A famished Fox raided a barnyard one morning and picked out a plump Chicken to serve as his dinner companion. After she was taken back to his lair, the frightened Chicken pled for her life.
“O spare me!” she clucked.
The Fox considered. “Most certainly. You have my word as a Fox—if you first do something for me.”
“And what is that?”
“My lair is a frightful mess. Clean it up, then bring in some herbs from my garden, and we will have dinner together.”
The Chicken immediately got to work, to save her life. After the kitchen and everything in it sparkling, she cleaned the rest of the lair, washed the floors, mowed the rug and got the herbs. When she finished, the Fox picked up a newly cleaned sharp knife and asked, “Do you prefer being roasted or fried?”
“But you can’t!” cried the Chicken. “You gave me your word!”
“How can a Fox’s word ever be good to a Chicken?”
The dinner was superb. The Fox decided that the herbs brought out the best that the Chicken had to offer him.
Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net
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