I strolled out into the field of Sweet Apple Acres, atop the tallest hill on our property. Winona followed, limping slowly. It seemed like hours before she had climbed halfway up the hill. Then she stopped, laying down on the soft grass to pant. I kneeled down, patting the soil softly, whistling to Winona. She stood up, her tail wagging, and she began to stroll towards me. The sun was setting behind her, and as it neared the horizon I was blinded, not by the illuminated orb, but by a vision of Winona's younger self. Her bright brown and white fur, the youthful spark in her eye, and even her restored vigor flooded my vision. I had lost track of time, dreaming of days past, until I noticed the growing trail of drool down my leg.
I looked down; Winona was licking my leg. I ruffled her fur with my hoof, and she wagged her tail in return. Good girl. I set down the basket I had carried, and laid out a picnic of chocolate and kielbasa and apples. She focused on the pile of forbidden food, so close, yet she didn't bother. Good girl.
Staring at her, I know she had gotten old, like we all had over the past fifteen years. Her teeth had become a rotten brown; she had lost a lot of them. She never chewed on toys like she used to, only eating mushy dog food. Her eyes had become dark, dilated and somber. Her mouth wore a permanent grimace, and her nose never curiously smelt anything anymore. The pancreatic cancer had taken its toll; she had thinned out so much in so little time. But no matter what happened, or how many years had passed, she was still the same dog I loved.
I gave Winona a slight push towards the pile of food. She did nothing. I told her excitedly to eat. She did nothing. I even picked up a strip of chocolate and placed it before her nose. She still did nothing. Winona just stood there, panting softly and staring into the distance. For a moment, she looked up into my face and started to wag her tail. In that fleeting moment, it was like everything was back to normal: Winona was healthy and strong, vibrant and youthful. I looked down at her and smiled. A slight breeze ruffled my hair.
A single tear of regret fell out of my eye, sliding its way down my cheek and into the cold embrace of the earth.
I saw her eyes had brightened again, her dirty fur blew in the breeze and for a few seconds, we just stared at each other. It seemed like the first day we met:
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Big Mac threw the football as far as he could. It pierced the wind, and created a small shadow that glided across the fields of Sweet Apple Acres. I galloped as fast as my hooves would take me, even managing to catch the ball in the process. I breathed heavily, the exertion taking its toll. But above all, I was smiling; it had been a long time since I played with Big Mac like this.
Suddenly, the clock chimed its same old chime. I had hoped today it would somehow be slower, but it was built to last, just like everything else on the farm.
He walked up to me, his helmet by his side. "Sorry sis, ah have to finish buckin' the Northern field before the first frost of the season."
I turned on the spot and walked off. I was tired, not from the game, but from hearing the same excuse day after day after day. "You always have to work."
I didn't turn back.
***
The next morning I awoke early. Idly glancing around the room, my eyes groggily came to rest at the foot of my bed. There sat a simple box, with holes. It was wrapped in bright red paper, and laced with yellow ribbon. Adding to the peculiarity was a small tag. I didn't bother reading it. Big Mac's hoofwriting was instantly recognizable. I threw back the covers and dragged my still-sleepy flank across the creaky floorboards towards the box. It rustled, the crinkling paper creating the same racket that awoke me.
I reached for the package, carefully peeling off both ribbon and wrapping. A plain brown box stood before me, and later, not even that. To my surprise, all that remained was a pair of adorable little eyes, a racing heart, and brown and white fur.
It was a puppy.
We stared at each other for an eternity, before she jumped up and licked my face. I wrapped her in my hooves, nuzzling the dog against my cheek.
Big Mac had given me a friend, one that I would cherish till the end.
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She was a good dog. She was there for me when I needed her the most.
Nay, she still is my good dog.
Now it was time for me to return the favor.
I stood up. Winona rose with me. I told her to lie down. She readily followed my last command. Good girl. I trudged off, sinking directly behind Winona, with my back to her. I heard the grass rustle, and wet slopping. I turned and saw her digging her teeth into the forbidden pile. She deserved it. It was her last day after all.
Only the topmost ridges were in the sun now. The shadow in the valley was blue and soft. The little evening breeze blew over the clearing and the leaves rustled and the wind waves flowed up the apple trees. I removed my hat dutifully and laid it on the ground behind me. The shadow in the valley was bluer, and the evening came fast.
I reached in the basket and brought out the pistol; I snapped off the safety. I looked at the back of Winona's head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined. I raised the gun and steadied it and leveled it with the scruff of Winona’s neck. My hoof shook violently, but I was set in my mission.
Goodbye, Winona.
I pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again. Winona jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the soil. She lay without quivering.
I shivered and looked at the gun, and then threw it from me in equal parts contempt and disgust. It slid to the base of the hill, settling near the rows of apple trees. I sat stiffly on the hill and looked at my right hoof that had thrown the gun away. It shook violently. My left hoof held it steady, which left nothing to stem the flow of tears from my eyes.
I never cried so hard in my life.
Dear Celestia, what had I done?!