The Walrus

The walrus had a humongous toothache, if you can call a tusk a tooth. “No dentist for me, they’re all a fake,” he cried, “nobody’s going to mess inside my mouth.”

            

“Either you go to a dentist,” said a salmon, “or you’ll go insane.”

            

“I won’t go. Imagine them trying to fit me in a chair! No, you’ll have to drag and haul me, over my own dead body.”

            

“We can’t do that,” a beluga said, “you’re much too heavy.”

            

“All I know,” the walrus said, “is they’ll pull it, for sure, and sell it to someone on modern E-bay. It’s ivory, ivory, rare precious ivory—driving good surgeons to extra keen knavery. I won’t go. And , when I think of what they’ll use for a drill! No, no, I’m afraid, and I won’t go!”

            

They said there was an expert, worldwide renowned in—root canal; he could save the tusk, root branch and enamel.

            

Walrus said, “You must be out of my mind! I’ve been in every ocean, plus the Bering Sea. I don’t need another body of water in me. Never!”

            

And that was that. But can you believe this?—some things spontaneously happen— Walrus finally healed on his own. And he wanted this written down: “‘the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth’ is my motto,” and he didn’t generalize any further.

            

But his friends did—

            

Moral:             If you don’t have pluck, you need lots of luck.

Pit Bull

A certain pit bull dozes like others do, languidly. But if anyone wakes him, I don’t care who, including his master, he snaps at once, ready to rend.

            

Was this the way he was ferociously trained? Or is there something wild in him, completely ingrained? Who knows? But when he is out-cold or, you could say, in-deep, he is the picture of the gentlest being, placid, anything but deceitful and savage, far down in slumberland, way under, utterly sweet, quiet, calm.

            

Moral:             Let lying dogs sleep.

Robin and Son

In one particular robin flock there was a female who was truly loyal and faithful to the mate she had picked years before. It was a sort of scandal to be so male-bonded in a group that was utterly liberal and would never show the slightest disapproval of normal social strayers from the nest. Not that she showed off in any manner but was, simply, devoted and content. And it had been the same for him in a prior mating, where his partner never once went off, until she died.

What did he have that kept his females so devoted? Don’t say sex because robins don’t delude themselves with unique details of capacity, any startling disparities in coital competence. They know about the general parity of masculine performance. One male is as strong or as brave as another, no special fame inherent. Was it exceptional good-looks? No. He had no extraordinary orange in his broad expanse of chest, no luminous crimson more luminous than the next. No, something else was involved in this robin’s hold on his steadfast, immovable mates.

No one in that flock ever learned his secret except his breast-bespeckled son when the fledgling took his turn to fly to other skies and be gone.

           

The Koala

Enough said about the koala bear, enough about his irresistible charm, that cuddly fluff that keeps people coming. Crowds are mad about him, but a koala never puts on a show, never actually tries to act so cute, stoop that low to gain salute, the way a lot of lap dogs do to captivate you.

No, hundreds may watch while he romps in his gym, but that doesn’t remotely concern him. He never calls attention to himself, he goes on being he or she, and that is the secret of koala success, his un-self-conscious celebrity.

Moral: Never actively seek a flattering press lest you forfeit natural happiness.

The Giraffe

The last one who said to an indulgent giraffe, “How’s the air up there?” soon found out. Seized by the throat and slung through the air, winding up on top of a baobab tree, he dangles there, for all to see.

Your stately giraffe moves slowly, aloof, munching the leaves on acacia tops. His gait is so fluid wherever he goes that he scarcely walks but grandly flows. He drifts unafraid across the plain not simply because of his daunting height but because he has the sharpest hoof of any animal anywhere. So he strides abroad in broad daylight from tree to tree and crown to crown, quite undisturbed by might and mane, serene, sedate, elegant, and kindly disposed, hardly ever perturbed, patient, polite, the most forgiving of beasts—except for that one unpardonable gaffe that no one should visit upon a giraffe.

He is one of the world’s mildest, least excitable critters, but he simply explodes at that unseemly old joke coming from unoriginal, wisecracking smart-alecs, who love to show off. They get what they deserve.

Moral: Do not crack wise at someone tall—better yet, not at all.