Animal Tales

by Terry Jones

  Old Mr. Fox takes his time entering the den, and, when he does, he sidles in curiously slowly and crouches down beside his good lady wife. But he never once takes his eyes off Jack the Rabbit hiding under his old fox-fur. And Jack the Rabbit can feel Old Mr. Fox’s eyes boring into him, and he’s just about to give himself up, when Old Mr. Fox speaks.

  “So,” says Old Mr. Fox, “I see we have a new cub.”

  Old Mrs. Fox nods.

  “He seems a promising youngster,” says Old Mr. Fox. “I’ll take him hunting with me.”

  “And that’s what he did!” says Jack the Rabbit to his admiring relatives and friends when he returns to the warren. “We caught a field mouse in the railway embankment!”

  “We?” queries Bugsy Two Ears, for he has never, ever heard of a rabbit catching a field mouse.

  “Yes,” replies Jack the Rabbit. “I helped to stop it running away. But Old Mr. Fox he didn’t eat it. We hid it in a secret place that only he and I know.”

  “Why did you do that?” asks Lenny Big Foot.

  “Because foxes have small stomachs,” says Jack the Rabbit, “Which is why they are hiding bits of food so they can always find a snack should they get hungry. After that we went to the Council Tip where we dug up an old chicken carcass.”

  “Yeurrrrgh!” remarks Louis the Loper.

  “Tomorrow, Old Mr. Fox is showing me how to catch chickens.”

  The next night, Jack the Rabbit puts on his old fox-fur and hops off to the edge of the dark forest to wait for Old Mr. Fox. But Old Mr. Fox doesn’t show.

  Jack the Rabbit sits there and nibbles a bit of grass and washes his ears until they get sore.

  “Huh!” says Jack the Rabbit. “If Old Mr. Fox isn’t going to teach me how to catch chickens, I’ll just teach myself. I can catch a stupid chicken if I want to!”

  And off lopes Jack the Rabbit to the hen house at Holly Farm. But it seems that Farmer Lebowski has taken great care to make sure the door to the hen house is shut and, what’s more, that no fox is going to dig under the wire-netting fence. But Jack the Rabbit by now is not only dressed like a fox, he’s actually starting to think like a fox.

  He goes right up to the hen house and starts looking for a hole that he could just squeeze through.

  “They won’t be leaving a hole big enough for a fox to get in, but I’m a lot smaller than a fox…”

  And as he is saying these very words, he finds himself staring at a small chink in the hen house, and through that small chink, Jack the Rabbit can see a beady eye blinking at him.

  “Warrr!” yells Jack the Rabbit, and he pulls a horrible face and the chicken, to whom the beady eye belongs, squawks with fright, which naturally sets off all the other chickens in the hen house. And soon there is enough squawking and clucking to wake old Farmer Lebowski even if he were sleeping the sleep of the dead.

  But Jack the Rabbit isn’t thinking about such things right now, and he squeezes himself through the chink. It’s such a tight fit that the old fox fur gets pulled right off his back. But Jack the Rabbit is so excited he doesn’t even notice, and soon he’s racing up and down that hen house trying to catch one of those chickens.

  And those chickens are squawking and beating their wings so fast there are more feathers in the air than air. And Jack the Rabbit is right there in the middle of all that hullabaloo trying to get his teeth around a chicken’s neck – just like he’d seen Old Mrs. Fox do.

  But something is wrong.

  Jack the Rabbit suddenly realizes that those chickens aren’t squawking with fright any more, they’re angry! And what’s more they are not flying away from him, those chickens are flying straight at him! And he also realizes that they are pecking him with their sharp beaks and scratching him with their sharp claws, and pretty soon Jack the Rabbit begins to think that chickens are not so stupid after all, and that if he could just get out of that hen house, he’ll be a lot more respectful of chickens in the future.

  Now this is the precise moment when Farmer Lebowski flings open the door of the hen house, yelling:

  “Caught you red-handed! You no good fox!”

  And Mrs. Lebowski shines her lamp into the hen house and it lights up Jack the Rabbit, who is himself looking more like a chicken and, what’s more, one that is ready for the oven, on account of having most of his fur pecked off. Well Jack the Rabbit just falls over like he was dead, and Farmer Lebowski turns to his wife and says:

  “Well don’t that beat anything? A rabbit making out like he’s a fox?”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes!” testifies Mrs. Lebowski.

  Then old Farmer Lebowski picks Jack the Rabbit up by his ears and stuffs him into his pocket.

  “Looks like we’ll be having ourselves a rabbit pie, Mrs. Lebowski,” says Farmer Lebowski to his wife.

  “Better’n fox pie, Mr. Lebowski,” replies his wife.

  Well Jack the Rabbit still doesn’t know what a ‘rabbit pie’ is, but he doesn’t intend to find out, so he keeps on pretending to be dead, until Farmer Lebowski and his wife are out of the hen run and halfway back towards the house. Then suddenly Jack the Rabbit leaps out of Farmer Lebowski’s pocket and races off into the night as fast as his legs can carry him.

  “Well I’m blowed!” says Farmer Lebowski.

  “Seems to me,” says Mrs. Lebowski, “that that there rabbit is about as crafty as a fox!”

  Jack the Rabbit makes it back to the warren, and Bugsy Two Ears, Lenny Big Feet and Louis the Loper do not stop laughing for several weeks on account of Jack the Rabbit looking so like a plucked chicken. But Jack the Rabbit does not pay any notice to them. And to anyone who asks him what has happened to his fur he replies:

  “Foxes are foxes and rabbits are rabbits and that’s all I’ve got to say!”

  WONDERS OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

  THE MONGOLIAN DEEP-FRIED BAT

  This curious creature hides itself in the ceilings of fish and chip shops in North East Glasgow. When no one is looking, it will cover itself in batter and dive into the boiling fat. It then bides its time until some unsuspecting customer is about to place what they imagine is a nice piece of cod into their mouth, at that moment the Mongolian Deep-Fried Bat spreads its wings with a loud squeak, and flies out of their grasp to gasps of horror and the occasional heart attack.

  No one knows why it does this.

  THE FLEA THAT RAN SAINTSBURY’S

  MR. SAINTSBURY (yes! the one who owns all the big grocery stores and hypermarkets – that Mr. Saintsbury!) once had a flea. I don’t know where he’d got it from, for he is a most particular man and always washes behind his ears, and his stores, as you know, are a by-word for hygiene and cleanliness, but the impossible sometimes happens. The flea’s name was Bertoldo. It was an Italian flea.

  The curious thing is, however, that Mr. Saintsbury didn’t know he’d got it. Now normally we know we’ve got a flea because we get bitten and we start scratching, and our mother usually says: What’s the matter with you, Terry? Have you got fleas?

  But Mr Saintsbury’s flea was very careful never to bite Mr. Saintsbury.

  When Bertoldo the Flea was feeling hungry, he would hop off Mr. Saintsbury and bite Mr. Saintsbury’s dog. But he never ever bit Mr. Saintsbury himself.

  This is the reason why.

  The day that Bertoldo the Flea first landed on Mr. Saintsbury, Mr. Saintsbury was about to open the Biggest Supermarket In The World.

  The moment he alighted on the great man’s neck, Bertoldo could see that everybody was looking at him. Bertoldo was used to hopping from one person to another without anyone taking the slightest bit of notice. But here he was on Mr. Saintsbury, and everybody’s eyes were upon him. Bertoldo raised a leg and waved to the crowd, and a little cheer went up. Bertoldo gave a deep bow, coughed and made this little speech.

  “Ahem! Dear friends, I am aware that I am no ordinary flea. All my life I have known that I am destined for bigger things, and yet I have becom
e used to being ignored… nobody seemed to notice I even existed. So your attention now is most welcome, for I have great things to say to you!”

  Another cheer went up from the crowd, and Mr. Saintsbury, who had also been talking, scratched the top of his head – just where Bertoldo was standing – giving Bertoldo quite a fright. Bertoldo hopped down onto Mr. Saintsbury’s ear.

  “I think they’re expecting us to cut that ribbon,” whispered Bertoldo into Mr. Saintsbury’s ear. “I’d do it myself, of course, only you’ve already got the scissors in your hand.”

  So Mr. Saintsbury cut the ribbon and the crowd cheered again, and Bertoldo the Flea took another bow. Then Mr. Saintsbury walked into the Biggest Supermarket In The World, and everyone followed. Bertoldo the Flea stood on the back of Mr. Saintsbury’s collar, and addressed them:

  “That’s right! This way! Follow me!” And everybody did.

  When they had walked right around the Biggest Supermarket In The World (which took quite a while) they reached the check-out till, and Bertoldo whispered into Mr. Saintsbury’s ear:

  “I think it would be a good idea if you bought something. It would be a symbolic gesture.”

  So Mr. Saintsbury bought some sausages for his supper, and then went outside and waved them at the crowd. Bertoldo the Flea took this chance to address the throng once more.

  “Now the first thing I have to say to you is that you shouldn’t waste your time here. What are you looking for? Happiness? Contentment? These are not things you can buy in a supermarket… not even the Biggest Supermarket In The World!”

  Once again the people cheered, and Mr. Saintsbury waved his receipt. Bertoldo the Flea looked around with some satisfaction, and said to himself: “Well! I never thought everyone would agree so easily. Ahem!”

  He cleared his throat and was just about to elaborate on the Nature of Happiness, when he noticed a particularly tasty-looking Red Setter sitting in the car park.

  “Hang on a minute!” he shouted, and hopped across onto the Red Setter, and had a quick bite. He had filled up nicely and was beginning to feel slightly drowsy, when he suddenly realised the crowd was dispersing and Mr. Saintsbury was getting into his chauffeur-driven car.

  Bertoldo only just made it back onto Mr. Saintsbury’s collar in time, and as they drove out of the Largest Supermarket In The World, he remarked to Mr. Saintsbury: “Well, I suppose it’s my fault for letting my attention wander… But it was a particularly ripe Red Setter. What kind of dogs do you like?”

  Mr. Saintsbury, however, didn’t reply, and so – feeling very pleased with himself – Bertoldo settled down for a nap.

  Well, for the next few months, Bertoldo the Flea and Mr. Saintsbury did everything together.

  Bertoldo gave Mr. Saintsbury advice on every occasion and Mr. Saintsbury seemed pretty happy to follow along. On one occasion Bertoldo advised Mr. Saintsbury – in no uncertain terms – not to open a hypermarket in Kilmarnock, but Mr. Saintsbury went ahead. And another time, Bertoldo tried to urge Mr. Saintsbury to stock pets as well as pet food, to no avail.

  But generally speaking, Bertoldo the Flea was not at all surprised that Mr. Saintsbury took his advice on most matters of business and on one or two personal ones as well. And whenever Mr. Saintsbury made a public appearance, Bertoldo would take the opportunity to impart some nugget of wisdom to the assembled throng. It always slightly niggled him that Mr. Saintsbury insisted on speaking at the same time, and once or twice, Bertoldo did ask him – very politely – to “Shut up!” But, on the whole, Bertoldo was satisfied that the superior content of his philosophical discourses would have made a greater impact on the crowd than Mr. Saintsbury’s unexceptional remarks about the weather and the size of his supermarkets.

  One day, however, it all went wrong.

  Mr. Saintsbury and Bertoldo the Flea were sitting out in the garden, enjoying one of the last days of Summer. Bertoldo (who had rather changed his views on supermarkets) had been unfolding his Great Master Plan to Mr. Saintsbury.

  “I believe we could turn the entire South East of England (including Basingstoke) into an autonomous, self-governing hypermarket,” he said, “with a hundred mile car park covering most of Sussex. We could put every other shop in Britain out of business and draw our customers from as far North as Dingwall and as far West as Bude. I, of course, would remain as Managing Director, but you could be Chairperson without operational responsibilities…”

  Well, it was a warm day, and when Bertoldo the Flea had finished outlining his grand scheme, he waited for Mr. Saintsbury to leap out of his deck chair and shout: “That’s brilliant, Bertoldo! Let’s start today!” But instead, all he got was a snore.

  Bertoldo could scarcely believe his ears. In fact, he was so indignant, that for once, he forgot himself. He bit Mr. Saintsbury really hard – so hard in fact that Mr. Saintsbury woke up with a start.

  “For goodness sake! Pay attention when I’m speaking to you!” exclaimed Bertoldo.

  But Mr. Saintsbury wasn’t listening. He went straight to the pet cupboard and got out a can of environmentally friendly spray. He looked at his dog and he said:

  “Rover, old chap, I accuse you of having fleas!”. And he sprayed Rover all over, and then sprayed himself.

  And that was the end of Bertoldo… the flea that (for a few months) ran Saintsbury’s.

  WONDERS OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

  THE DISARMADILLO

  This peace-loving mammal lacks the defensive plates found in other species of armadillo. As a result it is prey to any number of predators: wolves, coyotes, dogs, wildcats, bears etc. What is more, most armadillos, when startled by a predator, will jump three feet into the air, which so startles the predator that the armadillo has time to scuttle to safety. Unfortunately the Disarmadillo stands on one leg and pretends to be Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, but as it doesn’t have the ruby slippers, most wolves etc. fail to be convinced by the impression. When that strategy fails, the Disarmadillo will wander up to its predator and voluntarily climb into its mouth, rather than go through the motions of a long and nerve-wracking chase.

  THE IMMORTAL JELLYFISH

  THERE ARE TWO EXTRAORDINARY, unbelievably mind-boggling facts about jellyfish. The first is that there is one kind of jellyfish that lives forever, and that is what this story is about1.

  One day a vast crowd of herrings gathered around the Whale. The herrings were in a terrible tizzy, and they were all talking at once, until the Whale held up a flipper.

  “I can’t hear you if you all talk at once! Just one of you tell me what is the matter.”

  Of course this just increased the noise, as the herrings started arguing about who should be the spokesherring.

  “Silence!” boomed the Whale, and he waited while all the herrings settled down.

  “That’s better!” boomed the Whale. “Now, you!” and he pointed to one herring out of all the thousands. “You tell me what you’re all making such a fuss about.”

  “Asbut…trungling…ponkobands!” spluttered the herring.

  “What?” boomed the Whale.

  “You got him nervous…” explained the next herring along, “and we can’t think when we’re nervous, can we, herrings?”

  “That’s right!” chorused the other herrings, and they would have gone on agreeing about that for at least another half an hour, but the Whale held up his flipper.

  “Very well,” said the Whale, pointing to the herring that had just spoken. “You seem to be able to put two words together. You tell me what – under the sea – is the matter.”

  “Well,” replied the herring. “It seems that men have started fishing for herring again!”

  “So? What’s new?” replied the Whale. “Men have been fishing the seas ever since they came into being.”

  “But! but! but! but! but! but!” chattered all the herrings together. “One at a time!” boomed the Whale. “You!” and he pointed to another herring.

  “Plimplop!” blurted out the herring.

&nbs
p; “You make us nervous when you point like that!” said the next herring along.

  “All right,” said the Whale, getting a touch exasperated. “You…you tell me!”

  “Who? Me?” said the next herring along, looking about himself in alarm.

  “Yes! You!” boomed the Whale. “You seem to have your wits about you. You act as spokesfish.”

  “But us herring only ever do things together!” said the next herring along.

  “That’s right!” chorused the rest, and the Whale held up his flipper before the other herrings say continue.

  “I don’t care!” boomed the Whale. “If you want me to listen to what you have to say, you will have to elect this herring as spokesfish.”

  “Spokesherring!” cried the other herrings in unison.

  “Very well!” roared the Whale. “Spokesherring. Just get on with it!”

  So the Spokesherring began, and as it spoke all the other herrings nodded in agreement. And this is what the Spokesherring said.

  “Well in the old days men used nets with holes of such a size that even though they might catch us grown-up herrings, our small fry could wriggle through and escape. In this way there were always enough herrings to fill the oceans and carry on the proud tradition of the Herring Code…”

  “Being Together, Swimming Together, Breaking Wind Together2!” chanted all the other herrings.

  “But nowadays,” continued the Spokesherring, “men are using nets with such a small mesh that they catch us all – adults and small fry alike. They will soon destroy all the herring in the sea.”

  “It’s the same with us,” cried the Cod and the Haddock, who had joined the Herring. “Men are behaving as if there were no tomorrow! They are dragging up the sea-bed itself, and when they do that, there is nothing left for the bottom-feeding fish to live on, and if the bottom-feeding fish cannot find their food they will die out, and if the bottom-feeding fish die out, so will those who live on the bottom-feeders and so on and so forth.”