we've got a problem...a really...big...problem.”

“Ah'm gonna tell you somethin',” grumbled Big Macintosh to his human counterpart as they harvested apples.  “Ah've been workin' on this here farm for mah whole life and found a lotta things wrong with th' world.”

“I've been here a while, and I've found a lot of things strange as well,” agreed the human, Keyshawn, as he punched a tree with his gauntlet covered hand.  The blow shook most of the apples out of the tree; to his disappointment, no matter how hard he hit and even with the strength enhancement provided by his gauntlet, he couldn't manage to get all of the apples like Big Mac or Applejack could.

“But, I'm finding this place to be a sort of paradise,” continued Keyshawn.  “Hardly any crime, a firm and uncorrupted government, a stable economy; people back on Earth would murder each other to live in a place like this...it's kind of ironic, now that I think of it.  You should be thankful for that.”

“Ah know, and Ah am.  Ah thank Celestia ev'ry day that we got food to put on th' table.  But sometimes, I see thing that just...ain't right.  Like how butter's made.”

Keyshawn cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, ya take a big stick and ya ram it down some keg like ya's tryin' ta murder somepony.  And the sound it makes; it's downright suggestive!”

“Mac...I don't think I follow.”

Macintosh sighed.  “Sometimes, mah sister just loves gettin' on that keg.  Most a' the time, it's just a chore, but others, it's almost her hobby.  She'll be exhausted buckin' trees all day, but then when she needs ta' make the butter, she's gone to that keg.  And she uses all a' her hooves.”

“I...don't see haw making butter is suggestive,” Keyshawn asked in confusion.  “I mean, isn't that the only way to make it without machines?”

“Then there's mah cousins.  They give mah sis the strangest looks when she pumps that keg like that.  They could sit there for hours just starin' at her nonstop.  Y'all might call me crazy, but sometimes, Ah can see drool sligin' out of them mouths.”

“I think I might call you crazy.”

“Big Mac!” two juvenile voices screamed from across the orchard.  The stallion and the human looked towards the disturbance to see two foal, a tall thin one and a short pudgy one, come running in their direction.  They skidded to a halt in front of the laborers, panting and sweating.

“Can ah help you?” Big Mac asked with a raised brow.  “You two look more freaked out than a pegasus in th' Rainbow Factory.”

The two foals, now identified as Snips and Snail, panted for several seconds before they had enough breath to speak.  They checked their surroundings for any eavesdroppers before leaning in to speak their thoughts.  “The days are coming,” they whispered ominously.

Macintosh's eyes widened to their fullest extent and his pupils became the size of peas.  Then, he furrowed his brow and stared accusingly at the foals.  “Y'all better not be pullin' mah leg,” growled Big Mac with a wavering voice.  “I'll buck you two ta next week if ya are!”

Snips and Snails frantically shook their heads.

Keyshawn looked over the entire ordeal, completely confused as to what was happening.  Having unnerved Big Mac, whatever the kids had said must have been something serious.

“So, what's going on?” the human finally asked, to which three bewildered glares responded.

“You mean...you don't know what time of year it is?” asked a flabbergasted Snips.

“It's the heating season!” finished Snails.

Big Mac trotted up to Keyshawn, adorning an extremely serious expression.  “Th' heatin' season is th' time when mares get inta heat, a special period that happens annually where they become very...loose.”