- The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf
- the Wolf and the Lamb
- the Lion the Ass and the Fox
- the Girl and the Jar of Nuts
- the Oxen and the Axle
- the old Wolf admires his Shadow
- the Frog and the Mouse
- the Jackdaw and the Fox
- the Nightingale and the Bat
- the Two Dogs
- the Boy who wouldn’t cry Wolf
- the Raindrops and the River
- the Frogs who wanted a King
- the Frog the Crab and the Snake
- the Fox the Mouse and the Grapes
- the Tortoise and the Geese
- the Birds and the Bat
- the Lion and the Hares
- Jackdaw and the Borrowed Feathers
- the Frog King and the Snake
- Jackdaw and the Pigeons
- Jackdaw and the Piece of String
- the Lion in Love
- the Wolf and the Sleeping Dog
- the Blackbird and its Wings
- the Snail the Mirror and the Monkey
- the Lion’s Breath
- the Monkey, the Goat, and the Sailboat
- the Astrologer and the Young Prince
- the Stargazer
- the Eagle and the Crow
- the Hippos at the Waterhole
- the Truce at the Waterhole
- the Goose that Laid the Golden Eggs
- A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
- the Frog and the Butterfly
- the Frog and the Flowers
- Another Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
- the Boy and the Snake
- Two Foxes and a Bunch of Grapes
- the Hare and the Hunting Dog
- the Toad and the Frog
- the Lion the Cat and the Mice
- the Fowler and the Woodpigeons
- The Tortoises
- the Angry Wasp and the Honey Bee
- the Camel Driver and the Snake
- Fall in the Garden of Eden
- A Monument for a Lion
- Two Dogs, One Bone
- the Tortoise and the Hare
The Boy Who Wouldn't Cry Wolf a sequel
This is another story of a boy, a village, and a wolf, or wolves. It dates from the same period as its more famous counterpart, to which it responds directly and appears to contradict, as you will see; both tales are equally cautionary.
When word of the gruesome fate of the boy who cried wolf reached the next valley, the locals shook their heads and muttered gravely about the incompetence and moral weakness of their neighbours. It would not happen to them, they said. They would make sure of it.
So they commissioned a bell the size of a bull’s head and installed it on a pole by the shepherd’s hut. The bell was so loud it could be heard across the valley. It would not be ignored. But, they warned, it must not be used without good reason.
“We will not have any false alarms,” they said.The young shepherd agreed. “You won’t hear a peep out of me,” he promised. “That boy on the other side of the mountain was nothing but a silly child and did not take his duties seriously. I know my business. I won’t sound the alarm without good reason.”
Days and months passed without incident. The young shepherd forgot about the bell and the threat of wolves until, late one afternoon, he discovered the body of a missing sheep at the edge of the forest, its throat ripped out, guts devoured.
The lad guessed it was the work of a wolf, but he couldn’t be sure, at least not sure enough to ring the bell and summon the village. What if the sheep had died of natural causes and been set upon by scavengers? He decided to wait until he had seen the beast himself.
In the days following, the young shepherd was more vigilant. He kept the flock close and scanned the trees for a sight of the wolf. He hoped it would not come, but at dusk one night, he saw it: a skinny, hollow-eyed thing skulking in the shadows. When it spotted the boy, it fled.
Should he raise the alarm now, the young shepherd wondered. Should he summon the villagers from their dinner tables for a lone wolf that fled the moment it was seen? It didn’t seem much of a threat. He decided he could deal with it himself.
The wolf did not return the following day, or the day after that, and the young shepherd convinced himself he’d scared the beast away. But early the next morning it was back again and this time it did not take flight.
The young shepherd understood he was in grave danger. He stepped back, crook still raised, and quietly urged the flock down the slope. More wolves arrived on his flank, panicking the sheep, scattering them across the pasture. The boy dropped his crook and ran.
The wolves pursued. They tore into the terrified flock, pulling them down, ripping their soft, braying throats. The boy stumbled and fell, but rolling forward and righting himself, he staggered to the alarm before the wolves could reach him.
The bell the size of a bull’s head rang out across the valley.
When they found him the boy was clinging to the pole as if it were a raft in a sea of blood. “How could you let this happen?” the villagers asked. “Why didn’t you sound the alarm sooner?” “There was only one at first,” the boy explained. “It was weak and old. I thought I could deal with it.”
“But that’s why we gave you the alarm,” they replied. “Wolves must be confronted immediately. If you don’t confront them, it gives them permission. And with permission comes confidence, and strength, until it is too late for them to be stopped.”
The boy hung his head. “It might have been a false alarm,” he murmured without conviction.
The villagers looked at the pasture strewn with the bodies of the slaughtered flock, and the young shepherd’s torn and bleeding flesh.
“But it wasn’t, was it?” they said.
© Richard Parkin 2021
This is another story of a boy, a village, and a wolf, or wolves. It dates from the same period as its more famous counterpart, to which it responds directly and appears to contradict, as you will see; both tales are equally cautionary.
When word of the gruesome fate of the boy who cried wolf reached the next valley, the locals shook their heads and muttered gravely about the incompetence and moral weakness of their neighbours. It would not happen to them, they said. They would make sure of it.
So they commissioned a bell the size of a bull’s head and installed it on a pole by the shepherd’s hut. The bell was so loud it could be heard across the valley. It would not be ignored. But, they warned, it must not be used without good reason.
“We will not have any false alarms,” they said.
The young shepherd agreed. “You won’t hear a peep out of me,” he promised. “That boy on the other side of the mountain was nothing but a silly child and did not take his duties seriously. I know my business. I won’t sound the alarm without good reason.”
Days and months passed without incident. The young shepherd forgot about the bell and the threat of wolves until, late one afternoon, he discovered the body of a missing sheep at the edge of the forest, its throat ripped out, guts devoured.
The lad guessed it was the work of a wolf, but he couldn’t be sure, at least not sure enough to ring the bell and summon the village. What if the sheep had died of natural causes and been set upon by scavengers? He decided to wait until he had seen the beast for himself.
In the days following, the young shepherd was more vigilant. He kept the flock close and scanned the trees for a sight of the wolf. He hoped it would not come, but at dusk one night, he saw it: a skinny, hollow-eyed thing skulking in the shadows. When it spotted the boy, it fled.
Should he raise the alarm now, the young shepherd wondered. Should he summon the villagers from their dinner tables for a lone wolf that fled the moment it was seen? It didn’t seem much of a threat. He decided he could deal with it himself.
The wolf did not return the following day, or the day after that, and the young shepherd convinced himself he’d scared the beast away. But early the next morning it was back again and this time it did not take flight.
The young shepherd understood he was in grave danger. He stepped back, crook still raised, and quietly urged the flock down the slope. More wolves arrived on his flank, panicking the sheep, scattering them across the pasture. The boy dropped his crook and ran.
The wolves pursued. They tore into the terrified flock, pulling them down, ripping their soft, braying throats. The boy stumbled and fell, but rolling forward and righting himself, he staggered to the alarm before the wolves could reach him.
The bell the size of a bull’s head rang out across the valley.
When they found him the boy was clinging to the pole as if it were a raft in a sea of blood. “How could you let this happen?” the villagers asked. “Why didn’t you sound the alarm sooner?” “There was only one at first,” the boy explained. “It was weak and old. I thought I could deal with it.”
“But that’s why we gave you the alarm,” they replied. “Wolves must be confronted immediately. If you don’t confront them, it gives them permission. And with permission comes confidence, and strength, until it is too late for them to be stopped.”
The boy hung his head. “It might have been a false alarm,” he murmured without conviction.
The villagers looked at the pasture strewn with the bodies of the slaughtered flock, and the young shepherd’s torn and bleeding flesh.
“But it wasn’t, was it?” they said.
© Richard Parkin 2021