Where the Heart Is

“Winona!” Applejack says on her way through the front door. “C’mere, girl!”

I run to her like I always do, lick her face, and try to jump up on her.

“Down, girl!” she says, one eye halfway shut, but she doesn’t lose her grin. “Or no treat.”

I sit as still as I can and gaze up at her, but I can sniff it in her saddlebag. Flour, sugar, eggs. Definitely mint. One of those breath-freshening biscuits they sell over at Sugarcube Corner. I didn’t think my breath was that bad. It just smells like a few of the bits from the compost heap I gnawed on this morning and whatever that thing was out by the road.

Still she watches me. I shuffle back and forth on my front paws and let out a little whine. Applejack reaches out with a hoof and scratches behind my ears—my mind goes fuzzy, and I lean into it, a rear leg kicking like mad. I could stay like this forever.

“Now, Winona,” she says, waggling a hoof. “Did you get into the compost today?”

I cock my head and give my tail a tentative swish.

Applejack purses her lips and shakes her head. “Goofy dog. ’S alright. You didn’t hurt nothin’, but you know Big Mac doesn’t like it if you spread it ’round. So just behave yourself, okay?”

My tongue lolls out of my mouth, and I give a short bark. Yes, I shouldn’t have messed around in the trash, but I couldn’t help myself. Applejack forgives me, though. She always does. Even quicker than they would Apple Bloom, because she should know better. Or so they say.

Speaking of which… Apple Bloom comes in with the rest of the groceries, and I dash over. She wants to go to the kitchen, but I decide that she should head toward the closet, so I lean my shoulder into her and shove her that way. She stops, turns, tries to step over me, but I keep guiding her there. I don’t even know why—I just have to.

“Winona!” Apple Bloom says, squinting at me. “I’m not a sheep!”

“Forget something, girl?” Applejack pats her saddlebag.

Treat! My tail starts going furiously, and I wedge my nose under the flap. One of the minty ones from Sugarcube Corner, alright. I grab it, and Applejack chuckles as I dash off to the braided rug where my food and water bowls sit. Not now, though—I’m actually not in the mood, so I stash it under the edge of the rug for later.

Then Big McIntosh comes in from the field and pats me on the head. “Who’s a good girl?”

That’s all I wanted. My whole family here, so I can go now. I pick up my treat and a mouthful of food, and hurry toward the pet door. “Why’s she do that?” Apple Bloom asks.

Big Mac shrugs. “You know dogs. Gotta eat in their particular places.”

In the dusk, I go behind the barn and drop my food there. If my family saw I didn’t want it, they’d worry. Especially if they knew how long I’ve been doing this.

Like I said, if I misbehave, they love me just the same, even more unconditionally than they do with each other. These ponies are weird.

Here come a few regulars from the woods. An opossum and a couple of raccoons, who are always happy to eat my food. They love me, too.

I let go, like relaxing a muscle, and my body shines black in the moonlight. It’s a nice gig I have going here: pretty much unlimited love. While the rest wasted their time impersonating ponies, I found the sweet life. No way I’ll tell them, even if they find their way back. If I did, they’d all want in on it. But so far from home, and staying in that form so long…

Every couple days, I have to revert, so I can keep my mind together enough to know… to hide that I don’t eat. I don’t want them to worry.

I’ve heard stories. “Your face will stay like that.” If only pony mothers knew where that phrase came from. And it’s not only the appearance.

Every day lately, it gets harder to think. I… I just want to be a good girl and curl up next to them. I’m hungry.

My tail wags on its own, and I run back to the house. To my home.