In a fanciful northern clime a tiny bird, too young to fly, fell out of its cuddly nest into a very deep and cold snowdrift. With exhausting effort he struggled on to a nearby carriage track, recently made. Frozen and weary he followed the trail, hoping against hope for assistance.
Some time later a farmer, struggling home himself, came upon the almost lifeless creature. Moved by compassion, he picked it up. Seeing a recently deposited, deliciously steamy pile of horse manure, he formed a little cave in it and deposited therein the frigid invalid. Carefully covering the cave’s entrance, he resumed his own laborious journey.
As the warmth began to spread through the bird’s body, the blood flowed again, and hope returned. In gratitude the junior began to chirp. Louder and louder. No church choir could sing better or with more sincerity.
A hungry fox was foraging nearby. Not an easy thing to find a good meal in conditions like these. Then he heard the chirping. Pursuing the lively notes, he discovered the bird in his unusual but temporarily, at least, suitable home. He reached in, grabbed his prey, carefully removed any and all distasteful brown clumps, and had himself a delightful warm dinner.
What might this weighty tale teach us? First, he who puts you into the shit may not be your enemy. Secondly, he who takes you out of it may not be your friend. And finally, when you are up to your neck in the noxious stuff, don’t sing!
