The Fox and the Stork
Fox was stirring a pot of soup when Stork passed his garden gate.
“Something smells delicious,” she said, folding her long white wings.
Fox looked at her narrow beak. Then he looked at the flat dishes stacked beside his door. A mischievous idea tickled his nose.
“Come back for supper,” he said. “I have plenty to share.”
Stork accepted happily. All afternoon, while she walked beside the stream, she thought about warm soup and a friendly conversation.
Supper at Fox’s house
When Stork returned, Fox had set two places beneath an apple tree. He carried out the soup and poured it into two shallow dishes.
“Help yourself!”
Fox bent his head and lapped up his supper. Stork lowered her beak, but its tip only touched the thin layer of soup. She tried from one side, then the other. She could not take a proper mouthful.
“Would a deeper pot be possible?” she asked.
Fox hid a smile behind his paw.
“These dishes suit me perfectly.”
He went on eating. Soon his dish was empty, while Stork’s was almost as full as before.
The leaves rustled overhead. Stork watched one fall beside her untouched supper. She had come expecting a welcome, not a joke about the shape of her beak.
“Thank you for the invitation,” she said quietly. “You may come to my house tomorrow.”
Fox agreed at once. He liked being invited to dinner, especially when someone else did the cooking.
Supper at Stork’s house
The next evening, Fox followed the stream to Stork’s little garden. A delicious smell drifted through the reeds.
Stork had prepared a fish supper. On the table stood two tall jars, each with a narrow neck.
“Your dinner is ready,” she said.
Her long beak slipped easily into one jar. Fox pushed his nose toward the other, but the opening was too small. He turned his head sideways. He stretched out his tongue. The food remained far below him.
He could smell every delicious bite. He could reach none of it.
“I cannot eat from this!” he said.
Stork set down her jar.
“And I could not eat from your dish.”
Fox opened his mouth to complain again, then closed it. He remembered the soup, Stork’s careful attempts and the smile he had tried to hide.
His ears drooped.
“I wanted to make a joke,” he admitted.
“It was not much fun to be the hungry guest.”
“No,” said Fox. “It isn’t.”
A different kind of welcome
For a moment, neither spoke. A little breeze moved the reeds beside the fence.
Then Fox looked straight at Stork.
“I am sorry. You asked for something you could use, and I did not help.”
Stork nodded. “Now you understand. But making each other hungry will not make us better neighbours.”
She brought a broad bowl from her kitchen and spooned some supper into it. Fox waited until she had settled back at the table before he began.
This time they both ate.
They talked about the stream, the apple tree and a squirrel who kept burying nuts in Fox’s flowerpots. When they laughed, they laughed together.
A few days later, Fox invited Stork again. Before cooking, he checked his cupboard. He set out a shallow bowl for himself and a tall, roomy cup for his guest.
When Stork arrived, he pointed to her place.
“Will that work for you?”
“Very nicely,” she said.
The dishes did not match. The welcome did.
What is the moral of The Fox and the Stork?
Treat other people with the consideration you would want for yourself. A trick that leaves someone out is not a kind joke. In this retelling, Fox also learns that a good host notices what a guest needs, even when it is different from what works for the host.
The two mismatched meals come from the traditional Aesop fable preserved by the Library of Congress. The apology and shared supper are additions in this version, giving the neighbours a way to put things right.
For another tale about seeing beyond your own point of view, read The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse. Or enjoy a quieter approach to a disagreement in The North Wind and the Sun.