She sighed, dipping her spoon in the oatmeal and taking a bite.  It had the duller flavor that she’d come to expect from institutional food, since the hospital staff could hardly afford the time to go to the market and purchase fresh ingredients.  Instead, the dry goods were brought from Canterlot by train—an idiotically wasteful arrangement, since most of the hospital’s staples were grown in Ponyville.  Ever since Filthy Rich had landed the contract for providing food the quality had taken a downhill slide.  At least the eggs were still fresh; he hadn’t gotten his grubby hooves into that supply chain yet.