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// 3. Pepper, Lady Hound, Scout 
// Story: The Dogs Who Came to Beg 
// by TinCan 
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They saw us coming, of course. Even a pony couldn’t miss a pack of thirty-some dogs marching right up the little dirt road into town. Probably one of the flying ones spotted the dust cloud the moment we walked out of that Alphas-forsaken forest.

So, since they had forewarning, we arrived in ‘Ponyville’ (which ought to tell you something about their vaunted creativity) to find the little houses locked up, the skies deserted and the streets empty save for a hastily-thrown-together barricade blocking the main road through town. A few bolder pastel-colored heads peeked out of shuttered windows or over the top of the pile to gawk at us as Boomer called the party to a halt.

We should have predicted something like this. You can’t expect ponies to know what it means when Diamond Dogs enter a place horizontally.

But it should be obvious to anyone! If we were coming to drag some ponies off to the mines (and we don’t; horse thievery’s been illegal for decades! But do they let it drop?), why would we stomp in topside instead of burrowing up into houses or something to take them by surprise? For that matter, how would a bunch of junk in the road stop us?

I guess they can’t help it, though. The Alphas took the wolf out of the dog, but ponies still have a lot of primitive instincts rolling around in their little minds. Inside each chubby, loud-colored body beats the heart of those tiny three-toed things we sometimes find in the deep fossil forests. They see something strange, like a pack loping into town, and they spook. It’s only natural.

Anyway, Boomer was prepared for this. It would be a bit unsettling how much that dog knows about ponies, but we needed him too much to make an issue of it.

He made the guards put down their spears, like he taught them, and pulled this square of white cloth from a vest pocket, held it up, and started walking, alone, toward the barricade. He said something to them too, but I was too busy keeping watch on the surroundings to listen.

Now, while this is happening, I noticed the sky start to darken. It wasn’t any natural weather; nothing’s natural in pony lands. I looked up and saw lots of miniature clouds, tiny puffs of vapor that were somehow thick and dark as thunderheads, being pushed into position right above our heads by a dozen of the flying ponies.

So I was thinking, this isn’t how I expected it to end, not lightning-blasted by a bunch of spooked ponies while I stand out here in the open like a fool.

I kept right where I was, of course. To have my last act as a Diamond Dog, and a hound at that, be disobedience? Unthinkable! Maybe I whimpered a little, but I’m only canine.

Boomer started talking louder and waving the cloth around like some sort of talisman, but it didn’t seem to be having any impact. Then, all of a sudden, this booming-yet-childlike voice says “Stop, stop! They don’t mean us any harm! Don’t hurt them!”

So I looked in the direction of the shout, and what do I see coming from the direction of the town hall but the very pony we we’re here to meet; their newest giant.

Except she wasn’t very gigantic yet. Two ponies behind the barricade, one white and one light red, were still a good bit larger than her. Still, the lavender one had been mutated to have both the horn and the wings, so she was the one we came for.

…The one we came to talk to, I mean. See, a pony would take that wrong.

The giant landed atop the barricade, leaving her wings open in what was probably supposed to be an intimidating stance. She said, “On behalf of Eq—whoah!”

That was as far as she got before the ramshackle barrier of upturned carts and merchant stalls shifted beneath her weight, and she lost her balance, rolled down the pile and landed on her belly on our side of the wall.

There was a collective gasp from the ponies watching and a few snickers from our crew, but Boomer is never one to miss an opportunity. In the silence that fell after the giant did, I could clearly hear him say “Oh dear! Please, your highness, allow me.”

It was obvious to us dogs that he didn’t plan on hurting her; his head was high, his muzzle was relaxed, he even still had that piece of white fabric, for baying out loud! Ponies don’t get that stuff, though. He was a dog running at their fallen leader. That was all that mattered. Boomer wasn’t three paces from her when the lightning bolts started falling.

We all hate storms. Part of the reason most of our kind stay underground is to get away from those things. All the dogs around me forgot their discipline. Some tried to burrow, some grabbed for their dropped spears to fight back, and some even ran for cover, the disobedient curs! I was shouting for them to stay still and follow orders when I guess I got hit myself. It didn’t even feel like much. Just a flash of light and a pop, then I was out cold.

The things I do for the pack…