rjhudson (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} rjhudson) wrote,@ 2002-07-29 21:44:00 |
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My Favorite Bedtime Story
Once upon a time, there was a little baby hawk living in happiness with his mother. One day, while searching for a plump little fieldmouse, the mother was shot very dead by a hunter. The sound of the distant shot brought the little baby hawk out of sleep, back in the nest, and he somehow knew his mother would never again return before that shot stopped echoing.
Now the mother took great care in building the nest, but the tree it was balanced on was dead and rotting and, after awhile, he managed to bring the nest--with him in it--down to the ground.
Not so luckily for the baby hawk, a wild flock of chickens drew near. Look at that baby hawk, they said to themselves. After a short discussion, it was decided that the little flock of chickens would raise the baby hawk as one of their own.
These were not bad chickens. At heart they were kindly and, at night, they liked to sleep soundly and untroubled by their consciences. The chickens only wanted to help out.
And so the little baby hawk was raised by the chickens. In time, he forgot about his mother and grew accustomed to and then pleased with his company. The chickens taught him how to maintain a well-balanced, healthy chicken diet as well as how to scamper over the ground and how to gossip and how to do all sorts of chickenly things.
The hawk, from time to time, would look up into the sky and see other birds gliding overhead. He would follow their shadows over the ground, chasing them and flapping his wings. How nice it would be to [do that thing they do, up in the air]! he would think.
None of the other chickens ever thought to tell him who he really was. Kindly though they were, they couldn't trust a hawk not to be a hawk.
One day, the hawk and his merry little flock were out in a field, trying to find shelter. It would soon be nesting time. The little hawk, who by now was in his adolescent years and pretty set in the ways of chickenhood, watched idly, trying to learn all he could through observation so that one day he may be of help.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two shadows on the ground. They were growing larger and larger. He looked up just in time to see two hawks descend upon the flock. The chickens bawked in their helpless, chicken-about-to-die sort of way. The little hawk watched in horror as the two hawks crushed skulls with their powerful talons and ripped tender, juicy wings from the bodies of his family.
Minutes later, the entire flock was in pieces. Their blood soaked into the earth, their feathers were carried off by the wind, and their plump breasts, succulent thighs, and hearty wings were digesting in the bellies of these two mysterious birds.
What have you done? bawled the twice-orphaned hawk.
The two hawks said not a word. they glanced down their beaks at him and then pushed off the land skyward, leaving their fellow hawk amidst giblets, chipped bones, and the contented buzz of a very lucky swarm of flies.
Once upon a time, there was a little baby hawk living in happiness with his mother. One day, while searching for a plump little fieldmouse, the mother was shot very dead by a hunter. The sound of the distant shot brought the little baby hawk out of sleep, back in the nest, and he somehow knew his mother would never again return before that shot stopped echoing.
Now the mother took great care in building the nest, but the tree it was balanced on was dead and rotting and, after awhile, he managed to bring the nest--with him in it--down to the ground.
Not so luckily for the baby hawk, a wild flock of chickens drew near. Look at that baby hawk, they said to themselves. After a short discussion, it was decided that the little flock of chickens would raise the baby hawk as one of their own.
These were not bad chickens. At heart they were kindly and, at night, they liked to sleep soundly and untroubled by their consciences. The chickens only wanted to help out.
And so the little baby hawk was raised by the chickens. In time, he forgot about his mother and grew accustomed to and then pleased with his company. The chickens taught him how to maintain a well-balanced, healthy chicken diet as well as how to scamper over the ground and how to gossip and how to do all sorts of chickenly things.
The hawk, from time to time, would look up into the sky and see other birds gliding overhead. He would follow their shadows over the ground, chasing them and flapping his wings. How nice it would be to [do that thing they do, up in the air]! he would think.
None of the other chickens ever thought to tell him who he really was. Kindly though they were, they couldn't trust a hawk not to be a hawk.
One day, the hawk and his merry little flock were out in a field, trying to find shelter. It would soon be nesting time. The little hawk, who by now was in his adolescent years and pretty set in the ways of chickenhood, watched idly, trying to learn all he could through observation so that one day he may be of help.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two shadows on the ground. They were growing larger and larger. He looked up just in time to see two hawks descend upon the flock. The chickens bawked in their helpless, chicken-about-to-die sort of way. The little hawk watched in horror as the two hawks crushed skulls with their powerful talons and ripped tender, juicy wings from the bodies of his family.
Minutes later, the entire flock was in pieces. Their blood soaked into the earth, their feathers were carried off by the wind, and their plump breasts, succulent thighs, and hearty wings were digesting in the bellies of these two mysterious birds.
What have you done? bawled the twice-orphaned hawk.
The two hawks said not a word. they glanced down their beaks at him and then pushed off the land skyward, leaving their fellow hawk amidst giblets, chipped bones, and the contented buzz of a very lucky swarm of flies.
