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	Bio-Lab--Alternative Centaurization Processes: Ms. Dee Archives
	Ms. Dee's Centaurization Journal: July/August 1998--Jazz Fantasia

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WWWCentaur Board Posting # xxxx

The following posting was made concerning events that happened in July/August 1998.

Hello all:

I had planned on posting this a while back but my editors, the E-team (Ersatz Research Team) and the D-team (Dance Team) have to approve it because they wanted to make sure that I didn't give away any critical locational clues.

Given what happened, I don't blame them. The pucker factor is higher than I like. And I'm adventuresome person of the group.

If the following is vaguer than usual, blame E and D teams.

(Special note to Bureau 13: The pair you handled may have been from the other entertainment oriented event. (Never mentioned before. Seemed trivial at the time. And thanks! (I really don't like the smell/sight of blood and guts.)) ADDENDUM: 'Anita' was talking shop with some medical colleagues the other day and heard of a few severe cases of food poisoning the afternoon of Jazz Fantasia. The people involved were from outside the area and were not in good health that evening. There is some discussion that these people might have been you agents, especially considering odd little facts that have surfaced in the last few months. Like missing files and 'that person has moved and has not forwarding address responses to followup calls.')

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JAZZ FANTASIA: The Story (With changes to protect the innocent.)

Quote from unpublished newspaper article:

"The other night (July 30, 1998) was the first public performance of 'Jazz Fantasia.' Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, transcribed for four hooved choreography and a five piece jazz band, was the featured selection. It was performed before a packed audience at a road house in the Washington-Idaho-Oregon area.

"The performance and encores were a sultry mix of classical music, classical jazz, classical movies, classical dance and classical mythology. They were also a tribute to the special effects industry.

"I would swear, in a court of law, that 'Misty the Pony Girl' was a living, breathing centaur. A centaur that had been waiting in the wings of the movie Fantasia because she was too much a woman for the era. A sexy centaurette that caught the eye of every man in the place. A centaur filly real enough to leave hoof marks on a wooden floor.

"The superb performance was secondary to the realistic special effects. It is a pity that violence broke out shortly after the show was over."

End of quote

The above review would have appeared in a local newspaper if it weren't for the problems we had after the show. The reviewer send 'George' a copy, apologizing for the editorial blackout caused, in part, by small town politics. She then pumped 'George' for more information about 'Misty the Pony Girl' and 'New Olympus Productions.'

I'm not sure whether she wants an interview with a centaur or a stock tip on a future money maker. Possibly both. She appears to be a very intelligent young woman with a bright future. I hope we're not creating problems for ourselves by encouraging her.

Professionally speaking, my first public performance in front of a paying audience was a big success. Lots of practice, combined with hormonal rushes of several types, made it possible for me to radiate sex appeal while playing the audience and the band. (About five percent of the crowd were E-team members and others in the know. A few were there courtesy of some perfectly legal Montana driver's licenses with adjusted birth dates. Oddly enough, the youngest, my son, was the only underaged viewer not carded.)

Personally speaking, my first public performance was a calm interlude in the middle of a terror filled day. The encores, two of which were totally unrehearsed, were more for me than the audience. They allowed me to delay returning to the real world. At the same time, they complicated my escape by giving certain parties enough time to get into position for an attempted kidnapping. If it weren't for Joe, Marie and Clarissa, I wouldn't be here.

I think I better begin at the beginning. Things get complicated real fast.

Wednesday July 29, 1998: Evening.

The night before the Jazz Fantasia performance I went in for a pre-performance exam. 'George' and 'Steve,' band members who are also part of the E-team, were worried that something would happen to spoil the performances. Being firm believers in Murphy's Law, they wanted some sign that my body wasn't about to go through some major change before the show.

All three ponies came along. Revised standard operating procedure since the experiment that proved that the ponies were directly responsible for the transformation.

Preliminary results were exactly as predicted. The E-team felt safe declaring that everything was 'Go' for the D-team.

Then Murphy came along with a skip loader full of manure and a Hollywood wind machine. The manure hit the wind machine as I was waiting at the loading dock for the horse trailer. If it weren't for the crate that covered my hindquarters, I would have collapsed.

With very mixed emotions, the E-team hauled me back for scanning and testing.

The initial results were so radically different from the earlier 'text book case' results that the E-team reran them. The second set confirmed that the equipment was operating properly.

What the E-team called the 'psionic detector' indicated that activity at that level was at an all time high. Then it jumped by an order of magnitude.

For the next six and a half hours the E-team, my family and three ponies watched me change from a foalish filly to a sexy centaurette. The E-team and my family made sure that my needs are met as they collected data. The three ponies just stood quietly, watching and waiting.

I had wide awake nightmares and flashbacks of events I thought I had forgotten.

Forty five minutes into the retransformation the E-team's math expert announced that I was shrinking. Numbers taken directly from the medical scanners indicated that the torse was shrinking faster than the equine body.

Twenty minutes later all my hair fell out. The 'psionic detector' measured a burst of activity moments before the sudden hair loss. The E-team was elated because it made it easier for them to measure changes and keep a photographic record.

The human part of my body stopped changing about half way through the retransformation. If you ignored the equine ears and lack of hair, I looked like a well endowed centerfold from the waist up. Flawless skin. Large, expressive eyes. Sensuous lips. Big breasts. Hour glass figure. Nothing that needs a photo retouch.

Below the waist it was evident that the foalish body was being replaced by something that was a lot more mature. At the same time the proportions were wrong. There was a lot of speculation about the end result until my wife suggested that the E-team use one of the modified Disney centaurettes as the target for the trend analysis. (Several text and technical spec versions of 'modified Disney centaurettes' had been created as part of a 'what if' exercise in trend analysis. We were working on how we would respond if I ended up as differents type of centaur. The 'modified Disney centaurette' range covered breeds ranging from Shetlands (cute but furry) to Shires (hugely impressive) and many points in between. To the best of our knowledge, the ponies didn't know about these extrapolations.)

Bingo. A very good match.

"I hope they know what they are doing," I grumbled when I heard the news.

"I think they have everything under control," my wife said, glancing at the ponies. "You'll be up and dancing in no time at all.:

"Maybe," I grumbled, remembering how the ponies loved to watch the centaur scenes from Fantasia.

Thursday July 30, 1998: Early Morning

An hour and forty minutes later my equine body stopped changing. Overall, the proportions were those of a Disney centaurette with the build of a draft horse. Sturdy legs, slender body and knockout torso. Centerfold material. The kind that might do exotic dancing at a road house or tavern. (Yes it is sexist but large parts of the world operate that way. Blame the ponies. I'm still trying to remain as non-sexist as possible while living with this body and thinking of the future.)

Short though. When helped to my hooves I was half a finger taller than Pearl at the withers. From the bottom of my hooves to the top of my skull I was 136 and a fraction centimeters. (Call it a hair under four feet six inches.)

Petite. Sexy as hell. Clumsy as a foal. Hairless. Extremely frustrated. Nervous. Embarassed. Very, very tired.

But I was more than ready to throw a snit-fit if it would do any good. I would have gelded the ponies if they weren't mares. (Which might be a reason that the ponies are mares instead of stallions. Hmm.)

Over the next two hours my hair grew back in palomino shades and my coordination returned. At the same time my voice went from pleasantly feminine go downright sultry.

The ponies finished the transformation with a 'psionic' burst that put my reproductive hormones into high gear while lowering my inhibitions. Then the 'psionic' activity level dropped to normal. Or slightly lower. (We're hoping that what we have been measuring is a legitimate thing to mearsure. There may be some Nobel Prize material buried in the data stream if we can figure it out.)

The E-team went through a series of tests to verify that the were-spheres were gone and the body was fully functional. They also tested the ponies to get an idea of what the effort took out of them.

We cleaned up and headed to 'Arnold's' place. I was wide awake and wired while my family was sleepy and tired. 'Arnold's' wife and kids had made sure that the 'secure' area of the barn was ready for the two legged types. As a four legged type, I wasn't as fastidious about stall conditions.

Thursday July 30, 1998: About 0645 (6:45 AM)

The D-team was waiting for me at 'Arnold's' with full sewing kits and additional material. The first ten minutes were spent checking measurments and determining which costume colors would not work with my palomino hide and hair. Once the basic triage was complete, I went through my dance routines to see what modifications would be needed to allow for my smaller yet more mature form.

"What's the verdict?" I asked when I finished.

"'George' and 'Steve' need to see this," said the choreographer.

Ten minutes later I was going through the routines again. When I finished I was very much aware that my stamina had increased.

'George' was frowning. 'Steve' was grinning.

"Are we going to have to call it off?" I asked, puzzled and concerned.

"No," drawled 'George.' "But you might want have to tone things down a little. If you don't there's going to be a riot at the backstage door."

"You're kidding," I said.

"It is the straight truth," he continued. "I'm dead on my feet and you got a rise out of me. I think those ponies have guaranteed the success of the act."

"Oh," I said, surprised.

'Steve' put a hand on 'George's' shoulder. "Let's get some shut eye so we can play for Misty this evening," he said. "We need our beauty sleep so this beautiful babe can show her stuff."

'George' and 'Steve' wandered off to hit the sack.

Things were relatively quiet until about noon. That's when I discovered that the ponies were missing.

At first I thought they were just using a different stall. A quick trip around the 'secure' area tossed that comfortable assumption out the door. I then carefully checked those non-secured areas a pony could reach without help. Losing eighteen inches of height made it harder to look through high windows and open heavy doors. At the same time it was much easier to hide in the shadows.

I was relieved when I saw the ponies in the breezeway of what 'Arnold' calls his guest stables. This isolated structure is where 'Arnold' houses equine patients that need to be observed over several weeks. The ponies appeared to be 'talking' with one of the guests.

I whistled for their attention. Pearl turned her head and whinnied back. Shamu and Anenome glanced my way and then turned back to their conversation.

Relieved but curious, I retreated into the shadows and returned to the secured area. My family and the E-team were sleeping while the D-team worked their fingers to the bone retrofitting my costumes. I could tell that my natural high was coming to an end and that I should get some shuteye. After a quick trip to the toilet stall, I found a spot where I could nap and still be available for costume work. I closed my eyes and fell asleep standing up.

I was in the middle of a very pleasant dream when the nightmare of sharp teeth and overwhelming numbers woke me up. Disoriented I was off and running before I knew what woke me up. Moments later I was making a mad dash towards the guest stables.

A pack of feral dogs had the ponies cornered between the guest stable and a fence. About half the dogs were taller than the ponies. But the ponies were holding their own against the dogs.

In the nearby stall I could hear the panicked scream of a horse and the snarl of two or more dogs.

I hit the first batch of dogs at a full gallop, killing one of the smaller ones. In the breezeway I barrel racer slid to a halt and grabbed a rake from a wheel barrow. The loss of leverage caused by my size was countered by an increase in muscle and hoof oriented dexterity.

Throwing open the stall door, I found five big dogs threatening a palomino mare and her foal. The mare appeared to be losing the fight.

I slammed the door shut to protect my rear. Then I got the attention of the biggest dog by slamming the rake into its back. Hard.

It went down, its spine punctured. A few minutes later all five dogs were dead and I was a bloody, but uninjured, mess. (Don't ask me what I did or how I did it. I reacted and the dogs died.)

By that time I heard the boom of a shotgun. I trilled a battle cry and burst out of the stall.

There was another closer boom followed by the sound of people shouting. I glanced around the corner and saw that the ponies were still being threatened. A couple of well placed swings and the last of the dogs were dead or fleeing.

Moments later the infantry arrived.

I was higher than a kite on adrenalin and covered with blood but otherwise was fine. The three ponies had minor gashes.

Unfortunately the mare was in very bad shape. 'Arnold' took one look at her, swore, and ran for his truck. His wife, shot gun in hand, looked in, saw the mare and started ripping her shirt into compress bandages. I put the shot gun in a safe place.

Emergency surgery and a lot of people kept the mare from bleeding to death. If we hadn't been there, she and the foal would have died.

As it was, the foal was uninjured. I kept him busy while 'Arnold' and his helpers worked on momma.

Keeping him busy involved feeding him mare's milk formula. My semi-expert eye told me that he was not more than a week old.

A late season baby, but it happens.

"What is this little guy's name?" I asked when the scramble was over.

'Arnold' looked down at me and the foal. "What would you name him?" he asked.

"What is his dam's name?" I asked.

"She's a stray we found a week ago," 'Arnold' said. "We've been calling her 'Golden Lady' because she acts like a lady. We have no idea where she is from."

Worried, I looked around. The ponies were in a paddock near the secured area.

"Coincidence?" I asked in our private code.

'Arnold' swore. "I hadn't thought of that," he said in the clear. "We'll need to talk about it later." He then chuckled. "If Junior lets you."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, suspicious.

"Come over here," 'Arnold' said from his spot near the stall door.

I went. The foal followed.

'Arnold' laughed. "He thinks you're his mother," he said. "And his mother hurts too much to care."

"He's taller than I am," I complained.

"That doesn't matter. He's maybe three hours old and you're the first person to feed and mother him. In his book that is all it takes to be called 'Mom.'"

I looked at my palomino auxiliary. "Murphy," I swore.

Junior nickered at me.

'Golden Lady' didn't twitch when Junior followed me to the secured area. I suppose that was because she was drugged from muzzle to tail. It might have been because she trusted me.

Tanya and my family helped me wash the blood out of my hair and my hide and then concentrated on making my mane, trail and hair presentable. In my spare moments I bottle fed Junior while the D-team worked on final preparations for the performance. Make that the D-team plus those people who could sew or modify costumes and equipment. When each item was ready it was packed and loaded into the van we rented.

When the time came, I hid in a trunk that was a lot roomier now that I was smaller. The trunk was our way of making sure that I could sneak in to the road house without being seen.

I'll be the first to admit that I was a little bit nervous about the whole thing. Murphy had been working overtime to make the last twenty four hours a memorable experience. I had a bad feeling that Murphy wasn't about to stop now.

Thursay July 30, 1998: 2000 (8:00 PM)

I spent the entire pre-show prep period waiting for the other shoes to drop. Then the show opened and I was too busy dancing to worry.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 1: The Pastoral (With a focus on the centaur parts)

This was the main event. The D-team and the musicians put a lot of effort into this and felt right when we were done with it. We kept to the same story line as the original with selected members of the audience and band substituting for the centaur stallions. Lighting, quick costume changes and different styles of dancing and music allowed me to play the part of several centaur mares. Being a palomino, as opposed to one of the darker colors, allow the special effects 'team' to do a lot more.

I was lathered and the band and S-team was sweating when we finished. As the audience applauded I sent through several quick changes of each of the mares so that 'everybody' had one last opportunity to be seen. (Stage changes, not physical ones. The ones that involve lighting, props, acting and music.)

The audience was very enthusiastic and demanded an encore. The emcee said that we would be right back after a fifteen minute break.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 2: Veils

After downing the equine equivalent of Gatorade I was ready for the first of the planned encores. We kept to the Fantasia theme and did what might be called 'The Dance of the Veils.' Instead of using fancy finned fish, we had me in an ourfit that was gauze and lighting.

It was a relaxing change to the Pastoral. Not as much applause but a lot of positive response to the special effects.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 3: Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor

There was a brief pause for a scene change as the emcee introduced the next part of the show. Unlike prior sets, this one wasn't precisely scripted. The S-team and dancer (me) had to move to the music which was roughly based on the Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor. (That abstract part involving the sound track.) This was pure jazz with the players doing their own thing based on the theme.

The jazz fans, a substantial part of the audience, loved it.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 4: Dance of the Hours

Imagine a palomino centaur mare dressed in an outfit that reminds you of the Italian Renaissance. Now reveal more cleavage and make sure that the equine part of the body isn't covered by cloth. Then start the show with lighting that emphasizes her face, mane and equine ears. That's how Set 4 started.

The portions of the choreography for the fourth set went something like the following:

--Wait for the intro to finish and lights to come up. --Make eye contact with a member of the audience and SMILE.

--"Hello Muddah" (Take two steps.) (Wiggle hips and swish tail during brief pause in music.) --"Hello Faddah" (Take two steps.) (Wiggle hips and swish tail during brief pause in music.) --"Here I am at" (Take two steps.) (Wiggle hips and swish tail during brief pause in music.) --"Camp Granada." (Take two steps.) (Wiggle hips and swish tail during brief pause in music.)

--Smile demurely, break eye contract with the first person and make contact with another. (Remember who the first person was! And SMILE damn it!)

--Repeat the above every two to four lines until the chorus.

--CHORUS: (Done quickly and humorously)

--"Take me home, oh Muddah, Faddah, --"Take me home, I hate Granada..." --Run around to the people you made eye-contact with, silently and dramatically 'pleading' with them to take you home. Remember to loosen the buttons of the bodice as you become more desparate.

I think you get the idea of how we did the "Dance of the Hours" segment. It was fun and the audience liked it.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 5: Night on Bald Mountain

Musically speaking, this set almost matched the original. 'George' and the rest of the group did a fantastic performance while the S-team and I interpreted the creatures of Bald Mountain.

I wore a skin colored bra for this set and had sets of silver spangles in my mane and tail. The S-team then used lighting and lasers to make the 'demons' appear.

The last minute change to palomino centaur made this set much easier to manage. You can do a lot more with lighting on a palomino than you can on a darker type. (I heard that the S-team almost completely rewrote the lighting script for this. They got to do what they really wanted to do as opposed to what they had to do. At least somebody lucked out.)

Once the set was over, we left the stage.

The roar of the crowd and a natural high brought us back. As planned, I added a few layers of feminine clothing to my minimal outfit.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 6: "Let Me Entertain You"

I started this set in an outfit that is part Nashville, part Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader and part pack horse. I then got to remove parts of the parts and toss them to the audience. Not much dancing but a lot of 'flirting.'

It came out quite well considering that it wasn't heavily rehearsed.

JAZZ FANTASIA Set 7: "The Stripper"

This was the final set. 'George' and the band played, I 'danced' and removed more articles of clothing and tack. When the song neared the end I was down to the flesh colored bra I used for the 'Bald Mountain' set. It was the last thing to come off as I left the stage and headed for the dressing room.

I trotted to the dressing room and put on the first thing I could find. It happened to be the bit of gauze used for what I call the 'Dance of the Veils.' Less than a minute later I was signing autographs, flanked by the bouncers.

**** (See video tapes for additional show details. (If and when they come out.)) ****

The show, and encores, gave me an ego boost that wiped out the depression leading up to the latest retransformation. Misty had finally reached a point where everything was in synch and social/psychological closure had been achieved. Things really felt right.

Receiving flowers and munchies also helped. One result of the show was a real need to get something into my stomachs. But I did limit myself to one flower from each arrangement.

Things started falling apart at that point. While we had hoped that the Jazz Fantasia show would be good, we weren't prepared for it to be fantastic.

One of the side effects of a fantastic show are groupies and their autograph seeker cousins. While we had planned for a small response by those types, we were overwhelmed by the actual response. (The E-team, D-team and S-teams planned on using the time to prepare for my escape. Musical cars and the like. But with the twist that we had to save some items since they were expensive and/or very personal items. (I later found out that somebody advertised the show on a very limited basis. Dumb move but things happen.))

I nervously signed autographs at the back door while people took pictures and shoved pens and paper at me. Flanked by a pair of bouncers and backlit, I was reasonably sure that most of the shots would be marginal. I was, however, worried that the planned shuffle would have traffic problems.

When I finally finished the D-team, with help from the bouncers, escorted me to the converted U-Haul truck we were using for a road vehicle. I had to use the built-in ramp because I was too short to jump in. The bouncers locked the door behind me and headed for their cars.

The moment the door went down I felt my way forward to my 'seat' near the opening we had made between the cab and storage box. I was starting to come down from my performance high and was feeling a little off. (Or maybe it was one of the flowers I ate?) Weeks of intense work had finally come to an end.

"Let's go," I said, nervously.

The engine started. Being a diesel, it had to warm up a bit.

The idling didn't keep me from hearing the creak of the flooring as somebody came up from behind. I 'flashed' an mental image of somebody who was a hard core killer.

I kicked, screamed, flailed around and tried to make a scene.

Up front a male voice yelled "Floor it you bitch."

The driver, my eldest daughter, obeyed and stalled the engine with a hard jerk back. That distracted the guy in the passenger seat so she then jumped out of the cab, switching on the light in the back as she left.

Meanwhile, back in the back, I had troubles of my own with a goon in an undertaker's suit. The goon was a hundred and ninety five centimeters (Estimated) of overgrown muscle with a chloroform pad in his hand. I had a bad feeling he wasn't there for an autograph.

I was a hundred and thirty six centimeter tall centaurette dressed in gauze. Not an equal match.

Even worse, the undertaker's suit appeared to cover body armor. The one crotch kick I got in didn't phase the goon a bit.

Then shots were fired from the cab as the goon up front shot at somebody. He then yelled that "Misty was going to get hurt if they didn't back off."

On a whim I scrambled through the opening to the cab, making sure that I hit the gunman in the back of the head. My petite size made the scramble feasible. (I don't think I could have done it twenty four hours earlier.)

From there it was an easy scramble out the passenger's door.

"Scramble Plan Two," I yelled, heading back to the road house.

I went through the road house and out an emergency exit.

"Catch her!" yelled a male voice. Several people swarmed out of an assortment of vehicles with an assortment of guns, ropes and nets.

The emergency door clicked shut behind me. That shut down my newly conceived plan of shutting off the lights.

High on adrenalin, I charged what I thought was the weak part of the line. I acted like I was a cutting horse chasing a wily cow toward a loading ramp. My scrambling kept me from being hit by tranquilizer darts and a blood curdling yell made the goons at the weak spot fall back.

Once I broke through the line, I discovered that it was a trap. Closely parked vehicles, guarded by goons, formed a loading ramp of sorts. At the end was a semi-trailer.

Behind me the false weak spot closed. Determined to take an honor guard with me, I spun and ran toward the false weak spot. Unlike the goon in the converted U-Haul, these goons didn't have body armor. I made several of them sing soprano before they got smart.

Things were getting dicey when a cowboy with a hay loaded flatbed backed into the line of vehicles. That broke the barrier and got a lot of people mad at the cowboy. A few shouts hinted that a couple of the goons had been injured.

I scrambled through a gap, kicking at a downed goon as I went by. The flatbed truck winged a light pole, darkening a section of the parking lot.

I scrambled into the unlocked door of the truck. The cowboy floored it, leaving a lot of hay bales behind in the driveway and on the cars.

"What happened Dad?" asked my son as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Attempted kidnapping," I said. "We're going to have to get fancy."

My son twitched the steering wheel, dumping more bales of hay. "Camo suit is under the seat," he said. "Where do you want me to drop you off?"

"At the next stop sign," I said. "Then ditch the truck and head home."

We went around a curve and my son left another hay bale barrier. I scrambled into the camo suit and put on the night goggles. At the first stop sign I jumped out and crossed the road. I then hid in the underbrush and waited.

Five minutes later the first batch of pursuit vehicles went by. Two of the five had hay in their undercarriages.

They split up, three going down the main road while the other two headed down the side roads.

A short while later I heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

Friday July 31, 1998: Early hours of the morning. Dawn

Once I was sure that the traffic had passed, I headed for 'Arnold's' place, sticking to the back roads and farm equipment routes. When it started getting too light to travel, I found a place where I could hide and rest. One advantage of being small was the fact that I didn't need a large hiding place.

It was about two in the afternoon when I caught up on my sleep. I checked the equipment in my camoflaged saddle pack.

It was about what I expected, considering that the saddle pack had just been made the day before. Standard equipment for the most part. If I had to, I could head into the mountains and disappear. I might even be able to survive a winter at the lower elevations if I worked at it.

No food though. One of the advantages of being a centaur is the fact that I could live off the land without a lot of additional effort. And, as a small centaur, I didn't have to eat as much.

Once the equipment was examined and tested, I put it back in the appropriate places. The only thing I kept out was an Armed Forces survival manual. It was useful reading material and I was in for a long day of waiting.

I read, napped, ate and did some moving around during the day. It was hot so I didn't work too hard. Despite the changes, I was still temperature sensitive.

When it started getting dark I made sure that everything was packed properly. Then I put on the night goggles.

Misty, the bubble brained palomino pony girl, had left it on all day. The batteries were deader than the proverbial door nail.

Visions of breaking a leg in the night made me shudder. One of the disadvantages of being a centaur is those relatively delicate elongated fingers known as legs. Decades of horror tales had made me very sensitive to equine safety.

I would have to take things slow and easy and hope I didn't have to run in the dark.

When it was finally dark enough I hit the trail. Several hours later I realized that I was making really good time. Stumbles were minimized and I appeared to have a feel for the road conditions.

Not long after that I realized that my night vision had improved a lot. For some reason I had more light gathering ability plus the added benefit of being able to see heat differences. (Infra vision?)

Saturday August 1, 1998:

I reached another hiding spot about a day from 'Arnold's.' This one was larger, had a better water supply and was surrounded by excellent grazing. The only problem was the colt that called the place home.

He was curious and I was sexually receptive.

I spent most of Saturday trying to remain a maiden mare. He was curious and ready to go. I was nervous and trying my hardest not to be interested. I also had to help keep him quiet so that his owner wouldn't come out to investigate.

It was a very long Saturday. If I had been larger and the colt more experienced, mentally and physically, I might be wondering about centaur maternity clothes.

It was close.

When it finally got dark enough I high tailed it out of there with Junior right behind me. I had to back track to make sure that he stayed on one side of the fence while I was on the other. It took a little bit of work to do that.

Sunday August 2, 1998:

Early Sunday morning I was maybe five miles from 'Arnold's' place and satisfied that I wouldn't have to spend another day in the fields/underbrush. I picked up the pace to make sure I got in before dawn.

I had just reached a backroad I knew by heart when I ran into some old 'friends.' Four legged 'friends' with sharp teeth. Blood thirsty carnivores, some of which were bigger than me.

From what I could tell in the dark, it was the remnants of the feral dog pack I had encountered hours before the Jazz Fantasia performance. I had about five seconds warning before they closed on me. I was very disappointed that my sixth sense had deserted me.

Five minutes later the dogs were either dead or mortally wounded. I couldn't tell you how I did it because I was too busy reacting to pay attention to technique. All I can say is that I wasn't a martial artist when I was a human and I hadn't done any martial arts training since I became a centaur. Yet somehow I managed to take out a pack of dogs without any weapons.

As far as I could tell, I hadn't been hurt. But I was high on adrenalin and could have been bleeding to death and not noticed. I do NOT like having to fight for my life when I'm outnumbered.

I pulled my bowie knife out of my saddle pack and contemplated mercy killing the dogs. Then I realized that knife work might be interpreted as UFO activity, especially considering that I had used my hooves for the preliminary work. I didn't want a bunch of UFO fanatics snooping around, especially considering that I would be 'proof' that aliens existed.

I figured that 'Arnold' and the E-team could take care of the wounded dogs. I needed to get to safety before it got light.

I put my bowie knife where I could reach it, just in case I wasn't through with my 'friends'. A short while later I reached the back gate to 'Arnold's' place. A quick sneak brought me to the secured area of the barn.

My son was leaning against a bale of hay in front of one of the stalls. "Hi Dad," he said. "You made good time."

"Where's Mom?" I asked, more than a little wired.

"At home," he replied. "We figured that you might have headed that way. Besided, somebody has to take care of the zoo."

"You sisters?" I asked.

"One's with Mom and the other is with Tanya," he answered, yawning. "I got in Friday and got stuck with taking care of Junior."

"How's his mother?" I asked automatically.

He frowned. "Dead. Junior's an orphan and Mom wants to save him. 'Arnold' said that he imprinted on you, as much as a foal can."

I sighed.

That afternoon, after a thorough exam by the E-team, I made it home with a new addition to the family. But I made it clear that Junior was their responsibility, NOT mine.

*************************************************************************************

Note that there are some things missing from this. The timing of the 'sixth sense' events was left out so that people can not use it to track my travels. And I have to say that I didn't take the direct route to 'Arnold's' place. One of my bail out options was to head for the mountains and possibly Montana.

I'm just glad that it is over. But if Disney calls wanting to sign me...

Misty the Pony Girl

(New Olympus Productions)

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