The Crow, The Pitcher & the Fox

The Crow, The Pitcher & The Fox.

A long time ago, you may remember, there was a crow who learned to get water from a pitcher.. The pitchers mouth was too small to drink from directly. Adding a pebble at a time the crow learned that it could get a drink. It took a lot of effort but in the end the crow was rewarded.

Because of all this hard work, the crow lived to a ripe old age and had many descendants. A whole flock of crows who spent the days putting pebbles in pitchers so that they could get a drink. And though it was a lot of work, through perseverance and the old Crows motto of “Little by little does the trick” the flock prospered and grew.

One day, as happened from time to time, one of the young crows started to complain.

“Pebble after pebble after pebble…”Spotting a good size one he clutched it in his beak, turned to his pitcher and dropped it in

At first none of the other crows paid him any heed. They each were busy picking out pebbles for their own pitcher.

“Pebble after pebble” Young Crow continued.

Pausing after a sip another Crow said to him offhandedly “That is our way.”

Young Crow clenched another pebble between upper and lower. “Nut why?”

Saying this the newly picked pebble dropped from his beak. Aggravated he bent head side scanning the ground for it again. “Why do we do it this way?”

“Why?” “Why?” “Why?”

A number of other young crows had stopped their pitcher pebbling and as young birds often do took up the call.

“Because that is the Way.” Called the Old Flock Boss, the oldest and wisest crow, with the edges of his feathers turning gray

“The way!” The way!” “Way!” The older crows recawed.

All this of course had happened countless times before. Young crows were often frustrated at the slow steady pace of success. It took the older crows to keep them working toward the goal, for the good of the flock, together. The way the Fore crow had taught them.  The young crows cawed why, the old crows answered because it is The Way, and things continued on as usual.

But not this time. Thinking to himself there must be an easier way he clutched a larger pebble. “Atch dis” he said to all and no crow in particular and dropped it into his pitcher.

At least that had been his plan. The old crows chuckled as it bounced off the lip, too large to fit down the spout.

With one eye he stared the old crows down while searching for an even larger pebble with the other. “Or perhaps a stone this time?”

He eyed one rock nearly a quarter the size of his head, then one yet larger still just beyond it.

“I will use that rock yonder to smash a large enough hole in my pitcher…” Proclaimed Young Crow. “That I will be able to fit my whole head in.”

The old Crows laughed and returned to their own work, picking out pebbles, filling their pitchers. But many of the other young crows paused to watch. The old ones did nothing to interfere. Once in a rare while things like this occurred. A young crow thought he’d found a better way.  Eventually they would return to the pebble. It always sorted itself out in the end.

Young Crow in the mean time had flapped the short distance and squared himself in position near the big rock. He tried again and again to lift and carry it with his beak. But could only manage a wobbly step or two before the rock dropped.  Exhausted he paused, ignoring the chuckles of the older crows.

“Don’t worry I can do it.” He told the young crows, some who were already starting to lose interest. Young Crow didn’t want that, he liked the other crows suddenly looking up to him.  “This rock’s sure to do the trick.”

“Oh I think you will need a much bigger rock.” Called a voice from across the meadow.

All the crows heads bobbed up as one to see a sleek Fox leaning against a far tree.

None of the crows worried overmuch about  Fox as he could not fly.

“Aww whaddya you know.” Said Young Crow. And grabbing the rock in his beak jerked upward with all his might.  Young Crow clenched his beak as tightly as he could but the rocks momentum tore it from his bite and it sailed in a long arc up and over the pitcher. All the other young crows gasped in amazement.

“Just missed!” Young Crow exclaimed as if he had planned to do that all along.

Many of the old crows cackled and squawked.

Young Crow hopped to retrieve the rock he’d thrown.

Fox meandered a little closer to watch as Young Crow clenched the rock in his beak and gave it a good throw, not as hard as last time mind you as Young Crow was not entirely without craftiness. The other young ones gave a shout as it sailed.

The rock flew low and clunked off his pitcher near the base.  Young Crow not deterred in the slightest hopped toward the rock again.

“Somewhere between the two throws should do the trick.” He muttered to no one in particular.

Retrieving the rock in his beak he backed away from the pitcher and threw it again with what he hoped was the middle amount of strength.

Everything appeared perfect as he released his grip. But the stone missed the pitcher spout inches to the right.

Ignoring the growing laughter, and the others, Young Crow went after his rock with more determination than ever.

“Try a bigger rock from above!” Called out Fox,  all good natured assistance.

Young  Crow picked up his rock and flung it again. And again. And again. And again.

The other crows, even the youngest fledgling had returned to their own pitcher. Young Crow bent low and used his increasingly sore beak to pick up the rock once more. His feathers were damp with effort.

Fox who had meandered all the way down amidst the pitchers and crows by this point, shook his head sadly. “You’re going about this all wrong my young friend.”

“Nind your own didness”  grunted Young Crow through clenched beak and with every ounce of strength he had left he threw the rock once more.

This time the rock flew straight and clipped into the pitcher spout. Young Crow crowed in triumph, one wing pointing skyward as shards of shattered clay flew in all directions. “Hah!”

The other crows all stopped

“Yea I knew I would do it!” Young Crow cawed.

“You did it alright.” Laughed Fox.

All the other crows began to hurry toward Young Crows pitcher. “Hey” Young Crow cried lifting wings. “Hey get back!”

There were general noises of disappointment, not what he’d expected, as Young Crow pushed his way through the flock.

“C’mon let a bird through.” He whined.  And. “That’s my pitcher, keep yer beak out!”

He could hardly wait to get his tongue on that deliciously cool water. He had worked up quite a thirst with all this activity.  And, ignoring what he’d come to interpret as jealous groans,  he already was imagining dipping his whole head into the hole he’d made with his excellent throw.

Only,  finally reaching his pitcher, he saw the whole at the top wasn’t as large as he imagined. True the rock had broken the spout, but mostly on one side. Young Crow turned an eye on the thing for a close examination.

What had once been, while small, a smooth round lipped spout, had become a slightly larger hole ringed by a sharp edge. Worse yet, on one side it rose to a wicked point fully preventing access from that angle. Young Crow ‘s tongue darted out and flicked at his beak. “Well what now?” He asked himself.

“Well what now?” Old Flock Boss standing nearby asked, echoing Young Crows own thoughts.

Many of the crows, both old and young alike, began cawing harsh laughter and returned to their work.  Young Crow puffed himself up with false pride, determined to show them all.  He approached his pitcher and examined the whole.  It was bigger, if only a little, peering in he could see the top of the water serene and waiting. Could he fit his beak in enough to get a drink?

He jumped when Fox spoke from directly behind him. “I wouldn’t try that, if that’s what you were thinking?”

Young Crow had had enough of this helpful loudmouth.

“What would you do then?” He demanded wings on hips, and secretly hoping that the Fox had a good idea, because he really wanted some water. “C’mon Mr. Smarty Fox ?”

“Well…”Said the Fox pretending to think for a time. “Well, well, well…”  for the Fox was clever and had devised this plan when he had first come upon Young Crow looking for the easy way to success.

He walked around the pitcher, even reached out a paw and touched the point, drawing his hand back quickly with an exaggerated “Woo!”

Now though Foxes and Crow’s can be enemies, they are both clever and curious animals. So it was only natural that again many of the other crows (save the most staunches old timers who were wise to the Fox and all his tricks) began to gather back around Young Crow and his new friend.

“Now if it were me.” Fox proclaimed in his most officious voice. “I would ask the manufacturer of such pitchers to make nice wide low bowls instead so you all didn’t have to work so hard.”

The crows gathered fluffed and puffed and hopped and flapped in general commotion. “Ask the…” “Whoever heard…” “Nonsense…” Came the caws.

Young Crow, however was interested.  “You could do that?” He had never even considered such a thing, this Fox was indeed smart. “For us?”

“Umm…” Fox of course would be happy to do it. But the older crows would surely be suspicious if he acted too interested. “I guess maybe I could, but I wasn’t planning on going that way today.”

Young Crow was so thirsty. He knew none of the other crows would share their water with him. “Please my new friend, I would be indebted to you if you could do such a thing, not just for me but for the flock.”

“Well If I happen by that way…”

“Do not trust that Fox.” Called Old Flock Boss “Even if he speaks the truth, the pitcher manufacturers may not do as he asks and you will have no water until such time. Perhaps Ol’ Foxy here will just wander back in a week or so and eat you after you’ve died of thirst.”

Young Crow took pause at that. He had let Fox get extremely close to him. Fox for his part was doing his best to look all innocence and good intentions. “I can understand your concern my good old friend.” Fox said genteelly. “And if you wish I will go on my way. But like you,  puzzles interest me, and this Young Crow’s dilemma has caught my eye. And while we are not always completely civilized in our mutual discourse, we are not the Eagle or the Wolf, and can put our enmity aside and work together in this instance can we not.”

Old Flock Boss scoffed, the other old timers followed his with croaks and chucking of their own,  and returned to his pebble searching.

Another young crow standing nearby turned one suspicious eye upon the Fox. “What will you do if they don’t want to change the shape?”

“Why they wouldn’t dare.” Fox seemed insulted. He turned to Young Crow, then let his eyes scan the gathered flock, only half a dozen continued to work filling their pitchers, all the rest he held watching his every move, hanging on every word.

“My finely feathered and under ripe friends.” The Fox’s honeyed voice held the crows rapt. “Though your call is not as sweet as that of the Nightingale, though your plumage has been described by some of your more colorful cousins as somewhere between black and blacker, do not crows deserve life too.

He swept a paw out to encompass the whole flock. “Nay not just life, but prosperity. For it isn’t enough for an animal be it crow or fox to just survive. All life wants to prosper. Wants a fair shot at growing young, growing family communities, a growing and healthy flock for you, a skulk for me with a beautiful vixen or even two, full of kits…ahh!”

He lets his words drift off, a wistful look upon his copper face.  The crows, including Young Crow held rapt with baited breath.

“I say they DO!” Fox let his voice rise to heaven. “I say that crows do deserve every fair chance at prosperity that the rest of us animals have. And what chance do you really have when you spend all day putting pebbles into a pitcher for a measly sip or two of water? Where is the time for gathering of food, for building a nest, for finding a mate, or simply enjoying a beautiful day?”

“We have all that now!” cried Old Flock Boss in challenge.

“Do you?” Asked the Fox of his audience.

“We have everything crows need so…” Old Flock Boss called from behind.

“But what about what a young crow wants?” Fox directed his words to Young Crow, but loud enough for his “flock” to hear. “Is it enough to work, no slave, all your life for a nagging wife, some beaky young’uns and a nest  on the low branches of the trees, all the while putting pebble after pebble in that purposefully designed anti-crow pitcher for a few measly sips of water.”

“Yea” Young Crow called out, others added their voice to his. It was amazing that Fox seemed to understand exactly how he was felt.

“There are the finer things in life, and it’s time crows had time to enjoy them also.”

“Yea!” The cawing became thunderous as almost all the crows caught the fever. Life as a crow was really hard, and took a lot of effort with what seemed like, for the most part, very little reward.  Fox’s promise to make water easier to get meant the whole flock would have more leisure time. This was of course especially attractive to Young Crow and his peers.

“Fox! Fox!” Young Crow Cawed. “Fox! Fox!”

First the other young crows, then all the crows gathered began to chant his name. “Fox! Fox!”

Fox held up his paws again. “My tough and stringy friends. Cheer for me not.”

Slowly the noise diminished. “Not yet. Wait upon my return if I am successful then you may cheer. And return I shall, posthaste.””

As Fox turned away the chanting started again.

“Fox! Fox!”

 

***

Young Crow was the first to see Fox returning. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his beak so his caw of excitement came out more like a croak, but he flapped his wings and hopped about with so much enthusiasm that all the crows paused in their labors and looked up.

Fox led a small parade of carts, managed by a miniature army of raccoons and beavers. Fox organized them all, directing the operations. Each cart in turn was pulled forward. The wide shallow clay bowls were unloaded, one for every pitcher.  Raccoons scurried over the loads untying and freeing the bowls, while beavers worked together to carefully unload and place each bowl. Fox himself would empty each crows pitcher into the bowl, taking care to strain the last drop while still leaving the pebbles inside.

Young Crow had been beside himself with thirst so was happy Fox had chosen to start with his pitcher.  Now he gulped, splashed and generally cavorted in his new super size water bowl. He squatted in, then laid on his side in the cool cool liquid.

“Ohh! Now this is the life.” Young Crow moaned with pleasure. He would be living on easy street from now on. They all would. And it was all thanks to his brilliant idea.  The other crows might ask him to be flock boss. True it was an honor reserved normally for the oldest and wisest crow. It was tradition. “But all sorts of traditions are being broken today.” He thought slyly to himself. Enjoying these thoughts immensely, he was annoyed that some sort of commotion had started up.

“No Fox! No!”

“Speaking of old timers” Young Crow thought. “Here he goes again.”

“I will tell you once more, leave my pitcher as it is!” Old Flock Boss had his feathers up somewhere.

“But fine sir…” Fox stood both paws out to show no harm intended.

“No and ten times again no!”

Young Crow could now see a small group of older crows banding together led by the Old Flock Boss at the far edge of the flock.

Feeling empowered Young Crow flew hopped to defend his new friend Fox. “What’s all this now!” He cawed as he came.

Fox held up one paw. “No need for harsh words among feathered family.” Fox bowed low to the older crows. “If you do not want to take advantage of my gift you are free to go.”

“Oh no we’re not going anywhere.”  Said the Old Flock Boss. “You are, pack this stuff up, take your little helpers and go.  We don’t want your gift.”

Young Crow landed between Fox and Old Flock Boss. “Do you speak for us all ol’ timer?” He paced back and forth, walking the line of the old crows, nearly a third of the flock and almost all of the older crows stood jealously clutching their pitchers under wing. Unsure of himself, but having gone too far to turn back, Young Crow continued.

“I myself am sick of putting pebbles in pitchers to get a measly sip of water a day.”

Behind Young Crow a raucous chorus of caws erupted. Young Crow puffed up, swollen with pride that so many of the other crows were now supporting him. Emboldened he continued.

“This Fox, who has done no harm to our flock, has brought us a new wonderful life. A life where crows won’t have to work so hard. Won’t be a slave to boring repetitive tasks that…”

“But that is what has made our flock so strong, so fully feathered and healthy. What our Fore Crow taught us all those years ago, little by little…”

“Is making me sick.” Young Crow twisted the saying in mockery. Behind him croaks, caws, chucking and hisses. “Fox is right, you all should go.” He spun to his followers, his flock.

“There is a new Crow Motto” He called. “Why wait? Take a Taste!”

His flock looked from one to another,  confused and questions, squawking and clicking. “Okay well we’ll work on that one. But am I yer new Flock Boss?!”

A  loud caw of approval. The mostly young crows, flapping and hopping making a general ruckus.

Young Crow told Fox to continue to change over all the remaining pitchers. When he turned back to the old crows they were already flying off, their old fashioned skinny neck pitchers clutched in their claws.

“See ya’ later Pebblers.  Come back and visit anytime. We’ll be right here, living the life.” Young Crow chucked to himself. “You keep puttin pebbles in pitchers…”

“Well?” Fox came sidling up beside Young Crow. “You are in charge now my soon to be plump pal.”

He gestured out over the flock, many whom, as Young Crow himself had done, were dancing, rolling, splashing, in the fresh chill water. “You are responsible for all this.” Fox said laying a paw on Young Crow’s shoulder.

Young Crow felt not only the swell of pride and accomplishment, but ownership as well. These were now his crows, his flock, and he had done well by them. He had given them this new life. Where before there was hard labor and strife with little reward, there was now plenty and ease,  would be time for esoteric pursuits.  “Perhaps I will take up a hobby.”

“Congratulations on being such a visionary.” Fox told Young Crow. “I can see that you have things well in wing now so…” He bowed with a flourish. “I shall take my leave.”

“What? So soon?” He was shocked to hear that. There had been a small part of him that, even with all the help, had been suspicious of some Foxy trick.

But it seemed he was indeed simply being helpful. And so Young Crow hoped Fox  might stay awhile and they could talk. For both crows and foxes were well known for excellent conversation and love of good discourse among learned friends. “Must you go? It is nearly night fall, stay and tuck wing with us tonight.”

Some of the other crows nearby took up the call for Fox to stay but the sleek copper and white face smiled sadly.

“No my friends, it has been a long day, when usually I would have been tucked asleep in my den. I am tired buy I still must now find a little mouse or two, or a rabbit to dine on.”

“You can always eat ol ‘Morty here!” Cawed out a crow from the crowd. All the crows laughed, Young Crow and Fox joining in, Young Crow could really feel the love and he was happy.

“Only if I liked using feathers to  pick his ol dry meat out of my teeth.” Fox’s smile was all teeth.

They all laughed again. With Caws of “That’s Morty!” or in Morty’s case “Yep that’s me!”

“No my new friends, chasing you stringy little crows all around the meadow here for a mouthful of mostly feathers sound like far more work than it’s worth and not appetizing at all, no offense intended.”

There were of course recaws of “None taken.” ,  and even “I wouldn’t eat you either!” Crows were always cutting up. Young Crow held up his wings for silence.

When it had come he turned to Fox. “Thank you my friend. You have done us a wonderful favor!”

“As well for myself.” Smiled Fox. “Do not worry I shall return in a month’s time or so.”

“Three Cheers  for Fox”  cawed Young Crow.

“Fox! Fox! Fox!”

***

“Ahh now this is the life.”

Young Crow lolled in the sun, half on one side and sighed in pleasure again. “Ahhh!” His pleasure was echoed across the meadow as his flock answered in kind.  They all, like him, lay basking in the morning sun. Some crows even half in, half out of their bowls, their delicious bowls of cool water.

Young Crow, thinking of the water, thought he was thirsty, just a bit. He leaned  his head, stretching his neck. “Uhh” He grunted rolling a little farther on his side. Finally after all that effort he could lay beak on the rim of the bowl and let his tongue lazily lap at the surface. “Ahhh” he moaned in near ecstasy.

“Ahhh” Echoed his flock.

He really should move. He had rolled over to far getting to the water and had trapped one wing under his body only. He was so comfortable, and the sun was so warm and he was so full and round that it was becoming easier to lay here and drink. But that was okay, it sure beat all that pebbling and lifting and sipping they use to be forced to do by the Old Flock Boss. It seemed so long ago now, but it had to be what only a month or so. He looked down at his pink round belly, which was so distended by water that he appeared to be molting. Had he really gotten this large in only a month. Wouldn’t Fox be surprised when…

“Well I was just thinking about you!” Said Young Crow looking way up at Fox who had just appeared in his vision. “Umm…I’m a little bit…Umm lemme get up here…”

Young Crow began to tussle and roll trying to right himself. It had become harder and harder to do over the last month but, he knew he would eventually right himself. He was just a little out of shape. “Umm..”

Young Crow could see Fox smiling, was he enjoying this predicament.

“Do not worry yourself on my part my now deliciously juicy looking friend.” Sly Fox smiled. “I can enjoy you just as much in that position as another.”

“But” said Young Crow suddenly confused “What do you mean by that, we’re friends.”

“Yes.” Said Fox. “And you will taste all the more sweeter because of it.”

“You said you wouldn’t eat …”Young Crow suddenly realized that that is not what Fox had said, it is only what he had wanted to hear. “You said you were going to make our lives easier.”

“And I have” Fox assured Young Crow. “For you, for everyone.”

Young Crow saw a skulk of foxes come out of the trees beyond. A number of kits jumped and pranced in anticipation.

“My Family” Fox indicated.

Young Crows eye went wide with final and full understanding.

“Fox!” He cried “Fox! Fox!”