The Bull and The Crow
An Overshoot Parable for Our Time
Big Bull stood in his favorite spot and chewed his cud. A warm breeze played on his white forehead swirl and coaxed a soft rustle from the oak leaves above. His heifers and cows marked out a familiar brown and green design on the summer pasture below. A swish or two of his muscular tail was all it took to discourage a few busily humming flies, virtuosos of buzz. The brass ring in his nose caught the gleam of the afternoon sun.
“This is the best of all possible pastures,” he lowed, almost to himself.
Crow double hopped to an almost graceful landing on a fencepost nearby.
“Well, my small friend, isn’t this another wonderful day?” Big Bull’s rumbling voice came from deep within his massive body. “How could anything be better?”
“It may seem good today,” Crow warned, “but dark days are ahead.”
“Here we go again,” Big Bull chided. “Your outlook is as black as your feathers. You’re always telling me how bad it is. I just don’t see it.”
“So, as long as you’re fed, and with a harem of heifers and cows, you’re happy, right?” Crow went on, “Something pretty to look at today, and a belly full of hay is all it takes for you?”
Big Bull took a minute to swallow his cud. “And why not? What else is there but the day in front of me?”
Crow croaked, “My gigantic friend, did you ever consider that there may be something behind this good life you’re living? That it’s too good to be true? You think the Farmer keeps you here in your paradise out of the goodness of his heart?”
“The Farmer knows what’s best for us,” Big Bull grumbled.
“So you say. I say, if I were you, I’d use those big shoulders of mine to knock down this fence and run away from here as fast as my overfed body could carry me,” said Crow.
Big Bull chuckled, “What, and miss out on all that Timothy and Alfalfa in my hay rack every day? And Orchard Grass on Sundays?”
Crow hopped along the fence’s top rail, gave out a loud “caw,” and bounced back to his fence post. “Let me ask you this,” he hacked. “You’ve had hundreds of heifers, and more calves than you can count have dropped on this green field. Where are they now?”
“You know as well as I do that the Farmer sends them all to new pastures of their own,” Big Bull responded.
“And you believe him? You don’t think he might be lying?” Crow bobbed his shiny head as he spoke.
“Why would he lie? He knows what’s best for us, and gives us everything we want. A warm place in the winter, plenty of hay, nothing to bother us.” Big Bull’s heavy voice was showing a bit of anger. “All you Crows are the same. You want to make trouble, disturb our peaceful lives, upset the way things have always been.”
Crow patiently explained, “We have a different view of things. Did you ever think that we might be able to see things you can’t?”
“Oh, you Crows are so smart!” Now Big Bull was definitely getting mad. “You know more than the Farmer, I guess. And I suppose you Crows think you’re better than him too!”
Crow lifted up his shiny blue-black wings, shook himself. “I’m not saying we’re smarter, or better. But even you have to admit that we can see things you might not. After all, we can fly. And we see where all those heifers and cows and calves go when they leave here. ”
“They go to their own pastures somewhere else. Quit trying to scare me, will you?” Big Bull shook his massive head.
“I — we crows — don’t want to frighten you,” Crow said. “We think you should know the truth, and the only way to get to the truth is by having this kind of talk, like we’re having now.”
Big Bull contemptuously huffed, “How do I know what you say is the way it is? What if you’re the liar? Nobody I know says the things you do. We all think everything’s fine.”
“I can bring more Crows in, and you can hear what they say,” Crow grated. “I’ll get some who don’t know you, have no reason to lie to you.”
“They’re all liars too. All you Crows are liars. Bring in some cows, so I can hear what they say,” Big Bull scorned.
Crow rasped, “You already know what your cows will say. Same thing they say everyday. And I couldn’t bring in any of those cows the Farmer already took away if I wanted to. Have you ever heard of hamburger?”
Big Bull stamped his feet and snorted. “I don’t want to talk about it any more!”
“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Crow acceded. “But let me ask one more thing, then I’ll leave you alone. Why did the Farmer put that ring in your nose?”
“Because it’s a fine piece of jewelry, and it makes me look handsome,” Big Bull retorted.
Crow gave out three raucous caws of laughter. “Poor Big Bull, big handsome bull! You weigh eighteen hundred pounds. You could crush the Farmer in a second if you wanted to. But when he grabs that ring, you’re as helpless as a baby mouse. It’s to control you, handsome Big Bull, to lead you around by the nose!”
Big Bull stood, silent. The brass ring in his nose glowed in the warm late afternoon sunlight.
Crow flapped to the sky, flew in a small circle above Big Bull’s head. His voice trailed off as he flew away. “There’s something happening here, and you don’t know what it is, do you, my Big Bull?”
Big Bull remained motionless, brought up another cud and began to chew. A few flies hummed, familiar music to his ears. Soon his conversation with Crow was a distant memory, then gone. From his low hilltop he watched the Farmer and his dog herd several of his cows toward a waiting truck. Big Bull thought of the sweet summer hay that would soon appear in his hay rack.
“This really is the best of all possible pastures,” he lowed, almost to himself.