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Ah can’t be like ma…Ah can’t even get one darn apple off this dumb, stubborn, cotton pickin’ tree. Johnny let out a frustrated snort and quietly stomped away from his tree. His mother turned to watch him curiously, before galloping over to the quickly fleeing colt.
“Hey bud, where ya goin’ there, huh?” Applejack inquired in her thick country accent. She raised her brow at her son’s silence, awaiting his response.
“Ah dun wanna buck that darn tree no more ma! It ain’t budgin’! I’m too small…might as well jus’ quit.” Johnny’s ears folded back in submission to his failure, his face etched in disappointment. Applejack shook her head with a grin.
“Ah dun think so! Not on my watch, son!” The orange mare pushed her son from behind, back toward his tree, his front hooves digging up dirt.
“Ma!”
“Listen here, Johnny.” Applejack stopped in front of the tree with her son in her afternoon shadow. “Jus’ ‘cause it dun work the first time ‘round doesn’ mean it won’ work at all! Ya shouldn’t quit, ya never quit, ya hear? Now, that tree ain’t gonna kick itself! Give it all ya got, hun.” Johnny stood in silence before making a decision. He could storm off and quit. Or he could do as his mom says and make her proud that he ain’t no quitter. Johnny looked up at his mother determined, then he stepped up a bit and kicked hard at the trunk of the tree. For a moment, nothing happened, just like all the times before. Johnny sighed tiredly, only to be bonked in the head by a green apple.
“Yeehaw! Well would ya look at that! Look son, ya got an apple down from the tree!” Applejack pronounced gleefully, proudly stomping the dirt with her front hooves.
“Ha! Ah did it!” Johnny danced ecstatically in the dirt, the apple still laying where it had landed.