PINKIE

I have a desk! My own desk! And it has drawers! And office supplies! Woohoo! Pinkie Pie bounced around Ponyville Town Hall in celebration. “Hay! You know what this calls for?” she asked Mister Veterinary and Twilight.

“Sobriety,” said Mister Veterinary.

Pinkie realized that Mister Veterinary and Twilight were looking at her. Just like her Dad and her Mom and her sisters used to look at her. Can’t you be quiet, for just a moment, dear, and listen?

Pinkie set her model house down in a corner of her desk and did her best to look serious and attentive.

Mister Veterinary steepled his hooves. “Let me pose you both this question: why do we have government at all?” he asked Pinkie and Twilight.

“Oh, I know! Me! Me!” said Twilight, waving a hoof.

Mister Veterinary called on her.

“We have government to tell us what to do,” Twilight said proudly.

“No!” said Mister Veterinary. Twilight looked deflated. “Miss Pie? Your response?”

Pinkie was distracted by her model house. It needed more rooms. And floors. An atrium, open to the sky, for pegasi. A garden for earth ponies. And a greenhouse! She searched through her office supplies for a green marker. Success! Let’s say we put the garden out front, but put the greenhouse on the roof! Neat!

“Miss Pie,” asked Mister Veterinary, again. “Your response?”

Pinkie thought. She held up a binder clip and pretended to make it speak. “We hold things together,” she squeaked.

“Excellent!” said Mister Veterinary. “That is exactly the entire and only purpose of government in these enlightened times. We hold things together. We are a herd. None of us is alone, abandoned or forgotten. None of us are above the other. We are ponies, one and all.

“Perhaps you have heard the Song of the Law? If not, I will remind you:

“This is the Law of the Prairie, as old and true as the sky;

And she that shall keep it may prosper, but she that shall break it must die.

As the wind that calls in the grasslands, the Law shall speak the true Word:

The strength of the Herd is the Pony, and the strength of the Pony, the Herd.”

Hmmm, what about a library? wondered Pinkie, as she studied her house. She laughed. A library and a theatre and a gym and maybe a quiet place where ponies can just sit and think. Let’s do this!

Oh, I love this house!

“But that’s so confusing,” said Princess Twilight. “What if they disagree? Sometimes the Pony is right and sometimes the Herd is right. What should I do?”

“Lead,” said Mister Veterinary. “In ancient times, our tribes shared grass and water together, and fought as one against predators. This history is embedded in our marrow. We have survived as a species only because we care for each other.

“Consider the dragons. A quarrelsome bunch. Some are wise and noble; your Mister Spike, for example, who I hold in high regard. Most, I’m afraid, are selfish and inconsiderate. Look upon them! The most ancient of creatures, yet even after millennia, they only flock as birds do, because they do not have true community.”

Hobby rooms! thought Pinkie, as she considered her plans. How about a place where artists can get messy with paint and clay? Okay, add that. And a workshop, too! Big tables with saws and drills and bangy hammers! And a music room, for kids learning to play! Let’s expand the theatre for an orchestra!

And what about the kitchens? she laughed. Silly me, I forgot! A place for cooks, bakers, chefs and candy makers. And not only to prepare food, but to present it! Wow! Servers, waiters, maitre d’s and sommeliers. Everything about food is fun!

A fancy restaurant! And a smart cafe! And a cafeteria! The kids gotta eat somewhere, why not here?!

You know, thinking about it, I’m gonna need a school. And a hospital, too, I guess. Whoa! I’m gonna need some more 3x5 cards!

“Government,” said Fletcher, “is our admission that we are no longer beasts of the field. I have heard it said that civilization is defined by the degree to which we take our society for granted. We get up in the morning and expect our water to flow. The methane gas, so abundant in our pony society, is there to greet us as we light our ovens. Waste is collected. Food arrives, mail is delivered, coaches and trains meet their schedules.

“For the most part, this is invisible. We do not see the ponies that live to serve each other every day, as they don’t perceive each other. As with a well-tuned clock, we only apprehend the gears when they fail us.

“There must be give and take and this need to accommodate one another rankles everypony. None of us gets their way all of the time. But this is the price of civilization, of community, of being one of the great Herd of ponykind.

“Community is the gift we give to each other every day, through our work, our quiet effort and our secret smiles.”

Oh, and a living room! With a piano, no wait! Two pianos, big drums and a band of flugelhorns! And a huge fireplace, where we can all meet on Hearth’s Warming Eve, sing together and celebrate our lives. That would be really good!

“We hold things together, as Miss Pie has so succinctly stated. No one likes government, Princess Twilight. Do not be confused on that point. We would all prefer to do whatever we will. But the wise understand that we all graze in a common pasture: a society in which we share a commitment to each other. When we forget that, we become no more than lonely, frightened beasts.”

“So government’s like rock farming,” said Pinkie, absently. She had changed her mind: she put the greenhouse out back with the compost boxes, which only made sense, and for the roof she went with the comfortable, barn-like familiarity of a traditional gambrel.

“How so, Miss Pie?” asked Mister Veterinary.

Pinkie thought. “My Dad and me, we used to go out early in the morning, checking the cairns and the megaliths before dawn. The rocks need to line up just so, you see, otherwise the harvest will spoil. But sometimes, the rocks don’t lay right, and we have to shift them.

“And when that happened, Dad, he’d smile at me and ask, ‘Ready, big girl? Let’s put things right.’ Then I’d laugh and we’d both put on our harnesses, pull really hard and drag the rocks into place, so that the land would be happy again.

“Then we’d walk back to the house together. ‘We can do more when we pull together, Pinkamena, than we can alone,’ Dad would say. ‘Don’t forget.’

“I love my Dad,” said Pinkie, as she studied her model. “I want him to be proud of me. And, every day, I want to put things right.”

Mister Veterinary and Princess Twilight said nothing, but they both looked at Pinkie Pie with fondness and respect.

Okay, a swimming pool, picnic tables and a gazebo! Pinkie paused to examine her dream house. She studied her model and her hastily scribbled plans.

I adore this house! Pinkie Pie thought, quivering with joy.

She looked upon her creation with satisfaction. And I will name my dream house Ponyville.

***

TWILIGHT

Okay, I’m in charge. I’ve got this covered, she thought. Whew!

Twilight settled behind her desk, took a deep breath, patted her special 3x5 card and smiled, as Mister Filthy Rich entered her office.

“Madam Mayor,” he began. Then he stopped, chagrined. “I’m sorry. I appear to have come to the wrong office. Please forgive me.” Mister Rich started to back out.

“No, no!” said Twilight. “Please come in. I’m acting as Mayor today. It’s Shadow Day.” Twilight smiled and urged him towards a seat.

Mister Rich smiled, settled himself and chuckled. “You know, it was my father that first suggested Shadow Day. As wealthy as he became, he never forgot the land. When I was a colt, I remember on Shadow Day sweating beside him in the fields, harvesting the oats and barley alongside the fieldponies. I complained about this, of course, as children do. But at the end of the day, there was nothing better than sitting in the cool shade with the other fieldponies, sharing cold water and apples, hearing their stories, and laughing.

“No, forgive me, I’m wrong. There was one thing better: my Dad and I walking home together those late afternoons, along a dusty trail, both of us tired, sore and a little sorry for ourselves. And appreciative of our comfortable lives.

“I am proud of my Dad. And I believe he was proud of me.”

Princess Twilight smiled. “Mister Rich, thank you. You have touched my heart. How may I help you today?”

Mister Rich looked a bit sheepish. “I’m really here on behalf of my daughter, Diamond. Diamond Tiara. Do you know her?”

“I’ve seen her around Ponyville,” said Twilight. “I’m not acquainted with her personally, but she seems very… elegant, for someone so young.”

“Di takes after her mother,” said Mister Rich. “My dear wife, Bougainvillea, is from a plantation family. Old Canterlot money. Dad arranged our meeting and Boo and I hit it off right away. But as much as I love her, I admit Boo pampers Di a bit too much.

“So, Princess, excuse me, Madam Mayor,” Mister Rich said, glancing left and right, “may I ask you to join me in a conspiracy?”

“What sort of conspiracy?” asked Twilight, a little nervous. Is this what a Mayor does every day? she wondered.

“What’s the worst job in Ponyville?” Mister Rich asked, grinning.

***

DIAMOND

“You have got to be kidding me!” Diamond Tiara shouted, planting her pitchfork in the dark-green effluent of Ponyville. “Mom!”

Bougainvillea Rich, in her gardening tweeds and fancy straw hat, hissed at her daughter, “Hush, dear. Let the pony speak!”

“Than'kew, Miz Rich!” said Hayseed Turnip Truck, as he stood upon his mound of manure. “An’ may Ah say, first off, that you’ve got a fine way with a trowel.”

It outraged Diamond Tiara that her mother, her own mother! nodded and accepted this “compliment.”

Hayseed Turnip Truck gestured to the broad landscape that lay at the edge of Ponyville. “Whatcha got here is, well, th’ logical con-se-quences of a town full a’ ponies. Manure: warm, rich and sweet! Smell it!”

“No!” cried Diamond. She sniffed at it a little. Actually, it wasn’t as terrible as she thought. She had smelled it on others, now and then, she admitted to herself. But not on me! Never on me!

“Ah contend,” continued Hayseed Turnip Truck, “thet th’ basis of th’ Ponyville e-con-o-my is methane. Oh, yer compostin’ an’ yer fancy Hoofer Dam-thingus do okay. No question!

“But when you heat yer toast, whut’s there fer you? Methane! Yer hot bathwater? Methane! Thet warm wind in th’ darkest of winter? That ain’t yer husband! That’s methane! It's effluent thet makes us affluent, hehe!

“An’ it is here,” declared Hayseed Turnip Truck, sticking his pitchfork in the soil, “thet this mighty harvest is collected.

“Th’ river carries it all downstream. Ah suppose that’s why the river is so green, ha ha!”

Diamond glared at him.

“But, seriously,” said Hayseed. “Downstream from Ponyville is th’ rich, fertile valley that wanders from Ponyville to Appleloosa. Lookit th’ settlin’ ponds, there, there, there an’ there!”

The ponds were broad, green and, even from a distance, redolent. It disgusts me to part of this community, thought Diamond Tiara.

“They are magnificent!” declared Bougainvillea Rich, looking upon them.

“Mom!” cried Diamond Tiara.

“Hush, child, be still, and learn something,” said Mrs. Rich. She looked to Hayseed Turnip Truck. “Mister Truck,” she began.

“Aw, Ah’m just Hay t’ yew, Boo. Yew know thet,” said Hayseed Turnip Truck.

Mrs. Bougainvillea Rich and Mr. Hayseed Turnip Truck exchanged looks.

What? What? thought Diamond Tiara.

“Hay,” amended Bougainvillea Rich, “perhaps you should tell my daughter about the worms.”

Worms? thought Diamond Tiara, There are worms?! She danced over the ground, trying not to touch it.

“Well, young’un, lemme tell ya’, worms is about th’ best thing ever,” said Hayseed Turnip Truck. He picked up a trowel and dug up a clod of dirt. Embedded in the rich, brown earth were a dozen fat, wriggling earthworms.

I am totally going to be sick now, thought Diamond Tiara.

“Lookit th’ little guys,” said Hayseed Turnip Truck, fondly. “They work day an’ night t’ help th’ land. With their castings, they turn manure into th’ rich soil thet gives us food an’ flowers.”

“The flowers, yes!” said Bougainvillea Rich, enraptured.

“They dig these little tunnels in th’ ground,” said Hayseed Turnip Truck. “Water collects there, t’ help th’ plants. Earth, water an' worms. Thet’s how Equestria was made, Ah reckon. Such good little guys.”

Hayseed Turnip Truck replanted the clod of dirt, patting it affectionately.

He looked up. For an instant, a fire burned in his eye. “We’re all Earth Ponies. Sometimes, we ferget thet.”

“I will never forget, Hay,” said Bougainvillea Rich. “Every day, in my gardens, I am reminded of my connection to the land. Fil, my husband, thinks I worry about my flowerbeds too much. But I wonder, sometimes, if he thinks too little about them, and the land.”

Diamond Tiara stalked away, disgusted. All this talk about worms and manure just made her sick.

She plopped down and looked out across the “settling ponds.” Effluent flowed in; clarified water flowed out. Busy gangs of ponies collected material from the ponds for conversion to methane and rich fertilizer. Busy as bees.

Bees. Diamond Tiara startled. Diamond Tiara liked bees. They were so orderly and polite. She had spent many warm afternoons just watching the hives that Mom kept, far from the house, of course, watching the busy bees as they flew among Mom’s flowers and Dad’s fields, touching the flowers so tenderly. And they always bowed to each other and danced as they entered and exited the hives, as if their precious lives were an endless, joyful cute-ceañera.

And the bees made honey, Diamond Tiara’s favorite treat. Honey and butter. Honey and warm tea. Diamond Tiara and Mom, on a rainy morning, cuddling on the couch, sharing toasted muffins and honey.

All right then. For Mom. And for the bees. Diamond Tiara hefted her pitchfork and grimly set to work.