On a warm spring morning a dog of a burnt-amber colored coat sat at the gate of a farmers pasture.
As he gazed across the wide pasture; dressed in thick, green grass and embroidered with the purple, white, yellow,
orange, and every imaginable color of the spring blossoms, he noticed a movement afar off near the forest bordering
the far side of the pasture. Being a very curious dog and of a very brave and adventurous demeanor and feeling more
than capable of defending himself if the worst should happen, the small, reddish protectorate
of the farm set off at a brisk trot across the meadow.
As he neared the ominous forest that was no longer so distant he realized that what ever it was that had formerly
been there was now gone and thinking fondly of his sun-soaked napping spot, he turned to reclaim his most comfortable post.
As he started to go, he heard a whisper from behind him. Turning back towards the forest he saw the pointed, sly face of a
wild fox peering out from behind a great oak. “Oh, Hello” the dog said attempting politeness to Criminal Of The Woods.
“Hello Dog” replied the fox cordially enough though seeming just as wary of the dog. “Would you care to stay and talk with me awhile?”
“Well... I guess I am not particularly busy at the moment” replied the dog “but what could you, a fox, have to discuss with me?”
“You,” the fox started, “always have food, while I often go without. During the winter months you are as warm and cozy as anyone
would want to be, while I struggle to find a dry spot to make my bed.”
The dog eyeballed the fox thoughtfully. “I don't do anything really to deserve
this treatment, I simply had to change. I have not always been a content farm dog.”
“Maybe,” the fox sneered “but no creature has been as evil as myself. I spend my summers stealing your masters chickens and
killing his sheep, I destroy his crops in the fall before harvest just for sport, and in the winter, I harass his cows and
eat his cats and that's when I'm not busy menacing you're masters children and stealing from his guests as they visit him.”
The fox stared at the ground for a moment and continued “No, maybe some can change, but not I .”
As the fox turned to leave he noticed a small mark on the inside of the dogs leg. “What does that mark mean?” he questioned as
he walked away dejectedly not bothering to hear the answer.
“It's a marking that farmers and hunters give foxes when they capture and raise them, it shows that I was once a fox but now am
a changed creature, a dog.”
The moral of the story: Anyone, any creature, any person, can change at any time.
