When all the other birds in their flock flew south for the winter, this one buncha young birds just didn’t feel like leaving yet. Fall was nice, and it was kinda cool to do anything they wanted with no bossy adult birds around. They dawdled and did aerobatics and lollygagged lazily until grub got short, things got cold and no grownup birds magically appeared to save them. Finally they headed south.
They didn’t get far when they flew into a freezing sleet storm. This one little fella’s wings froze up and he fell into a snow-covered pasture. His buddies, those other birds, just kept flyin’. There he lay unable to move, minutes from death by hypothermia when a cow came along and took a big dump on him. Oh, it was awful! Deep and steaming and stinkin’! He was whinin’ and sniveling and bemoaning his terrible fate when he noticed—what’s this? The heat and insulation of the cow’s dung was warming him up, restoring his life! He felt strength returning to his wings and his heart beat happily!
He poked his head out and found the storm had passed! Thrilled, he loudly trilled a joyous song! A passing cat heard the song, spotted the bird’s colorful topknot, snatched him outta the dungpile, tore him apart and ate him.
There are several morals to this story. Wh
ile it is not always wise to go with the flock, when movement is away from danger and natural consequences, those who freeze in place become victims. Wisdom is knowing when movement is meaningless—and when it’s for survival. Sometimes those older birds are both older and wiser. Others you’ve had good times with may not stop and help when they see you fall—they’ll just save their own feathered little butts. You may have thought they were real friends, but they were just playmates— “fair-weather friends.”
There are several morals to this story. Wh
ile it is not always wise to go with the flock, when movement is away from danger and natural consequences, those who freeze in place become victims. Wisdom is knowing when movement is meaningless—and when it’s for survival. Sometimes those older birds are both older and wiser. Others you’ve had good times with may not stop and help when they see you fall—they’ll just save their own feathered little butts. You may have thought they were real friends, but they were just playmates— “fair-weather friends.”
Sometimes having fun can get you killed when you fail to notice approaching storms. Youth and strength are wonderful, but they don’t make you invincible or immortal. Not everyone who dumps on you is your enemy, and not all crappy situations pose any serious threat—they just stink. Not everybody who pulls you outta the dungpile is your friend. And finally, even though you may be deep in poop, if you’re warm and safe, you ought to take a careful, cautious look around before you stick your head out, open your yap and start yodeling.
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