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The Man and the Fox

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The Man and the Fox
 

The Man and the FoxOnline version

Narrative Text

by Alvia Aisyah
1

Once upon a time, when the moon grew on trees and ants were fond of pickles, there lived a lovely brown fox named Rowba. He had soft fur, beautiful whiskers, and a fine, bushy tail that he took great pride in.

One bright day, Rowba was sitting beside a quiet country road, grooming his whiskers with his claws, when a man happened to pass by.

“May you never be tired!” the man greeted kindly.

“May you always be happy!” Rowba replied with equal cheer.

“I’m feeling generous today,” said the man. “Is there anything you would like?”

Rowba’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I would like a chicken,” he said. As everyone knows, foxes love chickens.

“Come along with me then,” said the man. “I have chickens at home. You shall have one in no time at all.”

“How marvelous!” exclaimed Rowba, and he trotted happily down the road beside the man.

2

When they arrived at the man’s house, he turned to Rowba and said, “Wait here outside. I’ll go to the back yard and fetch you one of my birds.”

Rowba sat down politely and waited, his tail flicking with excitement. Meanwhile, the man went inside his house—not to get a chicken, but to prepare a trick.

He took a sack and filled it with stones. He had no intention of giving a chicken to Rowba. Instead, he would pretend there was one in the bag.

When he returned, he handed Rowba the sack and said, “Here you are. There’s a chicken inside.”

“How wonderful!” Rowba said, lifting the sack eagerly.

Just as he was about to open it, the man quickly added, “No, no! Don’t open it here.”

“Why not?” Rowba asked.

“Well,” the man said, pretending to be concerned, “the farmers around here can see us. They won’t like me giving a chicken to a fox.”

“What shall I do then?” asked Rowba, confused.

“See those bushes over there?” the man said, pointing. “Take the sack there. You can open it in peace, and no one will see you.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Rowba. “Thank you very much!”

3

Rowba picked up the sack in his mouth and trotted over to the bushes. Once hidden among the leaves, he set the sack down and opened it.

To his surprise, there was no chicken inside—only stones.

“Strange,” Rowba muttered. “What kind of funny joke is this?”

But before he could think further, a heavy net suddenly dropped from above. Rowba had walked straight into a trap!

Some hunters had set the net to catch foxes that tried to hide in the bushes. Now Rowba was caught.

At first, he was worried. “What if I never get out?” he wondered. But then he reminded himself, “I’m a fox. And foxes are clever.”

4

Rowba looked around inside the sack and found a stone with a sharp edge. Carefully, he began to cut through the ropes of the net.

He worked patiently, making a small hole—just big enough for one paw to fit through.

He cut some more, and soon both his front paws were free. Bit by bit, he worked his way forward—his nose, his head.

With a final push and a determined wiggle, Rowba squeezed out of the net and escaped.

He darted out of the bushes and ran down the road, his laughter echoing through the trees.

“Men may think they are clever,” he said to himself, “but foxes are cleverer still!”

5

And from that day on, all the foxes in the land knew the story of Rowba and the man who had promised him a chicken.

That is why, even now, if you see a fox and invite him for a walk, he won’t go with you.

And that is why foxes are so hard to catch and live such free and clever lives—just like Rowba.

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