Sunday 24 July 2011

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...

Saturday 23 July 2011

The Wolf in Sheeps...


The wolf had been taunted by the smell lambs for what felt like an age. The shepherd and sheep dogs were just too attentive. The shepherd knew just how much a lamb, or even a gown sheep was worth. As he was about to give up and slink back into the dark deep woods he found a dried up flayed sheepskin. No signs of any meat left on it, but it gave him an idea.

He wrapped the sheepskin around himself and walked straight into the herd, as nonchalantly as he could. For the first time in days he managed to get a meal. The wolf was happy with his cunning, and decided to try it again the next day.

It worked. It worked for several days after, not only did he get to eat, but occasionally he’d join in with the gambolling and frolicking that safe sheep like to practice in the springtime. And there was defiantly a female sheep that was giving him very sheep-eyed looks. All in all the wolf was starting to have fun. Having eaten his way out of near starvation he sometimes just wore the skin for company’s sake, in fairness sometimes he’d lead a lamb away and eat it though.

Weeks passed and the tiny lambs grew into larger lambs until one day the shepherd rounded up the lambs. Leaving the mother sheep distraught, and the wolf a little lonely. The sheep decided all would be well. The shepherd had looked after them well, they were always fed, always sheared, no doubt the lambs were given their own field with a different shepherd.

The wolf decided to stick with the sheep, for now at least. The lambs might be brought back, and the woods looked very dark, and very deep.

A day or so later the shepherd herded up the sheep, and the slightly confused wolf. The dogs yipped at their heals nudging them all together and crowding them into the back of a lorry. The lorry drove off to the slaughterhouse, with the sheep all tell each other not to worry, hadn’t the shepherd always looked after them. The wolf listened and was processed right alongside all the other trusting foolish sheep.