//------------------------------// // Part 1. Introduction and Initial Infatuation // Story: Mating Customs of Species Equus parvus // by D G D Davidson //------------------------------// Mating Customs of Species Equus parvus by Dr. D. G. D. Davidson, PhD. Revised by Lyra Heartstrings OCCASIONAL PAPERS OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES Contributions to Ethnology No. 124 The present manuscript arrived in the mail with the following letter attached. The Royal Academy grieves the loss of one of its most prestigious and prolific members, and we are grateful to his equine assistant for making available the notes for his final, but sadly incomplete, study. We have chosen to publish the manuscript exactly as we received it. —Ed. Dear Royal Academy, Hello. Some of you probably know from his other essays that I was Dr. Davidson’s friend and helper for a little over three years. After everything that happened, I lost track of him. I searched for almost a month, and then some ponies told me they’d seen him heading toward the coast, so I went to Horseshoe Bay, and that’s where I learned about the ship, and about how he went overboard. He had been staying with an elderly couple there, and they still had his clothes, supplies, and notes. He always asked me to read over anything before he mailed it to you, so I’ve done the same thing again, and I put everything in the right order, the way I remember it happening. I know it isn’t what he would have wanted—there’s a lot of him in there. He didn’t want his papers to read like that when he was ready to publish them. But I just couldn’t change it. I couldn’t change much of anything he wrote, not this time. I’m sorry. Sincerely, Lyra Heartstrings, Equus parvus unicornis Ponyville, May 6, AP 1542 (1767 CE) Introduction I have now spent almost three and a half years in the Kingdom of Equestria with members of the species Equus parvus, commonly known as Little Ponies, or sometimes even as My Little Ponies, the possessive being, in the local dialect, a term of endearment. My previous monographs, for which I was awarded in absentia the distinguished Faroe Chair of Hippology at Madeleine College, have covered the Little Ponies’ social structure (Davidson 1764a), their interpersonal relationships (Davidson 1765), their means of conflict resolution (Davidson 1766a), and their ritual behaviors (Davidson 1766b). Having thus given such an overview of equine culture, I believe it is time to develop a narrower focus and turn to a study of the ponies’ reproductive habits. This particular subject caught my interest recently while I was in a Ponyville café with my assistant and primary informant, a young unicorn by the name of Miss Lyra Heartstrings. We were reviewing our notes in the company of several ponies as well as a few members of other races when a singular incident occurred. The Little Ponies, as the reader may be aware, are widely renowned both for their comeliness and for their gregarious personalities, so it is no surprise that members of my own species (H. sapiens), a race notorious for its outré exogamous tendencies, occasionally become enamored of them. While Miss Heartstrings was checking my writings for accuracy, a young human male at a nearby table suddenly dropped to one knee and loudly proclaimed his love for a mare in his company. Needless to say, the mare laughed him to scorn, and the unlucky fellow instantly became an object of ridicule for all and sundry in the café. In the face of such derision, he within minutes fled for the door with an arm drawn across his eyes. This gave me cause to reflect. Numerous informants have told me in passing of other such incidents between humans and ponies, all of which have ended in similar fashion. As far as I can discern, the ponies bear these would-be suitors no ill will; they merely find their advances ludicrous. The reader, at least if the reader is human, must remember that the ponies, like most races, developed alongside other sapient species. On the other hand, the human race, having developed in isolation in the intermontane valleys that make up our homeland, and having only recently discovered what we fondly call the Wider World, is unique. Members of our race are naturally attracted to the exotic: previously, our appetite for the unusual helped to keep our race robust by leading to gene flow between our various civilized pockets, thus reducing inbreeding. But now that we have moved beyond our home, our instincts work against us: on account of our fruitless attempts to woo griffons, minotaurs, sylphs, and other creatures of all sorts, we have become the world’s laughingstocks. After the ruckus in the café died down and the ponies returned to their meals, I folded up my notes and told Miss Heartstrings of my intention to change the direction of my researches. I wanted to know, I said, the precise nature of the ponies’ views on amore. She proved reluctant to discuss this particular subject herself, but agreed to help me secure other informants. Initial Infatuation As I have briefly described elsewhere (Davidson 1764b:74-76), the Little Ponies, unlike most members of the genus Equus, are strictly monogamous, and they solemnize their pair-bonding with an elaborate marriage ritual. Although this puts them at variance with Arabians (Equus ferus caballus), Zebras (Equus quagga), and Przewalskians (Equus ferus przewalskii), it is by no means peculiar amongst the world’s cultures. What is peculiar, however, is the disorganization and rapidity of the ponies’ courtships; indeed, a young man such as the one I encountered in the café might consider himself fortunate if he knew what ordeal awaited him were his affections reciprocated. Numerous interviews and personal observations confirm that equine courtships are exceedingly brief, sometimes lasting no more than a week. Perhaps on account of their famously warm personalities, the ponies are given to powerful infatuations, which can overtake them suddenly and without warning (Fig. 1). Typically, the infatuation overwhelms the pony upon primary visual observation of the object of his affections, producing profound sensations of desire and what my informants consistently call a “warm fuzzy feeling.” During the onset of infatuation, speech and fine motor functions may be temporarily inhibited. Fig. 1: Physiological indications of equine infatuation. Because the onset of infatuation is ordinarily considered a prerequisite of courtship, and because ponies, as social animals, place a heavy emphasis on interpersonal relationships generally, ponies have a bewildering number of public gatherings, celebrations, and, most especially, dances designed to give stallions and mares an opportunity to meet (Fig. 2). Ponies consider it typical to court even in early adolescence, and thus their academies (which I will describe at length in a future monograph on Equestrian education) have numerous dances oriented toward couples. Sometimes, academies host dances as frequently as once a month. Fig. 2: Typical equine social dancing. One of my informants, a moderately famous freelance writer introduced to me by Miss Heartstrings, related to me his experience of infatuation, which occurred on the occasion of his visiting a Ponyville farm. Said he, Everything slowed down. This one pony, a simple mare covered in sweat and stained with earth, became everything, became the world. Here was the essence of earth, the heart of the rustic country lifestyle for which even the most cultured ponies secretly yearn. Right before me, she held up an apple, bit into it, and slowly wiped its juice from her mouth, and in that moment, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Since this particular informant is decidedly urbane in his habits and has no reason to find a farm mare attractive, I can only assume equine infatuation is semi-random. Thus we find that the phenomenon of “love at first sight,” the existence of which many humans consider to be in doubt, is regarded amongst ponies as the norm. I should pause here to note that the three confirmed subspecies of Little Pony (the taxonomic position of the crystal ponies still being a subject of debate) intermingle freely. My informant in this case was a unicorn (Equus parvus unicornis), and the object of his desire was an earth pony (Equus parvus fortis). Numerous observations indicate that the offspring of such intermixing present the physiological traits of one pony type only, a peculiarity suggesting that the classification of these three pony “breeds” or “tribes” as separate subspecies may be, in spite of their obvious anatomical distinctions, premature. Unfortunately, my facilities are limited, so I am unable to make any precise scientific tests, but future researchers should consider focusing their studies on the exact role of pheromones in equine courtship. The pony’s sense of smell and his Jacobsen’s organ are more developed than a human’s, and thus it is possible that chemicals play a significant part in inducing the overwhelming sensations my informants consistently depict. However, all informants describe sight as the primary inducement of infatuation, and few mention scent at all, so the importance of pheromones remains for the time being a conjecture. At the very least, I am able to confirm that ponies can be afflicted with infatuation even when out of their mating season, which indicates that infatuation does not occur because, or only because, a mare is in heat. One of my informants, a local fashion designer and unicorn pony, described for me her infatuation with a moderately famous freelance writer. Miss Heartstrings told her of my study and, after some persuading, she agreed to have me for afternoon tea in her boutique. After I knocked on her door, she ushered me in, put up a “closed” sign in a window, and fussed for a few minutes as she found me a seat on a divan in her small parlor. Once she had poured me a cup of Earl Grey, she flung herself on a velvet chaise longue and sipped from a china cup, which she held in a levitation spell. She made preliminary remarks about the relative physical beauty of various stallions in Ponyville. I replied noncommittally and eventually steered her toward the subject of her personal experiences. She released a deep sigh and lowered her teacup to her saucer. “Oh, darling,” she said, “he was simply divine, but I’m afraid it just wasn’t meant to be.” She leapt from her seat and pulled aside a curtain to reveal what I can only describe as a type of shrine, in which she had preserved several images of her beloved along with a lock of hair and what appeared to be a vial of urine, which of course would contain his pheromones (Fig. 3). I remain unclear as to how she obtained these items. Fig. 3: An equine “love shrine.” Uncertain how to respond to this display, I took another sip of my tea and said, “I take it you were in love with him?” “Love? Love? Oh, darling, love hardly begins to describe it. Why, he was simply perfect! Simply amazing!” She sighed again. “But he liked Applejack, not me, and things just didn’t work out for any of us. I suppose it’s time I took this down . . . but I’d like to wait a little longer.” “I’m sure it must be difficult—” “I suppose I’ll go see Lovestruck soon, and then I can throw all this out.” She frowned. “You have spoken to Lovestruck, haven’t you?” I admitted I hadn’t. “Darling, that simply won’t do. She’s the expert, after all.” “You say you are going to see her. What for, exactly?” “Why, to get over him, of course,” she answered as she inclined her head back toward the shrine. Thinking this informant might be a deviant, I made some enquiries, but other ponies told me that, though they considered the construction of a shrine to be an unusual activity, they did not find it to be beyond the pale or in any way alarming. That is to say, the ponies consider it acceptable to go to extreme lengths in the name of love, even to the point of indulging behaviors that other races usually consider obsessive. I must note, however, that after my conversation with the fashion designer, I encountered a most peculiar group of human beings with a similar habit of creating shrines. On a Sunday afternoon, Miss Heartstrings and I were dining at a restaurant we often frequented when a young man approached, sat on the hay pile between us, leaned my way, and said, “I know about your research.” I lowered my fork, patted my lips with my napkin, and said, “You’ve read my work? I’m flattered, but I didn’t think the journal circulated this far from the Academy.” He looked confused. “Come to my place tonight at seven, the little hut at the end of Edge Row.” He glanced at Miss Heartstrings before adding, “Come alone.” Then he jumped up and, glancing left and right, shuffled away. Miss Heartstrings urged me not to go, but I assured her of my safety. If this fellow had any information related to my studies, I was determined to procure it. Unsure what I would encounter, and carrying in my pocket a penknife (the closest thing to a weapon I had to hand) in case I should meet with unpleasantries, I made my way to the modest cottage at the location indicated and thumped on the door. The same man I’d met at dinner opened and ushered me inside. The interior was cramped, lit only with dimly flickering candles and smelling of old hay that hadn’t been swept out in ages. Around the room on various makeshift seats were seven young men, all in their twenties or thereabouts. My host pressed a mug of sweet cider—a popular local drink—into my hands, and then he and his companions introduced themselves. They told me they had survived in Equestria for several years by taking odd jobs, by exhibiting themselves at circuses, and by living on pony hospitality. They referred to themselves as the “Brotherhood of Mare Lovers.” Each of these fellows was in love with some pony or other, and each, reverently and slowly, told me the name of the mare he fancied. Aware that their affections would meet a rebuff if ever they were to voice them, they kept their loves secret and contented themselves with collecting images and paraphernalia of the objects of their desires. Of course, even hopeless love aches to be announced, so they had invited me here to commiserate with them and perhaps, as one of them told me, to “spare a footnote in your book for the likes of us.” I sat with them for over an hour as they showed me their photographs, most of which, judging from the poor lighting and odd angles, had been taken covertly. The pictures, of course, were all of ponies—ponies shopping, ponies eating, ponies laughing with friends, ponies going about their daily business. As the evening drew on, the man who had invited me pulled a vial from his coat pocket and said that it contained his beloved’s hoof trimmings. This vial, he told us, never left his person either day or night. At this, the other men sighed deeply. Across from me sat a short, stocky fellow who grunted and rubbed a hand through his sandy hair. “What I don’t get,” he said, “is why there ain’t a one of us who’s met with success. Most ponies don’t go for two-legged apes. I get that. But isn’t there even one of them, somewhere, who will give a man a chance?” I drank deeply from my mug of cider, cleared my throat, and said, “The ponies do not appear to share the human appetite for sexual novelty.” He made an inarticulate sound of exasperation. “Is that what you think this is about?” “I assumed so, yes.” He gestured to the others. “After the pictures, the bad poetry, even the hoof clippings, that’s still what you think?” Nervous, I took another drink. “Sublimation,” I said. “That’s all just sublimation. Humans are biologically adapted to—” Another of the men, one perched in a windowsill, snorted. “He’s one of those university boys.” He pointed a finger at me. “The problem with you is, you think of everything in biological terms.” I lowered my mug. “What other terms are there?” He shook his head. “And you claim to study culture? If you can’t even understand human beings, pal, you’re never going to understand ponies.” At last, I donned my coat and hat and excused myself. After they showed me to the door, I took one last look back at these men. They were young, but—perhaps because the deep shadows of the candlelit room exaggerated their features—they appeared pinched, drawn, and haggard. There was something distinctly flaccid and unwholesome in their pale faces, though the clear air and warm clime of Equestria ought to have been conducive to their vigor. I found myself in a brown study as I left their company and marched up the dusty roads of Ponyville back to the modest apartment I shared with Miss Heartstrings. Humans, it seems, are willing to expend their youth on illogical and hopeless dreams. It is no wonder the inhabitants of the Wider World consider us a pack of fools.