Well, not really updated, since Aesop’s originals are timeless, and as relevant today as they were centuries ago. The Fox continues to see the grapes as sour when he can’t reach them, and no doubt he always will.
But Aesop never worked in a thirty story office building or a twenty level office hierarchy, and never had to deal with a recalcitrant computer or a belligerent boss. So for those of us who do, or did, here are fables about folk who coped with some of these modern aspects of life.
Aesop drew his morals from life; I draw mine from four decades of working for a living, thirty of them as a Federal Bureaucrat in Ottawa, (fifteen as a first level Senior Executive). I know that many people would say that “life” and “federal bureaucracy” have little, if anything, in common, but I believe that they share, amongst other things, bungled messages, suffocating committees, politically correct morons, managers who cannot manage and leaders who cannot lead. And also a few good guys. If you have downloaded my “Eclectic Lights” collection of short stories you will have met some of my fables before. You will find several of these repeated here, alongside some new fables.
So thank you for downloading them. I hope you find my modern fables amusing; I hope you find them entertaining; I hope you find them useful.
Barry Daniels Western Shore, Nova Scotia June 2009

THE STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE FOLLAME BEETLE
A Fable for the Third Millennium

In the spring of 1927 an entomological expedition to the Amazon River Basin brought back samples of a previously unknown insect, which they found in large numbers along the river banks close to the river’s source. Experts were at a loss to explain how an insect

present in such large quantities had not previously been reported or identified. The large, multicolored beetle, named for the team’s leader, entomologist Sir Edmund Follame, was a beautiful creature, having a carapace which resembled mother-of-pearl in its subtle shades and in its luminescence. Sunlight

falling on the shell was reflected as though from some precious stone.

The beetles were of particular interest to entomologists of the era due to their unique foraging process. One insect, normally the largest and strongest of the group, would take the lead and become responsible for locating food. In order to be able to eat while traveling the insects had evolved a singular physiology; the antennae of each beetle were constructed so as to connect with and lock onto the rear legs of the beetle in front. In this way individual insects did not even have to look where they were going, and could concentrate on eating. Long lines of foraging insects would march through the jungle in a way which inspired one explorer to remark: “It was as though a diamond necklace were moving through the forest, catching those rays of sunlight which found their way through the canopy in a most amazing and delightful display.” Lines of several hundred meters in length were common, and chains of up to half a kilometer were not unknown.

And then, suddenly, they were gone. While expeditions in ’29 and ’30 reported large colonies of Follame Beetles wandering in lengthy procession along the banks of the Amazon, the 1931 party was stunned to discover that the insects were nowhere to be found. The discovery of exoskeletal remains later that year explained what had happened to the beetles but notwhy. The shells formed a huge circle, over a kilometer in diameter, along jungle trails several kilometers west of the river.

The scientific community was baffled, and while various theories were examined and discarded, it fell to the noted entomologist Ivor Bindair-Dundat to produce the now generally accepted theory to account for the unfortunate demise of the Follame. Dundat had noticed from his observations of the beetle in previous years that the foraging lines were becoming fewer in number but were much longer. This was the result of the leading beetle of one line coming upon the end unit of another line and joining onto it. Ultimately this had resulted in the entire population of Follame beetles becoming joined together in a single line of immense length. This situation could probably have continued for some time except that, purely by chance, the leading beetle came into contact with the tail end of its own line and instinctively joined it. Bindair-Dundat speculated that after two or three circuits of the same area all available food had been taken, and the circle of beetles probably moved faster and faster in its search for food until the weaker members of the line perished from starvation. The dead insects unfortunately maintained their linkage, fore and aft, and the chain remained unbroken. While dead beetles could be carried by the line up to a certain point, it could not continue indefinitely. Movement of the line finally ground to a halt, and the remaining beetles starved to death while locked into place in the motionless chain.

Bindair-Dundat was widely quoted as saying: “It saddens me greatly to think that if only one beetle had managed to break away from the circle the entire population could have been saved from extinction.”

Don’t be a Follame Beetle! Never mistake Activity for Accomplishment. ‘ Moving’ is not necessarily ‘Going Somewhere’. And if you’re going nowhere, running will not get you there any faster.

* * *

 

THE MONASTERY AT ESRA

 

A Fable for the Third Millennium

On the day after his fifty-fifth birthday King Ethelbert awoke with a splitting headache and a sour stomach, which is to say, as usual, and in his normal foul temper. As he returned reluctantly to the waking world the king recalled with distaste the problems which had haunted him throughout the restless night and which would no doubt be waiting for him again this morning. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was probably already outside the royal bedchamber with his rows and columns of figures which he would present with doleful accounts on the precarious situation of the royal coffers. Tradesmen needed to be paid; the Royal Guard had not received a paycheque for close to three months; the roof of the Queen’s Tower was leaking like a sieve. The King’s Chamberlain would be at the man’s shoulder to explain again why even a small increase in taxes would probably push the unhappy peasantry into open rebellion, which would be seen by the King of Ombria, to the north, as an invitation to invade.
The Queen would be close behind, wailing about the ragged appearance of her ladies in waiting, with Prince Egbert hanging onto her skirts complaining that, at thirty five years of age, it was time he was given more responsibility in running the Kingdom.

It was all too much. Ethelbert went out through the window.

He slipped quietly back into the palace through a little used door that led past the Gardener’s quarters into a walled courtyard. He opened a small gate which was cunningly concealed behind a rose bush, and so into the town. At a nearby Inn the king rented a horse, bought provisions for a week, and left the city by the main gate, unchallenged by the guard, who had just come on duty and was still rubbing the sleep dust from the corners of his eyes.

Three hours later Ethelbert emerged from his reverie to realise two things; Firstly, he felt better than he had for many months, and, secondly, he had no idea where he was.

Trotting along a backroad, not much more than a cart track, the king finally recognised the path as one he had taken many years ago, when he had been a young prince. He had ridden out with a few friends on a road to anywhere, looking for adventure. He had found, instead, the Monastery at Esra.

Ethelbert had fond memories of that time. He had stayed for several weeks at the monastery, long after
his companions had left to return to court,
and had formed a special friendship with a
young monk named Jonathon. Even at that
time, so long ago, his new friend had risen to
high office, and was third only to the Abbot
himself and his deputy, the Prior. Ethelbert
remembered little about the Abbot, only that
he, too, had seemed young for the great

responsibility imposed on him, but he well
remembered happy days spent with Jonathon as the monk made his rounds, discharging his many duties. Ethelbert had learned much of gardening, of literature and the copying of treasured manuscripts, of trade with the local villagers. The monks were well advanced in the science of medicine, and held clinics to which local villagers travelled for treatment of their ills. The king had immersed himself in this practice, impressed by the kindness and respect which the monks had shown to all who came seeking their aid. He had vowed then that when he attained the throne all men in his kingdom would be treated with kindness and respect such as the monks had shown to their patients.

* * *

He was greeted at the gates by an elderly monk, and handed his horse to a groom who had run from the stables on seeing that a guest had arrived. He was offered shelter and refreshment, but before accepting either, he told the monk, he would first seek to become reacquainted with Brother Jonathon, friend of his youth. “Even so long ago,” he told the monk, “Jonathon had achieved a high rank and must surely by now have ascended to the Abbot’s robes.”

“Yes, of course,” the man replied, “I believe that Brother Jonathon did indeed wear such robes in his turn; but that was long ago, and I believe that he has long since gone to the fields.”

Ethelbert did not at first understand what the monk meant by this remark, but then realised that he was using ‘gone to the fields’ as a gentle way of saying that his old friend had passed away.

“Do you mean that my friend is now to be found in the cemetery?” he asked.

“Indeed yes, I think that you must seek him there,” the old man smiled. Obviously, to him, passing from flesh into spirit life was not in any way a cause for sadness.

Following the old monk’s direction Ethelbert walked sadly along a winding path to the Monastery graveyard, which sat on a hill overlooking the buildings and with a view to the distant shore. The view was beautiful but could not lighten the king’s dark mood.

For a long time he walked among the stones, reading the names of monks buried there, and was so lost in thought that he did not hear the caretaker step quietly up behind him.

“May I help you?” the monk asked. “Are you seeking a particular marker, or are you here simply to enjoy the scenery, for truly it would be hard to find the equal of the view shared by our departed brothers.”

“I seek the stone of an old friend of my youth, Brother Jonathon by name, who I regret I did not visit many years ago, as I was told now that I must look for him among the departed.”

“Indeed you were well advised to do so, since he is here, for it is his task this week to care for the stones and tend the garden which is here to honour their memory. I thought I recognised you, young Prince, but the years have not been kind I fear.”

“Jonathon! Is it you? I thought….”

“To weep at my marker, Ethelred. And yet you may, but not today. Come with me to a place of shade which I know, and we will speak of the years that have gone by.”

The two men sat beneath an ancient willow and shared the bread and cheese which Jonathon had brought for his mid day meal.

“But how can this be?” the king asked. “Even long ago you were within reach of the purple robe, and yet now I find you picking caterpillars from the roses in the Monastery graveyard.”

“This confuses many visitors, to find our abbot so young and the pot boy a greybeard, but that is how such things work here. The job of abbot is not one for the old or feeble. The daily stresses of that post would bend the strongest back and break the sternest will. And so we reserve such a position for someone young, with a good mind and a strong constitution, so that he may survive on three hours sleep a night, and meals taken on the run; so that he may shoulder the endless troubles, problems of a type with which I am sure you are overly familiar.

“When we first met I had served my term as Abbot, and had recently stepped down. I well remember that time, and I was never in my life so glad of anything as I was to finally take off the robes and pass them to my successor. For some years after that I worked as Master to the Illustrators, who copy old manuscripts, and from there I moved to the stables. There I stayed for longer than expected, for I loved to work with horses, and I do to this day. And then a peaceful term in the fields, raising crops and livestock for food and trade.

“But now I have attained the highest rank, where none may order my time. I pass my days in prayer and contemplation of God’s magnificent works, and, when I choose to do so, I may spend some time helping the sick at the clinic, or as you find me today, caring for the dignity of friends who have moved on beyond any earthly concerns.”

“But surely, my old friend, it is a great loss to the monastery that one such as yourself, full of the knowledge and wisdom of the years, should spend his days chasing insects in the cemetery gardens!”

“But of course! A waste it would be. If you look now down the hill you will see our newly minted abbot surrounded by a group of his peers, making his way up the hill towards us. I see with him Brother Peter, who at twenty six years old is recently appointed Minister of the Exchequer, a thankless task at which I also spent time some years ago. It is a rare day that I am not sought out for an opinion, or a piece of advice, or some morsel of knowledge I have stored away within this grey head of mine. In my days as Abbot I consulted frequently with older heads, and it would be a fool of an Abbot who did not take such advantage. But see, they will be greatly apologetic, and will not trouble us for long, and I will take you then to visit the medical rooms, for you will find much there to interest you.”

* * *

The king rode back into the palace yard on a glorious afternoon when the sun stood so high that it cast no shadow. He was challenged and then saluted as the guard recognised his sovereign through the veneer of road dust and grey bristles. As he trotted towards the stables a groom ran forward to meet him and take the horse, but the king would not release the animal. “Leave be,” said Ethelbert. “This fine creature has served me well, and has carried me far with little complaint. I owe him at least a rub down and a good feed, and to see that he is well rested and recovered before he is returned to his owner.”

Puzzled, the groom stepped back. The King’s Chamberlain, alerted by the Palace Guard, came into the stable yard at a run.

“Majesty, thank God you are back safe. Your attention is needed to a score of issues. The Guardsmen are demanding their backpay; merchants are withholding deliveries until accounts are settled; Ombrian troops have been seen at the border, and her Royal Majesty, your wife, is enraged by………..”

“Hold!” said the king, “These matters will be attended to in good course. Go seek out Egbert. He has been nipping at my heels for too long in search of greater responsibilities, and by God he shall have them. Tell him he is now Regent and prepare the papers to make it so. Tell him also that he may seek the advice of my counselors and indeed I will take it ill if he does not do so. If he should requiremyadvice or guidance he may also seek it, though matters in the stable will occupy me for the balance of the morning and I then intend to concern myself with the health of the people of our lands. I have carried the weight of this kingdom on my shoulders for longer than needs be, and I now declare myself promoted!”

“Groom,” called the king, “Show me, if it pleases you, where I may find brushes and blankets, and pails to carry water. I will see to the needs of this fine animal, and affairs of state may wait my pleasure.”

* * *

A man may progress through his career and move upwards to greater responsibility and the rewards which higher rank may bring. But he must be ever vigilant to ensure that he does not make progress’ to the detriment of life’s greater rewards – such as freedom from worry, the ability to sleep soundly, and sufficient leisure time to pursue his most pleasurable pursuits.

* * *

 

GUARDIAN DEVIL

 

A Fable for the Third Millennium

As we make our way through life we all profit, now and then, from the advice of the Guardian Angel who sits quietly on our shoulder, saving us from the worst of our blunders and from our most ill considered choices. Everybody knows that. Even Adam had his angel, who advised most strongly that the apple business was a totally bad idea. What is not so well known is that we all have a little Guardian Devil sitting on the other shoulder, who is there to put a little fun in our lives. The GD was put there after Satan successfully argued in the High Celestial Court that the Free Will, with which God has generously endowed us all, serves little purpose unless we are also given a range of options from which to choose. Hence Eve’s ill advised choice to sample the aforementioned fruit, and Adam’s decision to go along with the plan.

In childhood it is GD who whispers that three cookies are not enough, that the cookie jar can be reached easily if you first climb onto the kitchen counter, and that Mom will be glued to the TV set until her favorite soap opera ends in about an hour. GA tells you that three is more than enough, and that too many sugar cookies will make you fat and ruin your teeth.

GA will tell you that too many toys will spoil you rotten by focusing excessively on the material aspect of your life, and if you insist on getting yet another Playstation game you could at least give away a few of the old ones to some deserving cause. GD sees nothing at all wrong in being spoiled rotten, and tells you that it is very good practice for adulthood, when the quality and cost of the toys will increase immeasurably.
Both Angels will intercede with your parents on your behalf, the one advising Mom that if she lets you have too many goodies she will end up with a fat, spoiled brat of a kid with astronomical dental bills, while the other murmurs that it is well worth a few cookies to be left in peace for an hour with the Soaps.

In Adolescence GA warns you against all the things which make

this period of your life bearable, while GD tells you that you have precious few years in this phase, and things not donenowmay remain undone forever. GA can become positively apoplectic about the importance of homework, while GD insists that if you don’t go to the party tonight, the new girl in your class is going to end

up with your best friend, Lester.

 

And in all of this, your freedom of choice is a God given right.

In later life the pattern continues, while the stakes are raised. GA will tell you: Play fair; The best candidate will get the job. GD: It wouldn’t hurt your chances to let the boss know (covertly, of course) that the other candidate is a member of AA (true) who has recently fallen off the wagon (false).

GA: “You made a solemn vow when you married Mary.” GD: “Mary will never find out.”

GA: The kids need orthodontistry, you haven’t taken the family on holiday in years, your credit cards are all maxed

out and your five year old Honda still has years of life left in it.
GD: That beautifully restored flame-red sixties Corvette iswicked! And the dealer has made you averygenerous offer, if you can just come up with the measly ten grand deposit. And why shouldn’t you? After all, you’veearnedit, and youdeserveit.

In the end, your life will be lived according to the choices you make, and when it all flashes before your eyes in your final moments only you can say whether you have derived any benefit from it. Were the sacrifices worth while? Were your indulgences over the top? Nobody will answer those questions for you. And the moral of the story? Good is better than Evil? No Way! If you’re looking for that level of philosophy you would probably be better off reading Friedrich Nietzsche.

But perhaps it would not be unreasonable to suggest that…

…those who always give you what you ask for are not necessarily your friends, and those who would deny you what you ask for are not necessarily your enemies. Better, then, to base such judgments on the intent behind such actions than on the actions themselves.

* * *

 

SHIPS

 

A Fable for the Third Millennium

It has been said that some men are born great, some men achieve greatness and some men have greatness thrust upon them. So it is with riches, except that there are perhaps a few more options. In addition to inheriting money and working hard to earn it, it is possible to marry money, to win it in quantities which would have boggled the minds of our grandparents, or to be born with such an audacious amount of luck that while walking along the street one day you happen to trip over a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Wally Pointer was not born to rich parents (which also ruled out the possibility of eventually inheriting a large sum), had neither the ability nor inclination to work towards wealth, squandered what little money he had on lottery tickets, and had neither the looks nor the personality which would have made him marriage material to rich (or even poor) widows. He seemed destined therefore to be born, live, and eventually die in a state of not-quiteabject poverty.

Wally had one thing going for him, however; a wonderful thing; a gift which almost made up for the fact that it was essentially his one and only asset: He was an optimist.
More than that, he was anultra-optimist. Adie-hardoptimist. A cockeyedincurableoptimist. Wally could find himself flat on his back in the gutter and consider this to be an excellent opportunity to gaze at the stars. He could listen to the ten o’clock news and conclude not that the world was an ugly, dangerous, disgusting place in which to live, but that he was the luckiest of men to live in a corner of it where he could go each night to a warm, dry, safe place to sleep, and he would go there well fed, healthy, fit and free from worry; and that he would wake up the next morning with a job to go to (Wally worked as the assistant manager, in an office of two, at the local landfill) with good promotional prospects (Ididsay that he was an incurable optimist) and job security for life – unless people inexplicably and unexpectedly stopped producing garbage.

Wally was, in short, a happy man. When his friends questioned his lifestyle he would shrug, smile and tell them: “If I wait patiently, my ship will come in!” His friends at first offered well intentioned advice. “Save some of your paycheque, Wally, even if only a few dollars per week. By the time you retire it will add up to a nice pot of money.” “Pay into a pension fund, Wally. It won’t cost much, and you will be glad of it one day.” “Take some nightschool courses, Wally. They’re free and will qualify you for a better job. Why won’t you at least try.”

To all of this, and more, Wally would shrug, smile, and say: “If I wait patiently, my ship will come in one day,” and so eventually they all gave up. He kept his friends, because he was, at heart, a likeable sort of fellow, but the range of conversations he held with them shrank as time passed, until

the best he could expect was: “Hi, Wally: Your ship come in yet?” To which he would shrug, smile, and reply: “One day; it will come in one day.”

Wally grew older, and then he grew old. We all seem to follow that route no matter how diligently we may seek to travel by some other path. His friends, who grew old alongside him, eventually profited from their own advice, and retired with tidy pensions and nice little pots of money in the bank. They led comfortable lives and were happy to lend support to their lifelong friend who had retired pensionless, moneyless, homeless – but fortunately not friendless and not hopeless. “Still waiting, Wally?” they would ask him with a smile, slipping their old friend a five or a ten, or, on special occasions a twenty. Wally would shrug and smile and say: “Any day now, my ship will come in, I know it will.”

In the end Wally died, and was buried, and his friends chipped in towards a small marble headstone, on which was carved Wally’s name, the two important dates of his life, and the legend: “Here lies Wally. Though he waited all his life, his ship never came in.”

Poor Wally. He never realised the truth of it.

 

If you intend to spend your life waiting for your ship to come in, it is first necessary for you to send one out.

 

* * *

 

THE SQUIRREL’S TALE

 

A Fable for the Third Millennium

You’ve probably heard that the Lion is the King of Beasts, and this may be true, today; but it was not always so. In the beginning the animals went their own ways and for the most part this suited everyone perfectly well. Oh, there were always little disputes such as who had prime rights to a fine watering hole, or whether the fox should pay compensation for eating somebody’s uncle, but by and large they all got along.

There were two problems, however, which the animals feared greatly, and which they faced each year with no hope of solution. The first of these was the spring flood. The river which ran through the centre of the forest was for most of the year a calm and gentle thing, but when the spring rains came the river changed into a raging monster. It roared out its anger as it rampaged through the forest, climbing over its banks to flood the burrows of small animals who had made their homes too close to the rising waters. Many beasts, large and small, were snatched from the banks to be carried away by the torrent and never seen again.
The river’s anger subsided by early summer, and the animals enjoyed a few weeks of calm before the next terror was visited on them. The fires. These could start anywhere, and drive in any direction at the discretion of the winds. No place in the forest was safe. Many small animals who normally sought refuge in the treetops would find to their peril that this was now theleastsafe of havens. Others, crazed with fear, simply ran in circles until first exhaustion took them, and then the merciless flames.

Every year the animals faced the waters and the flames with whatever grace and courage they could muster, but with little hope.

But then, one fine spring morning, high in the treetops, a squirrel awoke from his long winter sleep with the memory of a dream. In his dream he had seen a creature in a golden crown, who had brought all the animals together to fight the twin scourges of the forest. “Yes!” thought the squirrel. “That is what we have been missing. We need aLeader!”

So the squirrel called a meeting of the animals, and each sent a representative to the great clearing at the centre of the forest. It was the first time this had happened since the man and woman had been cast out after some funny business involving an apple and a snake. The snake would never talk about it afterwards.

“Animals of the forest,” the squirrel began, “Since the beginning of time we have been subjected to the terrors of flood and fire with no hope of an answer. This is because no individual animal can hope so solve such a complex problem. But if we all work together, and all contribute our talents, we can beat these perils. Aleaderwill bring us together; aleaderwill combine our efforts; aleaderwill beat the waters and the fires!”

A Leader!What an idea! “Yes,” said the tortoise, “An idea of much merit. But who will be our leader?” The question spread through the crowd, and everyone began to talk at once until they were silenced by a great roar.

“A Leader must, above all, be brave,”said the Lion. “The Lion is the bravest animal in the forest, and therefore the obvious choice. Furthermore, I will bite the heads off any who oppose me.”

“Hooray for the lion!” cheered the animals, seeing the logic of his argument.

 

The following week the animals gathered again to hear the lion’s plan.

“For the floods in the spring,” the lion began “We will all learn to swim. Animals who are natural swimmers will teach those who are not, and we will practice in the summer when the river is calm. Then, when the floods come, any animal caught in the waters will simply swim to shore.

“As for the fires, we have been looking at the problem backwards. By runningawayfrom the fires we are simply challenging the fires to a race — a race we mostly lose. Instead, we will runintothe fires and through them, t