The Wolf

T he butcher was heading home late. His carry-pole held nothing but picked bones — the meat had sold — and somewhere behind him two wolves had picked up the scent. They followed. He threw a bone. One wolf stopped for it; the other kept coming. He threw another. The rear wolf stopped; the front wolf came on again. When the bones ran out, both wolves were still behind him, steady as shadows. A butcher was returning home late in the evening; the meat in his carrying-baskets was all sold, and only leftover bones remained. Along the road, two wolves attached themselves to him and followed for a long distance. He threw a bone at them. One wolf got the bone and stopped; the other still followed. He threw again — the rear wolf stopped, but the front wolf came forward again. When the bones were exhausted, both wolves pursued together as before.

He was in trouble — caught between them if they rushed from both sides. Off the road stood a wheat field, and at its edge the farmer had stacked a mound of firewood, thatched over into a dome. The butcher ran to it and pressed his back against the pile, dropped his carry-pole, and gripped his cleaver. The wolves circled just out of reach, staring. The butcher was greatly distressed, fearing attack from front and rear simultaneously. Looking around, he saw a wheat field beside the road, where the field-owner had piled firewood in the middle, thatched over into a mound. The butcher ran and leaned against its base, set down his load, and held his knife. The wolves dared not advance; they glared at him face to face.

Then one wolf simply turned and walked away. The other sat down in front of him — sat like a dog, patient, still. After a while its eyes seemed to close. It looked entirely at ease. After a little while, one wolf went straight off; the other sat before him like a dog. After a long time its eyes seemed to close, its manner entirely at ease.

“Both were dead within minutes. What good, in the end, is an animal's bag of tricks?”

The butcher lunged. He split the wolf's skull with the cleaver and finished it with several more strokes. He was about to leave when he glanced behind the woodpile. The second wolf had dug a tunnel halfway through it. The plan was clear: crawl through from the back, come up behind the butcher while the first wolf held his attention. Half the body was already inside. Only the hindquarters and tail still stuck out. He cut through the haunches and killed it there. The butcher leapt up suddenly and split the wolf's head with his knife, killing it with several more blows. He was about to leave when, turning to look behind the stacked firewood, he saw that one wolf had dug a hole through it — intending to tunnel in and attack him from behind. Its body was already half inside; only the rump and tail were exposed. The butcher cut through its haunches from behind and killed it too.

Only then did he understand — the first wolf had been feigning sleep, drawing his eye while the second worked its way around. Wolves are cunning enough. And yet both were dead within minutes. What good, in the end, is an animal's bag of tricks? It only gives you something to laugh about afterward. Only then did he realize that the front wolf had been feigning sleep, using it to lure an enemy. Wolves are indeed cunning! And yet both perished in a moment. How much, after all, can the treacherous schemes of beasts amount to? They only add to our laughter.