Omir the Storyteller

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Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The Wolf And The Lamb


Once upon a time . . . ever notice how all good stories happened once upon a time, even if it was just last week?


Anyway, once upon a time, much longer ago than last week, I assure you, there was a wolf who lived in the forest. His usual diet was squirrels, rabbits and other small creatures that couldn't outrun him, but he liked larger meals when we could get them. And at this very moment, as he was getting a drink of water from the brook, what should he see downstream but a lamb, drinking from the same stream.

The wolf's eyes lit up and he started drooling a bit at the prospect of getting his choppers around some mutton on the hoof. But how to proceed? He thought for a moment, then called out to the lamb, "Hey you!"

The lamb looked up, startled. "Who me?"

"Yeah, you!" snapped the wolf. "You see anyone else around here?"

The lamb, not used to such rough discourse, looked around and meekly said, "No."

"Then I'm talkin' to you, ain't I? I'm talkin' to the guy who's fouling my stream."

The lamb looked at the wolf, then at the stream, then at the wolf again. "Please sir," he said, "it couldn't have been me. I am downstream from you and could not have fouled the stream."

"Well then," continued the wolf without missing a beat and inching closer to the lamb, "What were you doing spreading sheep-doodles all over the forest for me to step in?"

"Please sir," said the lamb, backing away, "I've never been to the forest. I live in the pasture with my dam."

"Ah!" said the wolf, closing in, "then surely you were the one who was spreading lies about me last year."

"Please sir," said the lamb, getting ready to run as fast as his little legs would carry him, "It could not have been me, for I am but six months old and have never said an unkind word about anyone."

"Well isn't that just too damn bad," the wolf snarled, "because if it wasn't you, it was surely your sire, and now you are the one who's going to pay!"

And with that the lamb began bleating and running, but of course he was no match for the wolf, and a few minutes later the wolf was alone in the clearing, wishing he'd had the foresignt to bring along a pot of mint jelly.

Any excuse will serve a tyrant.


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