Somepony Lost

by ContagiousCreation

4: Food Shopping

It had been 2 months since I had found her. She hadn’t grown too much, but her hair was beginning to settle from its huge, candy floss ball to a small, poufy mane. I dare not comb or brush it; the amount of knots could keep a hairdresser busy for a lifetime! Otherwise I groomed her well.

I had bonded with her greatly and I was certain she understood Basic English. She sometimes tried to repeat things I said, which almost scared me because she was obviously some kind if equine creature, not a human being that can talk. I liked to encourage her in this process, because if I could teach her to talk, I would finally have someone to talk to. Since Dad died, Amy hadn’t answered any calls and refused to answer the door bell to her flat. I loved this pink bundle of fun more than I had loved anything before; she meant a lot to me. If I could get her to talk, I’d never need to speak to humans again (considering I never did anyway, except Dad). She could say simple words and knew how to order them to make sense. She did end up picking ‘dad’ up from somewhere and often referred to me as such. I never taught her it, buts she must have heard it somewhere.

I could see why she called me that, seeing as I raise her, teach her, feed her, and house her, but I didn’t want to have that kind of relationship. I wanted her to be like my best friend, not my daughter. It was going to be hard to teach her that. I just rolled with it for a while, because there was no reason why I wasn’t her Dad, I just didn’t want to be her Dad. She was slowly learning, and I was enjoying the company of my ‘pony’ friend.

I was still stuck on a name for her. She never asked about her name during our speaking lessons and I never addressed her by one. She was always paying attention, so her name was never needed to be called. I just felt like giving her one anyway. The Yellow and Blue Balloons on her flank were sparking ideas in my head, but none suited her quite right. Not only was she talking, she was also drawing. Sometimes she would find pencils on the floor and draw on the walls and tables with her mouth. I try to stop her from drawing on those and give her paper, but I often don’t see her get the pencils. It was Monday, 18th of February that I realised, I had nothing in my fridge.

For two months I had had this growing filly living off scraps form the back of my cupboards, I never thought to go out. I hesitated at first, wondering what I should do with her. She’s too big to take out into town, say, in my jacket or something, but there’s no way I am going to leave her in this house alone. I had to take her, somehow. I opened the door and slowly crept outside with her in my arms, writhing about, trying to break from my grasp. I managed to get her into the back seat and slam the door before she could escape. I let out a sigh of relief, and went to get into my car. Just as I was getting in, I noticed my neighbour, looking over the fence at me. He had the most confused look I had ever seen on his face. I smiled at him, got in my car, and pulled out of my drive. As I did so, she scrambled up to the car window and pressed her face up against the glass, smiling at him. His face had only twisted more; he then slowly walked back to his house, wondering what had just happened.

I tried to grab her and drag her from the back window into the passenger seat, but I couldn’t get a good grip at all. Eventually she came from her perch in the back and pondered into the front of the car, next to me. I scratched behind her ears. She enjoyed the attention and let out the equine equivalent to a purr. Once I stopped to focus on the road, she curled up on the seat and closed her eyes, still smiling. I continued to drive; the vibration of the car on the smooth street calmed her. We reached the local supermarket and I found that there was no spaces aside from a few in the family spots, and disabled. I glanced at her.

“Companions count as family? I guess?” I said to myself.

I left the front windows ajar and locked the car. She just sat there, snug in the passenger seat, snoring quietly. She’ll be OK for half an hour, right? I thought carefully, ensuring the right decision had been made. I turned and headed for the trolley shelter.