The Wild Boar and the Fox

The forest was quiet that morning. Birds sang, the sun lay warm on the moss, and under an old oak a wild boar was rubbing his tusks against the bark. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

A fox came trotting down the path and stopped to watch. He sniffed the wind one way, then the other, but nothing was stirring. "Is there a hunter coming?" he asked. "Are the hounds out?"

"No hunter," said the boar, "and no hounds." Scrape, scrape, scrape.

The fox sat down and laughed. "Then why sharpen your teeth? There is no danger anywhere, and you could be lying in the sun!"

The boar stopped and looked at him, with bark dust on his snout. "When the hounds do come," he said, "I will need my tusks at once, and that is no time to start sharpening them." He turned back to the tree. Scrape, scrape, scrape.