The Tail of the Sphinx

A dog of a taciturn disposition said to his tail, "Whenever I am angry, you rise and bristle; when I am pleased, you wag; and when I am alarmed, you tuck yourself in to protect yourself from danger. You are too mercurial—you disclose all my emotions. My notion is that tails are meant to conceal thought. It is my dearest ambition to be as impassive as the Sphinx."

"My friend," replied the tail, flexing appropriately to the sentiments expressed, "you must recognize the laws and limitations of your being, and try to find greatness in another way. The Sphinx has one hundred and fifty qualifications for impassiveness that you lack."

"What are they?" the dog asked, intrigued.

"One hundred and forty-nine tons of sand on her tail," the tail replied.

"And—?" the dog prompted.

"A stone tail," the tail concluded.