Untitled Short Pet Story #3


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                                                One evening, after pouring myself tea, the sound of small hooves trot into the kitchen. I lean over the counter and peer down at the small blue pony. She's looking around as though she's lost something– then finally her little sapphire eyes climb to meet mine, and her tail starts swishing back and forth. "Hi sweetheart." She replies with little excited nickers. "Go get your brush." She vanishes back into the living room as fast as her little hooves can take her, and I follow suit, albeit at a much more leisurely pace, so not to spill my freshly poured chamomile. I lay back in my reading chair and set down my tea on the side table. A few seconds later, my little pony is propping herself against my legs with her brush in mouth. The look on her face is so adorable, full of joyful anticipation of something so small, I'd leave her there if it weren't so cruel– I of course pick her up and place her in my lap. She yields the brush to me as soon as I grasp it, "good girl." Her pastel blue mane is already very well groomed– perhaps I spoil her, but the brushing is therapeutic to us both. I can't speak to her experience, but I know it makes her so very happy, and being able to do that for her washes away my feelings of powerlessness. The thought that 'nothing I do matters' is hard to believe when the smallest things I do matter so much to another precious life. If I can single handily bring joy to her life while sipping tea, then I can definitely affect positive change in this world when I fully apply myself. She reminds me of that every day.

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                                                Master's brushies, I love Master's brushies. I'm so lucky to be adopted by such a gentle and affectionate woman, she always makes time for me– I used to feel like I wasn't worth anyone's time, like I wasn't worth anything at all. But Master makes me feel cherished, like my life isn't pointless, like it was back then; all that seems so confusing now, even though I don't remember it being that much clearer at the time. It was a big, cold, confusing, lonely, never ending cycle of a life. But in the end, it wasn't entirely pointless– if I never lived that life, it would be very easy to take this one for granted, that was the point of it. Now every stroke of the brush through my tail is a moment to live in, and savour; all the little knots coming undone, every bad memory and uneasy thought straightened out and swept away. It's heavenly. Eventually, the brushing slows to a stop, and Master picks up her book. I feel so thoroughly groomed, and comfortable. I can't help but fall asleep in her warm lap, lulled by her familiar and calm breathing.

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                                                'I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple trees.' reads the final line of my book. A beloved classic that I close and return to the side table. I glance at the clock. It's still an hour before bedtime, but I really should rest earlier than usual; I've got a working bee planned tomorrow. But how I hate to wake my little pony. Perhaps I'll move slowly enough as not to wake her. I do my best to support her with my arms, and she stirs a little, but I eventually succeed in gently depositing her in her basket. I kiss her little furry forehead, and wish her the sweetest of dreams.