"Hmmm-hmmm-hmmmm..." Applejack pleasantly hummed to herself while—
WHURRRRR—THUD! WHURRRRR—THUD! WHURRRRR—THUD!
—she marched across a dirt plain, dragging three plows at once. Within the span of a minute, she had plotted half of the field. Turning around, she reached into a cargo net, pulled out a bag of seeds, and poured it into a metal dispenser. Slapping the lid shut with her hoof, she slid back into her seat and pulled a lever.
CL-CLACK! The loader's right forelimb turned into a minigun.
"Dum-de-dum-dum..." Applejack's freckled cheeks glistened with sweat as she whistled, squinting down a metal crosshair dangling from the vehicle's upper chassis. "Like a rhinestone cowcolttttttt—" She flicked a switch, and the minigun's barrels began spinning. Whurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—
RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The minigun fired seeds at ninety miles an hour. They flew into the soft plots of land, igniting patches of soil with brief plumes of fire before sizzling out.
"Hmmmm-hmmm-hmmm..." Grinning sweatily, Applejack jerked at the same lever, and the loader's right limb switched to a dripping spicket. She turned a dial.
SPLOOOOOOOOOSH! A pressurized hose thoroughly soaked the soil, rendering the edges of the field to saturated mud patches.
Applejack twisted the dial with a smirk. "Heh. Nailed it." She turned and did a double-take at the three plows resting beside the loader. "Hmmmmm..." With a flick of the fetlock, she pivoted the machine and picked up the rustiest of the three in a metal claw. Whurrrr-CL-CLANK! "Poor ol' Betsy's been so bent out of shape, she ain't seen no action since Ma and Pa dragged her." Applejack rubbed her chin, then grinned. "Well, shoot, she's got years in her yet! Just like Granny! C'mere, you!"
Then, with steam-wrought limbs, Applejack proceeded to hammer and twist and smack the aged plow back into a rigid shape. CRKKKKK! PTING! RNKKKT-CLACKKK!
Down the road, Bic Macintosh rolled up with a wagon full of hay. He took one look at Applejack and stumbled to a stop with a gaping expression, dropping the stalk that he was chewing between his teeth.
"Hey! Big Mac!" Applejack's voice echoed over the sounds of bent metal. CRUNNNCH! CL-CLAKKA-THUNK! "Take a gander!" WREEE! She held the suddenly-flat plow high up like a baton. "Ol' Betsy got her groove back! Didn't ya used to gab on and on about how she was run down and useless?"
"Uhhhh..." Big Mac gulped nervously. "Eeyup..."
"Well, nuts to that! From now on, I'm fixin' all the old fuddy-duddies around here!" Applejack winked. "Ain't no reason for this farm to be runnin' on low fumes, now is there?"
"Uhm... Eenope..."
"Dun believe me?! Why don'tcha give Ol' Betsy a whirl?!" WREEE! Cl-Clunk! Applejack pulled the plow back in her metal grip like a hoofball and let it loose. "Here ya go, big bro!"
Swisssssssssssssssssh! The plow whistled through the air like a cruise missile.
Big Mac gasped, unhitched himself from the wagon, and dove for cover. SMASSSH! The cart full of hay exploded behind him.
"Hahahah! Dang it, Big Mac! Ya clumsy varmint! Now I gotta go buy us a new wagon!"
"Nnnngh..." Bit Mac sat up, his eyes swimming dizzily. "E-eeyup...?"
"Dun you worry yer sweet old head about it!" THUD! THUD! THUD! Applejack thundered past him in the loader. "I'll just stroll on into town and earn us some more bits! Heheheh! I've been dyin' to sell these here freshly-plucked apples anyways!"
Big Mac crawled his way to the plow and hugged it, trembling, while he watched Applejack storm her way into town with several bushels of apples.