The day had gone badly. Most days did, but not all. Usually just the ones that required the colt to enter any town where there were ponies who were not completely blind- -and that, of course, was a situation that he had not yet discovered. With his luck, though, they would have smelled the OP wafting off his tiny black-and-red form and ejected him heartily from their company.
It was about four in the afternoon, and the sky had become gray. Cold drizzle was dripping down from the clouds above, and the colt had been forced to take shelter in a small shrub. It was a nice shrub, at least as shrubs went. There were no thorns, but the leaves tended to concentrate the rain into big drops that would occasionally slide off and then down the colt’s back, causing him to shiver and quake even harder than he already was doing from the sudden cold.
He had wanted to return to the alley that he had started at, but that had proven impossible. A local drunk had claimed it, and the colt was too afraid to confront her and ask her to share a spare trashcan. This had left him with little recourse except to retire to a bush.
Despite the cold and wet, the colt resolved that this was where he would have to spend the night. He had become very tired and hungry, and did not have the energy to retreat back to the dangerous swamps of the forest that he had passed through previously. At least in the shrubbery, no pony could see him.
Or so he thought. As he sat, shivering, a set of large flat teeth suddenly bit into the shrub just inches from his face.
“EEEK!” he screamed, retreating to the far side of the bush. “Don’t eat me! I taste BAD! Not food, am too young to be snack!!”
“Huh- -what in the name of Celestia’s false teeth- -” A hoof separated the hedge and a pair of angry eyes stared in. “What- -what the heck are you doing in there? Get out!”
The colt did not want to, but the shrub gave him no choice: he had placed all of his weight on a small branch, and it gave way, causing him to tumble outward and into the wet ground.
“Why is everything here WET?” he cried in desperation.
“It’s because this darn town hates ponies with rheumatism,” grumbled the other pony. The colt looked up at him but almost instantly realized that he was not a pony at all. He looked much like one, save for the fact that he was brown instead of colorful and that his ears were far longer and hung down the sides of his head. The clearest identifying mark- -or lack of one- -was that he possessed no cutie mark, despite his rather advanced age. It was clear to the colt that he had come face-to-face with a donkey.
“What in the wide world of Equestria were you doing in there?” demanded the donkey, angrily. “You’re contaminating my lunch!”
The colt looked at the bush. “I…I don’t think you’re supposed to eat those…”
The donkey harrumphed. “Well, they wouldn’t have planted it if I wasn’t allowed to eat it, would they?” He took another bite of the plant. “I have to get my fiber every hour, on the hour,” he said through a mouthful of leaves. “And how am I supposed to do that when hooligans are hiding in there?
“I don’t…I don’t know…”
The donkey adjusted his hat. “Exactly. You don’t know. None of you kids these days know anything. Especially you ponies. Always running around doing weird stuff. Can’t anyone just sit and be quiet anymore?” He shook his hoof at a nearby hedge. “Not trying to get me a gosh-darn cutie mark! I’m a donkey, I don’t need one!”
Strangely, the shrub seemed to quiver in response, or perhaps in fear of being devoured like its unfortunate comrade. The colt was highly confused.
“You…you think I’m a pony?”
“Well you’re not a donkey. I don’t know, maybe a zebra? Heck if I know. Heck if I CARE.” He looked at the shrub. “What were you even doing in there? Apart from being some sort of deviant.”
“I was going to sleep there.”
“Sleep in a tree? Like some kind of fruit? Do you think you’re a blueberry, kid? Because you’re not.”
“I…know?” The colt was extremely confused. “But I don’t have anywhere else to go!” He looked at the shrub, and saw that its canopy had been eaten. It was no longer good at all against the rain. “But I guess it’s okay. It is you’re shrubbery, after all- -”
“Luna darn your socks, you’re a total pushover, aren’t you?”
“Pushover?”
“What are you now, some kind of parrot? I know what I just said. I said it. I’m not deaf and I’m not so old that I forget things. I’m also not deaf. Quit being a pushover, though. Nopony likes a pushover. You have to have conviction.”
“Then…give me back my bush?”
“No.”
“Oh…okay.”
The donkey muttered something under his breath, but seemed to ignore the colt as he quickly defoliated the shrub, leaving nothing but its skeletal remains and a few small shoots. The colt felt very sorry for it, but was in a way glad that he had not been defoliated along with it.
When he was done, the donkey once again adjusted his cap and then hitched himself to the car that he had been pulling, and started to walk away.
“Have- -have a nice day!” said the colt, climbing into what was left of the bush. He had become soaked, now, and was starting to shiver uncontrollably.
The donkey passed several more steps, and then stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”
“Coming?” said the colt. “Coming where?”
“I can’t leave a little kid out here in the rain,” grumbled the donkey. “I’d feel terrible, and I already sleep bad because of my bad back and my acid reflux. All that darn sugar in this town…”
“But- -but you’re angry at me!”
“I’m angry at everypony. You’re not special, kid. Don’t get entitled on me.”
“But you don’t think I’m ugly?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’ve seen worse. Trust me. I have a sister named Kankles Donkey, and her name is about as accurate as mine.”
“Yours?”
“Cranky. My name is Cranky Donkey. Now stop talking, your weird squeakly voice and terrible colors are giving me a headache. Seriously, do all you ponies need to look like someone got keelhauled in a paint vat? I’m surprised I haven’t gone colorblind yet.”
“You’re name is accurate, is not it?”
“You’re darn tootin, kid. You’re gosh darn tootin.”