Upon a thick gnarled branch sat a raven. He was a handsome
bird, and not without his faults. His two main vices were: eating berries and thinking
too much of himself. The berries he loved the most were inside the landscaped
gardens of the large white house on the hill. The people who lived there
disliked him very much, and had laid many traps for him to stop his berry
eating. But the raven was as smart as he was handsome and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't stop him
from stealing the delicious, juicy fruit.
On one occasion, the people had placed a bowl of the sweet
berries inside a large birdcage. The raven found the test irresistible. With
one strong wing, the raven kept the door lifted as he slurped the berries into
his gullet, then sat hidden in the branches of the tall oak bemused as he saw
the people examine the empty cage and bowl, scratching their heads in
disbelief.
Another time, they installed a fine mesh net over the
bushes. After his sharp talons shredded the net, he ate more than his fill out
of pure spite. He barely managed to lift his haughty frame into the air as a
shovel came whizzing past his head, swung by the lady of the house, who had
been gardening nearby. It had been close, to be certain. But as he slowly
digested his meal and shined his black feathers with his stout beak, he smiled.
The people would never outwit him.
On a particularly fine day, while gazing at his reflection in
the still waters of the pond, that aching feeling came over him. Hunger. And
when the raven was hungry, there was only one thing to eat- the sweet, red,
juicy, delicious berries in the yard. Over
the tops of the trees the raven flew, silhouetted against an azure sky, his
mouth watered in anticipation.
From the air, he spotted the bush. It was extra full, nearly
folded over with its tasty crop. He dropped lower to the ground, looking for
what he was sure would be there- a trap, a puzzle, a new-fangled contraption-
something which the people would foolishly believe could stop him, and which he
would undoubtedly overcome. But, there was nothing.
The raven drew closer to the ground, still circling. There
was no cage, no net, no trip wires, no tape, no sticks, not a single thing
standing between him and his supper.
“They’ve given up.” He cawed with glee.
“They’ve learned that there’s no stopping a genius raven like me.” A moment
later, he was tail-feathers deep in the bush, munching on the berries without a
care in the world.
So busy was he, that he didn’t notice the sleek, black fur
parting the grass.
So busy was he, that he didn’t see the large, round pupils
or long, black whiskers below.
So full of conceit was he, that he didn’t ponder for a
moment why the songbirds had all gone quiet.
With a pounce and a momentary rustle of leaves, the berries
were safe, and someone other than the raven, was contentedly full from lunch.
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