The Parallel

"Grandmother, why don't I feel?"

"Child, it is because you feel too much."

"But grandmother, I want to be like them."

"No, child. You can't. You are you and they are they. Never the twain."

"Why not, grandmother? Why won't the twains meet?"

"They are parallels child, and parallels do not meet. The lines you see meeting in the distance is illusion. Like all things."

"But why am I on this parallel, grandmother?

"This was the choice you made before the lines were lain down, love. All had their choices. Many chose the other parallel."

"Are there more on my parallel, grandmother? Am I alone?

"You are never alone, child. There are others on your parallel."

"How will I know them, grandmother?"

"By their hands reaching back to support you, child, and by those who grasp the hand you reach back to guide."

"Will I feel then, grandmother?"

"Will you let yourself, child?"

Tuesday Tales --The Claustrophobic Wolf

The Claustrophobic Wolf

It was once that three young bachelor wolves shared a house on a hill near a thick old forest.

The wolves preferred the edge of the forest rather than the deep woods of their brethren. They liked the open space and the feeling of expansiveness it gave them and they liked the view from the hill, but mostly it was because the oldest of the bachelor wolves was claustrophobic.

During the pack meetings under the moon he always stood on the outside edges. When the leader asked him to come closer so he wouldn't have to yip so loudly, Gordon, the oldest of the young bachelor wolves, told him, "Someone must stand guard for us. I volunteer."

And the wolf leader would nod his head and pad back to his place on top of the flat rock to call the meeting to order.

Gordon kept his ears on the meeting and his eyes on surrounding bush, and he knew exactly where the quickest path to home could be found.

His housemates, Rald and Hubert, spent many a lazy hour sleeping in the sun or hunting for food, but Gordon liked to tend to the house and do the cooking.

One day his mother came by for a visit and asked him why he didn't go hunting with his friends.

"Someone has to stand guard for the house, mother. I volunteer."

"I don't see you get much of a problem with visitors. There's not much for cover for anyone to sneak up. Your house will be safe for a few hours. Rald or Hubert can look after it just as well, too, if it must be."

Gordon gave his mother a cup of huckleberry tea and a skewer of flying squirrel to snack on as they visited.

"I will say it is a fine view, son. You can keep an eye on the comings and goings of the villagers at the bottom of the hill, and see how the farmers tend their fields. When the geese fly south they'll stop in those harvested fields, I'm sure."

She licked her lips at the thought of fresh, fat goose.

"We don't get many coming around. The path to the forest is set far enough away. None has yet to snoop in the windows that we've seen, and there aren't any tracks."

No sooner had he said the words when a great grunting and snuffling assaulted their ears.

They loped to the nearest window and found a huge boar with curving tusks rooting about in the garden.

"Not my turnips," cried Gordon, racing out to chase the intruder away.

The boar pulled his snout out of the dirt and met the wolf's gaze without flinching.

"Get out," Gordon growled. He curled his lips and bared his fangs and put on his most menacing face.

Instead of fleeing with his curly tail between his legs the pig dug in his trotters and grunted.

"Those turnips are sweet, wolf. They'll make a fine meal."

"Not on my watch, pig." He nipped at the boar's face and side.

"That's a fine looking house you've got, friend wolf. Why don't you invite me in?"

"I've got company" said the wolf. "And your face is dirty."

"If I clean up, will you let me in?"

Gordon had been raised well and he knew his manners. Providing hospitality was the right thing to do even to a hog who was stealing vegetables.

"There's a stream by the wood. Go stick you nose in it and come back."

The boar trotted off to the stream while Gordon went back to the house.

"I see he's left. Did you scare him or reason with him?"

"Neither. He asked for hospitality. I've invited him in after he's washed."

His mother put a paw to her brow and shook her head. "Son...he's food. Are you planning to have him for dinner?"

"Only as a guest, mother."

"You are much too kind, son. Perhaps that's why you don't care to live with the pack."

"You know I don't like closed spaces, mother. The forest is not for me."

She got up and opened the door and nuzzled her son good-bye. As she did, the boar, all freshly washed with drops of water shining on his bristles in the afternoon sun, was at the door about to knock.

"Will you let me in now, wolf?"

The boar came in and made himself comfortable on the couch.

"What a fine house you have. It's seems bigger inside than out, and you've got a grand view of the farms and the village." And the pig smiled to himself because he'd overheard the wolf remind his mother he was claustrophobic.

"Would you like some tea? And how about a nice squirrel kabob?"

"Have you got any oats?" asked the hog. "I'm not much of a meat eater though I do thank you for the offer."

The wolf opened the pantry where the grains were stored. Once his back was turned the boar lowered his head and butted the wolf into the cupboard. He closed the door and threw his body against it, snorting with laughter.

It was dark in the pantry and awfully crowded. The wolf scrunched his body against the wall. He turned his head this way and that until he could see the little crack of light coming through the door.

His eyes grew wide and he started panting. His tail was mashed against his body and a back paw was jammed under a heavy sack of grain.

Small snuffling noises came from the other side of the door. Occasionally he heard a choked grunt. The hog was trying to control his laughter, but not doing a very good job of it.

Gordon twisted his body and threw it at the door. It budged a little, but the boar shifted and closed it again.

The movement closed the door completely. The crack of light was gone. Gordon closed his eyes and pretended he was outside. The trick worked in the past when he felt closed in, but not this time. The chortling pig on the other side of the door was too disturbing.

His stomach got tighter and tighter and he was running out of breath.

"I think this house should be mine," said the boar. "I'll put a half-wall between the kitchen and living room first, and then I'll change the windows. I like lattice windows. I suppose they all open? I'd change that, too. It's much safer if only one or two do, for escape in case of fire. But you've got so many in this house. I'd like it a bit more private."

He sank to the floor to rest a bit and think.

Gordon threw himself at the door a few more times, but there was no room to get a good run at it so the door hardly moved.

He moved his snout to the door jamb to get some air. As he moved the sack of grain moved and his paw was free. He flexed it a bit to get rid of the numbness and as he did he had an idea.

There was just enough room between the shelf and the grain sack for him to stand.

It was tight, but he held his breath and sucked in his stomach and made himself fit.

He coiled his body ready to spring, and he waited. The sun was shining full on the floor in front of the cupboard door. The boar was right in the middle of the sunspot, and he was probably getting sleepy.

The snuffling and chortling on the other side of the door grew fainter and fainter. Soon they were replaced by regular breathing and the occasional soft grunt.

He must be asleep, thought the wolf. It's time to strike.

He closed his eyes to calm himself, took as deep a breath as he could under the circumstances, and hurled his body against the door.

The boar had shifted a bit in his sleep and was no longer hard against the door. There was just enough slack for the wolf to break out.

The boar squealed in surprise when the wolf flew out of the pantry at him.

Gordon sank his fangs in the hog's back hamquarter and dragged him to the door.

He pushed the door open with one paw and tossed the hog out on to the ground.

The boar scrambled to his trotters and squealed all the way into the forest.

Gordon stood at his door catching his breath and watching the hog rush away, and then went to the kitchen to clean up the mess.

That night at the pack meeting he went to a spot away from the crowd. He checked around as usual, but didn't bother looking for the nearest path home. Instead he padded over to the front row and sat back on his haunches.

He was right in front of the pack leader. The leader noticed.

"You're not guarding tonight, Gordon?"

"I'm done with standing on the edges, Leader. Let someone else volunteer tonight."

Tuesday Tales--The Wild Goose

The Wild Goose

"Be kind to all," said the goose mother to her youngest goose child, "for it will serve you in the end."

"Yes, mother," said the little gosling, who always minded his mother even though he didn't want to. He knew it was for the best so he did, knowing once all his down was gone he'd be his own bird.

"Do what you'll do anyway," said the sow in the pen as her piglets suckled. "My children will know their own minds no matter what I say."

"So be yours," said the goose mother. "Most of my goslings are in their feathers now, but this one, he is best. He minds me and knows I am right always."

"Yes, mother," said the little goose.

"The farmer has his eye on you, little one," cautioned the sow. "It would be well for you to not be so kind. A goose who does not get along is not long for the farm, but one such as you is ready to catch and fatten."

"What does fatten mean, mama?"

"It means the farmer puts you in your own pen and feeds you all the best foods until you're big and strong."

"Oooohh," said the little goose. "I'd like to be fattened."

"You'll stay with me always if the farmer likes you," said his mother. "Your brothers will be sold for bedding. But you are lucky and will stay with me."

And so it came to be the little goose grew and was set in his own goose pen and fed special food.

"You're getting good and fat, goose" said the farmer's young son as he put the special mash in the food trough.

The young goose honked in delight at the attention. He knew he was a special goose because he got to stay on the farm while his brothers were gone. He did not expect to see them again. His mother came by the pen every day and told him how much the farmer loved him to lavish all this attention on him.

"Be kind to everyone," she reminded him. "It will keep you fed and housed."

"Yes, mother," he said, for he knew better than to argue with her. But his down was long gone and he was in full feather. The pen was small to him. He liked the food and loved the attention, but he noticed it was getting more difficult to get around.

The dirt and grass in his pen slowed his walking and his legs ached when he walked too much.

"Surely this is due to the cold weather," he said, and he shivered as a north wind bit through him.

He asked the other animals who wandered by his pen if they felt the cold in their legs.

A few of the older animals agreed the weather hurt them, but they didn't care and went back to their own pens or pastures.

One day a wild grey goose who'd been separated from his flock and was tired from flying alone landed in the pen with the young goose.

"What are you?" asked the young goose.

"What do you mean? What do I look like? I'm a goose."

"Why aren't you in your pen?"

"Pen? Why would I be in a pen. I'm a wild goose. I'm on my way to my winter quarters where it's warm and the waters flow."

"You have two farmers?" marvelled the young goose.

"I have the fields and the ponds and the woods," said the grey goose. "I don't know anything about farmers."

"My farmer brings me special mash every day, and I have this pen to myself."

The young goose tried not to sound like he was bragging, but it was difficult. He was proud of his station in life.

"Would you like to try some of it? You look cold and hungry, and I have plenty."

The grey goose ate his fill.

"Thank you. Would you mind if I rested here for the night? I am very tired, and I have a long flight ahead of me."

The young goose was happy to share his pen for the night. The grey goose went to a corner of the pen and tucked his head under his wing.

Soon he heard voices. The farmer and his son were feeding the livestock nearby and talking about the coming Christmas.

"The young goose is getting fat. He'll make a fine meal for us, son. See that you keep him filled with the mash."

"Yes, papa. I can hardly wait for roasted goose."

The next morning the as the young goose's food was replenished the son remarked, "Empty. There's a good goose, eating all you're given. You're getting rounder by the day."

The boy tipped the bucket of mash over the goose's trough and went on his way.

"Would you share with me my food?" asked the young goose as the wild grey goose came to inspect the trough.

"Friend," said the grey goose after he'd eaten. "How far can you fly?"

"Fly? What's that?"

"When you flap your wings and leave the ground," said his guest. "Haven't you ever soared through the air?"

"Oh, mercy, no," said the young goose, horrified. "I have no reason to fly. My mama said if I was kind to all then I'd be fed and sheltered. It would be rude to leave."

"Why don't you try?"

The young goose could not think of a reason, and decided it would not be kind to refuse such a reasonable request. He spread his wings and flapped, but nothing happened.

"Try taking a run at it," said the grey goose.

He tried. Nothing.

"Oh, I'm afraid my wings are too weak to carry me. I'm sorry."

"Young one, perhaps you should work them every day to make them stronger. Then you can fly. I'd like a companion and it is so much easier than flying alone."

"But I don't want to leave," cried the young goose. "I am fed and sheltered here. What more is there?

The grey goose told his young friend about his adventures in the north in the summer and the south for the winter. He said how he found ponds to swim in and fields to eat from and every day brought something new or interesting. He said how there were plenty of other geese and birds to talk to, and animals, too.

"It sounds like a great deal of work finding one's own food," said the young goose. "I like stability. I know what each day will bring, and I am happy."

"You won't always be," warned the wild goose. He told the young goose what the farmer and his son said.

"I'm to be their special Christmas guest," said the young goose, and he jumped and flapped his wings for the sheer wonder of being so special.

"No. No. No." said his friend. "You aren't their guest for dinner. You are their dinner."

A choking honk escaped from the young goose's throat. He took a few steps back from his friend.

"That can't be," he said. "Mother said if I was kind to all it would serve me in the end."

"Friend, your kindness to others means you'll end by being served. Come with me to my winter quarters. You'll be free there."

The young one flapped his wings, but he couldn't leave the ground. He ran and then tried and got as far as the end of the pen.

"It's no use. My wings are too weak.

"You've flown a bit already. I know you can do it. If you eat less of your mash and practice every day, then you'll be able to fly."

So the young goose gave most of his food to the grey goose. He flapped his wings and ran around the pen. Soon he could rise high as the barn roof and he could fly around.

"It's almost time. We'll go tomorrow at first light," said the wild goose.

That evening the goose mother came by. The young goose told her of their plans, and what the wild goose had heard.

"Many a goose has gone to be a Christmas guest and have never returned to the pen. I think he's filled you with wild ideas, son, but you must do what is in your heart."

The next morning at first light the young goose flapped his wings. He rose higher and higher in the air and circled, waiting for the grey goose to join him.

The grey goose waited until the young goose was airborne and then spread his wings.

Nothing.

He ran toward the end of the pen and tried again. He still couldn't get off the ground.

He looked into the water trough at his reflection. He was fatter than he'd ever seen himself. All the mash his friend had given him made him too big for his wings.

The young goose called down to him to hurry up.

The grey goose looked at his reflection and knew he wouldn't be joining his young friend.

"Fly. Find a flock to join. I'll catch up with you."

The young goose circled a few more times, but the grey goose stayed on the ground. He didn't think it was right to leave without him, but he'd been told to, and it was kindness to follow another's requests.

"Thank you for rescuing me," he called and then flapped his wings and headed south.

The wild goose watched the young goose fly away and then waddled over to the mash trough just as the boy tipped the bucket.

"Oh, ho! What's this? A fine wild goose come to join us." The boy called his father over to the goose pen.

"He's too fat to fly, I think," said the boy.

"I believe you're right, son. And he's eaten in the fields and the wild. He'll make a fine Christmas meal."

The grey goose swallowed hard. He swore off the mash and tried to fly again and again, but to no avail.

The next day the farmer came. He caught the grey goose and no one in the farmyard ever saw him again.

As for the young goose, he flew until he was tired. He landed in a field where other geese were feeding. He asked to join them and was told if he took his turn at the front of the formation he was welcome.

He spent many happy years with his new friends. He often thought of the grey goose and was grateful his mother taught him to treat everyone with kindness.