The very proper gander

The very proper gander

by James Thurber as interpreted by an anonymous story teller

 

 

Not so very long ago there was a very fine gander. He was strong and smooth and beautiful and he spent most of his time singing to his wife and children. They lived in Ohio, where almost everybody loved Benedict Donald, the over seer of the largest chicken house in all of the universes. One day somebody who saw the Gander strutting up and down in his yard and singing remarked,

 "There is a very proper gander." A red white and blue hen named Spinderella heard this and promptly reported to Mr Donald that night in the roost.  "They said something about propaganda," she said. "I have always suspected that," said Mr Donald, and he went around the barnyard the next  day tweeting to the whole universe that the very fine gander was a dangerous bird, more than likely a hawk in gander's clothing. A small brown hen  named Smiller remembered a time when at a great distance she had seen the gander talking with some hawks in the forest. "They were up to no good," she said. A duck named Mr Globalist remembered that the gander had once told him he did not believe in anything. "He said to hell with the flag, too," said the duck. A guinea cluck called da Hooch recalled that he had once seen somebody who looked very much like the gander throw something that looked a great deal like a bomb.

Finally everybody snatched up sticks and stones and descended on the gander's house. He was strutting in his front yard, singing to his children and his wife. "There he is!" everybody cried. "Hawk-lover! Unbeliever! Flag-hater! Bomb-thrower!" So they set upon him and drove him out of the country.

Moral: Anybody who you or your advisor thinks is going to overthrow the government by incompetence must be driven out of the country.

The fly in the plane

Insects don't seem to be concerned about where they are: they only require an environmental ambience.

A moth that flutters in  through the open window of a  28th floor condo is so consumed by the pursuit of an illuminated light bulb, that it has no regard for any long range plans. That moth will fly erratically as it easily dodges  attempts from you to swat at it,  eluding capture,  perhaps to be released back outside.

Suppose you  miss and you tip over the glass of red wine, spilling on the carpet. The moth will advance  to the consumption of the light, which he thought was just beyond the branches of the monkey pod tree. There is probably  very little chance of escaping  your condo to breed, which is the long range plan

A fly boarded the plane with Mr Trex and me today. I don't really think that it cares where it is.
When we land and the fly escapes, it will have no recollection of where it spent its maggot hood.
Wherever, it will be the same: a tuna salad, a pile of dog crap, a melting ice cream sandwich

This is Mr Trex, he sat next to me when I flew to PDX. He could not eat his meal, arms too short, see? I was able to get him a can of ensure and a straw, he was grateful. He invited me to meet his wife and kids