This is a story of a boy, a village, and a wolf. An old story. No doubt you’ll have heard it before; it’s been told many times. But no one knows what really happened and, from what I can gather, there’s a little more to it than you might have imagined.

An old shepherd died suddenly and there was no one to take his place. Keen to prove himself, a boy volunteered for the role. He was young and rather childish, but the villagers couldn’t let the flock go untended and decided to give him the job.

On his first day, he strode proud among the sheep as they grazed the mountain pasture. He felt adult and important. But as time passed, his enthusiasm faded. He was lonely. He missed the noise of the farmyard, the commotion at the dinner table. And he began to neglect his duties.

Late one afternoon, he woke from a pleasant nap to discover the flock scattered across the rocky slopes. Try as he might, he could not bring the stupid animals down. If he lost one sheep, he’d be in trouble, but he was in danger of losing more than that. So the boy cried ‘wolf.’

It seemed like a good idea. He shouted until the villagers came running from the fields. He told them a wolf had scattered the flock and that he’d chased it off. The men listened earnestly, then set off to pursue the beast. They searched until dusk, but found no sign of the wolf.

If the boy had stopped there, no harm would have been done. But how could he stop? He was thrilled with the drama he’d caused. He had turned potential disaster into success. And when next he needed an excuse—which was quite soon after—he did not hesitate to cry ‘wolf’ again.

The villagers came running from the fields. They listened earnestly as the boy told the same story, and then hurried out to pursue the beast. A wolf could not be allowed to roam unchallenged or it would bring the pack and the flock would be lost. But they found no sign of a wolf.

When the boy tried his trick a third time, the men asked for more detail: “Was he sure it was a wolf? How had he managed to scare it away?” The boy stood by his story. He’d been vigilant. But again, the men returned from the hunt having found no sign of a wolf. Not one.

The boy felt the suspicion of the villagers. If he lied again, and was caught, there would be trouble. He resolved to give up his tricks, He would apply himself to his duties, and if things went wrong again, well, he’d just have to admit it and maybe they would bring him home.

Alas for the boy, fate had a trick of its own to play. The threat he had conjured so conveniently arrived for real. He came upon a wolf, hungry and furious, blood already dripping from its mouth. Terrified, he turned and ran. He cried ‘wolf’.

But this time the men did not come.

Let him chase the wolf away himself, they said. And shook their heads. And laughed. But when eventually they came to check on the lad, they found the pasture spoiled with blood, the boy and sheep dead and decaying. With heavy hearts, they headed out to pursue the beast.

The men blamed the boy for his misfortune: he’d brought it on himself, they said. He’d lied and no one believes a liar, even when he tells the truth. That’s how they told it, that’s how they justified their inaction to themselves, and that’s how the story has been passed down.

But they might have learned another lesson, those men who ignored the alarm: when the moment comes that you no longer trust your guards, when you think they lie, by all means, confront them, sling them out, relieve them of their post. But always, always respond to a cry for help.

© Richard Parkin, 2020