The Crow and the Pitcher

The drought seemed never ending, and Crow knew he needed to drink, and soon.

Passing by an old abandoned farm he noticed a pitcher sitting next to the rusted well pump. Landing beside it he tilted his head to get one beady eye over the neck. Sure enough there was the glint of light reflected in the darkness. But the water level was too low to drink.

Vulture had been trailing Crow for a couple of days - which wasn’t helping Crow’s state of mind much. Vulture swooped down beside him kicking up a storm of dust.

“Dry, ain’t it?” said Vulture.

“I’m fine,” said Crow. “Look, I just found water, and all I’ve got to do is crowd it so it comes to the top.. I’ve heard this one, you add pebbles and rocks and stuff and the water rises up.”

And sure enough Crow was right, one by one he dropped pebbles into the pitcher. Bit by bit the water rose up.

It took all Crows strength, but he could smell the water getting closer.

Eventually he could reach it, green, brackish, with little corkscrew critters and bugs squirming in it, but water, and the only water he could find.

Crow drank his fill, still being watched by the Vulture. Vulture knew what happens to birds that drink water that’s unclean and left in warm darkness. Within hours Crow started to feel stomach cramps, and became more and more weak. Poor Crow, Vulture felt a little bad about not warning Crow and directing him to the nearby spring, but hey, a Vulture’s got to eat...