April, 21st
Today I've made a very interesting acquaintance – an eagle-owl, who hooted loudly above my head, when me was trying to copy the title from the monument of royally looking equine to try and solve the riddle that the local language was for me. The sound made me nearly jump, and I've barely kept my mouth shut, bolting my head to and fro, trying to locate the source of an interested 'hoo?'. Was it an illusion or not – I'd rather not judge just yet, rather listen. An owl cocked its head to the side, staring at me with his unblinking sight, and I tried to hoot back.
From the look on his 'face' – if owls could mimic things – I'd rather read much, and the softest definition would've been 'moron'. However, my neighbor skipped a couple of branches down, still looking at me.
'So?', I inquired, 'Sorry, lad, got nothing to treat you with.'
He just sat silently, turning his head all the way backwards – in that swivel-like fashion only owls can do – he must've considered that I was more that enough a waste of his precious attention. Feathered bum.
Finished with whatever copying I was doing, I've put the journal back and took off, moving in short spurts and keeping head low, in case someone (or something, relating to animals) could be watching me. Last thing I've ever wanted was the fuss about me being found, and from what I've seen I've suspected that these species must have a kind of a legal system; if so, for wrongdoers some kind of penitentiary system should be provided, and the last thing I've wanted is to pass time in the prison cell. Or worse – in the zoo pen.
The sun was still high in the sky, and I've amused my own cheekiness – almost in the open, for everyone to see, rolling around in a home-like style. Well, almost homelike – back home I'd walk. Plain and proud. Here I have to crawl on all fours.
Oh, well, all is for science.
Comforting myself this way, I've made my way towards whatever side I've still haven't been at – to the brim of the forest I've been initially hiding at, hoping to find something to eat, because my stock of glucose tablets was running low, and I haven't had starving on the agenda.
What a luck! - I've ran across the dense bushes, a good yard taller than me standing! What a bountiful feeling – when you don't have to scrape the land with your belly, writhing like a worm after the rain. Oh, bliss.
Making my way through the mini-grove, I've noticed a rooftop dead ahead. A house? What a hermit lives here and why? I felt compelled to go and see – and the grumble of my stomach just pushed me forward, in a weak hope to find something that can be snatched and eaten. The vegetarian diet never appealed much to me, but... better than nothing, right?
With those simple thoughts, pushed by the most primitive instincts, I've jumped over the low fence, which was more a protection from the air, than from the intruders, I've ran into the vegetable garden. The diversity of fruits of the mother-Earth made my guts coo sweetly, so I wasn't wasting much time and raided the neatly tended beds. Chomping down the ripe carrot, I've been plucking her sisters out one by one, stuffing my pockets with the spare ones. This should keep me rolling for a couple of days, then... Ooh, cabbages!
Quickly dropping off the shirt, I've improvised a sack of it, filling it with a plenty of veggies, driven by the axiom of 'five go to the sack – three fill the guts', feasting in process.
I've been so carried away with this small hunger-fueled theft, that everything else just slipped all the way past my mind, concentrated on squatting down on the rows and destroying the juicy foods.
So, when I've finally felt full enough to notice something else rather than just the neat garden-beds in front of me and the groceries, I've felt something warm, fuzzy and feathered, nested neatly on my head. All that actually would've been nice – except for the claws, that the intruder used to literally anchor himself to my cranium, while I was frantically stuffing my long-hungry stomach. Feeling what was up there, I've been greeted with a familiar 'hoo' – and a playful pinch!
But worse was yet to come – pouting from such frivolous behavior from the bird I barely know, I've gathered my trophies and was about to leave proudly already – just like that, tall, proud and with a big warm owl-hat – when the growl behind me made me freeze.
A large, freaking giant grizzly bear, that seemed to stroll out of the forest and was picking berries from the raspberry bush, felt me. He stared point-blank at me with his beady eyes, as if assuming if I was edible or not. Despite feeling that my guts are going to tie into a slipknot in fear, I couldn't suppress the dumb giggle – the damply glistening button of the bear nose looked so comic to me.
Another growl – low and just-not-yet-threatening – came as a warning and as the last polite request to get the hell out of there, and I've just used an opportunity. In a crustacean maneuver – rear-first – I slowly began to inch back, eyes to eyes with the bear. What was worse – my neighbor bird decided, that the head is not the best place to perch, so he just strolled easily down to the shoulders!
What a bum, I thought, dashing through the dense forest, hugging close the precious sack.
April?, ?th
How long was I here, in this twisted world of pastel-colored horsies?
What I've considered my sense of time proved to be just a traitor – it just waved a hand at me and left me somewhere.
I still lived down in the basement of the tree house, – which proved to be some kind of a library – dwelling in the dusk, spending my time sleeping mostly – and occasionally writing down to this journal, when I feel like it.
I've seen that owl again – and not once. He seems to be stalking me – watching my every step and predicting them even – always greeting them with always the same sarcastic 'hoo?'. Blast that bird. I've even given him the name – Morgan. Hell of a name, I know, but that's just what slipped into my mind.
Another good thing is that I've found another source of food.
That's quite a story to be told.
One night – exactly, it was dusk, when the Sun's down already, and the Moon is not that high up – the best time for creepers like me, time, when no one can trust their eyes – I've been making my way to wherever I wish – just to get some air. I've known Ponyville fairly well already, so this could've counted as an evening promenade.
So, diving around into the bushes already almost full height, I've followed a sandy path to the farmland – outside the town, where nothing was seen – and by that I mean 'no ponies', to be precise – till in front of my appeared a white fence of what looked like a full-fledged farm – cattle barns, barns themselves, roosts, all like that – and the odor of it all hit me hard – the smell of straw and cattle, oh-so-familiar.
With a snake-like snicker, I've slithered through the fence and tiptoed to the closest barn. Nothing – just an old cart, and a couple of cartwheels, complete with haystacks – meh. Boring – and nothing to eat.
Next stop – bingo. The cow shed. Sneaking inside and closing the door carefully behind me, I've cautiously approached the closest, recalling everything I was taught long ago on how to milk cows.
And, with a bucket and a piece of gauze in hands, treading lightly to the udder, happened a thing that just made me think if I was nuts – the cow spoke to me!
In fact, she spoke the same blubber ponies did, but the whole tone of her inquiry was understandable – she wanted to know what the hell have I forgot here in the middle of the night.
'Me...' - I tried to explain, but a brilliant idea hit my mind. Instead of just speaking, I'll complete my words with gestures! How about a shot...
'Me...' - prodded a finger to the chest - '...so hungry...' - showing to my open mouth first, then to my grumbling stomach, I've made a sad grimace to indicate how so hungry I was.
Silence.
Then the cow smiled at me – was that an illusion or an actual smile, I don't know. So much different stupidities already happened that I wasn't sure about anything – and waved her head backwards.
'May I?..' - I pointed out, seeing nod as a reply.
Still a bit hesitant, I've squatted near the rear legs of the cow, putting the bucket under the teats. First jets of warm, sweet-smelling milk sprinkled through the gauze, sending another wave of hungry spasms through my guts. The angry hungry gurgles intensified, and I felt my mouth filling with saliva momentarily.
The first idea was to drop the bucket and suck right onto the teat, as a calf would do – but reminding myself of human dignity and all that, I've ignored the plausible method of quick and sound sating, keeping up with the chosen method.
Soon, however, after a dozen more tugs – the milk splashed in the bucket, barely covering its bottom – I've felt a soft prod against the shoulder. I turned around to see another cow, gently prodding me towards the udder, as if they've really seen me as a hungry calf! Well, I thought with a bitter irony, I'm just right the size of an average calf.
After a momentarily hesitance I've stood up, cracked my neck and, in two gulps downing what milk was in the bucket already, licked my lips.
Something just clicked in my head – perhaps the taste of fresh milk had gotten somewhere deep, to the already atavistic primal instincts, basing in the subcortex - I've dropped to the floor, crawling under the cow, and sucked right on fiercely.
Oh, the bliss.
Once I was full and let go off the already almost empty udder, I've stood up – with much effort, to be honest, since it's hard to get back to normal after such a hypnotizing pastime, with a stomach full of sweet, warm, savory fluid – and tried to express my gratitude verbally.
However, my honest efforts failed – I've just stumbled forwards and hugged my literal 'alma-mater'.
This night I've slept just grand – like a baby.