Bribem's Initial Problem

Oh-oh. Bribem just texted:

Be late. Dam. Saplings. Sorry.

I take him to mean that his dam is leaking and he has to strengthen it with saplings so it doesn't give way.

Too bad.

 I just hope he doesn't have to use too many from his winter supply. We're in the northern hemisphere, it's October, winter's not far away. Last I checked, he had a pretty good supply of saplings in the lodge and some stored on the lake bank. The whole family will be eating them all winter.

I met Bribem about a year ago when he showed up in some fables I'm writing.

While we wait for him, why don't I print one I wrote in the 1970s. That was long before I met Bribem, Ollie and Olga Owl, Anne Aardvark, and quite a few other characters who all hang out in the Green Room between acting jobs in fables. Or tales--some of these stories don't quite make it as fables.

So, here's one from the 1970s.

The Fox and the Snare

Reginald Fox made a deal with a human farmer, Brown, a chicken farmer; Brown, a sometime animal lover, would permit Reg to steal a chicken every so often, provided that the fox would tell all the other foxes that the farmer's fake snares were dangerous, undetectable, and placed at all possible approaches to the hen yard.  Brown and Reg agreed that this plan would minimize the losses of both chickens and foxes.

The arrangement worked well. Reg so intimidated all the other foxes that they consistently omitted farmer Brown's from their daily rounds.

However, one day Reg was shocked to discover a moving van delivering to the farmhouse the possessions of a new owner;

"Sold!" cried Reg. "And without telling me! What will become of my arrangement?" Reg became agitated, pacing around in the woods looking at the farm from every angle. Suddenly, there he was, the new owner out checking the snares!

What a predicament! thought Reg. Brown may have told him of our agreement, in which case he is just trying to scare all the other foxes into leaving him alone, as before. But why did not Brown tell me he was going to sell and reassure me that the new owner would honor our agreement. No! Brown probably intended to betray me; the new owner, setting real snares, will catch me as a warning to all the other foxes.

Reg paced, and paced, working himself into a state of doubt and confusion, not to mention a cavernous hunger.

But surely Brown realized, Reg went on plaguing himself, that living words are a more potent warning than a dead body. He must simply have neglected to tell me that the arrangement will continue.

Reg continued seesawing between confusion, doubts, and hopeful trust. Far into the evening he paced, until he could stand neither his hunger nor his uncertainty any longer.

He set out rapidly along the main path to the hen yard, stepped on what he thought was a fake snare blocking his path, and was seen hanging high in the air by the first fox to arrive the next morning.

Moral:

Humans and foxes, driven to find out,

Will sooner hang with certainty

Than long suspend in doubt.