The Ringdove and the Flying Net (from Kalila and Dimna)

Long ago, in a land of olive trees and golden hills, there lived a flock of doves.

They were soft and gray, with pink feet and gentle eyes. They cooed in the mornings. Coo, coo, coo. They flew together in the afternoons, round and round in the blue sky. And at night, they slept side by side in the branches of a tall tree.

The leader of the flock was a wise old dove. Around her neck was a ring of darker feathers, like a soft gray necklace. So everyone called her the Ringdove.

"Remember," the Ringdove often told the others, "we are stronger together than we are alone."

The young doves would nod. But they did not really understand. Not yet.

One morning, the doves flew out to look for breakfast. They flew over the hills. They flew over a dusty road. They flew over a field of tall, dry grass.

Then the youngest dove spotted something.

"Look!" she cooed. "Seeds! Hundreds of seeds, all in one place!"

Down below, in a little clearing, the ground was covered with golden grain. It shone in the sunlight. It looked delicious.

"Wait," said the Ringdove. "It is strange to find so many seeds in one place. We should be careful."

But the doves were very hungry. Their tummies were rumbling. And the seeds looked so tasty.

"Just a few," said one dove.

"Just a quick bite," said another.

And down they flew, all together. Flap, flap, flap. They landed in the clearing and began to peck. Peck, peck, peck.

The Ringdove sighed. She could not leave her flock alone. So she flew down too.

Then, all at once, something fell on top of them.

It was a net! A big, wide net, made of thin brown string. It had been hidden in the grass, under the seeds. A bird-catcher had set it there. He wanted to catch birds and sell them at the market, to live in little cages.

The doves flapped their wings. Flap, flap, flap! They pulled and tugged. But the string held tight. They were stuck.

"Help!" cried the youngest dove. "We are trapped!"

Every dove began to flap in a different direction. One pulled left. One pulled right. One pulled up. One pulled down. The net just wiggled and tangled even more.

Far away, at the edge of the field, the bird-catcher saw the net moving. He picked up his basket and began walking toward them.

"Stop!" called the Ringdove. Her voice was calm and clear. "Everyone, stop flapping."

The doves stopped. They were panting. They looked at their leader.

"If we each pull our own way," said the Ringdove, "we will never get free. But if we all pull the same way, at the same time, we can lift this net together."

"Lift the whole net?" said a young dove. "But it is so big!"

"We are many," said the Ringdove. "Listen to me. When I say 'now,' everyone flap up. All together. Ready?"

The doves spread their wings.

"One," said the Ringdove. "Two. Three. Now!"

All the doves flapped at the very same moment. Flap! Flap! Flap!

And the net rose off the ground.

It rose a little. Then a little more. Then it was up in the air, with all the doves still inside it, flying together like one great big bird.

The bird-catcher stopped on the path. His mouth fell open. He dropped his basket.

"Well, I never," he said. "A flying net!"

He ran after them for a while. But the doves flew higher and higher, over the hills and far away. At last the bird-catcher shook his head, picked up his basket, and walked home, scratching his chin.

"Where are we going?" panted the doves, still flapping hard.

"To see my old friend Zirak," said the Ringdove. "He is a mouse. He lives under an olive tree, not far from here. He has the sharpest teeth in the whole land."

They flew over a stream. They flew over a field of red poppies. They flew until their wings were tired and their feathers were fluffed.

At last, they saw a big, old olive tree. Its trunk was twisty and gnarled. And at its roots was a little round hole.

The doves landed gently on the grass, with the net all around them.

"Zirak!" called the Ringdove. "Zirak, it is me!"

A small gray nose poked out of the hole. Then two round ears. Then two bright black eyes.

"Ringdove!" squeaked Zirak, hopping out. "My dear friend! But what has happened? Why are you all wrapped up in string?"

The Ringdove told him the whole story.

"Do not worry," said Zirak. "I will have you out in no time."

He hurried over to the Ringdove. He began to nibble at the strings around her.

"No, Zirak," said the Ringdove. "Please free the others first. Free me last."

Zirak stopped nibbling. "But you are my friend," he said. "I want to make sure you are safe first."

"That is exactly why," said the Ringdove gently. "I brought them here. If you get tired before the end, I want them to be free. I will wait."

Zirak looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled.

"That is why you are their leader," he said.

So Zirak got to work. Nibble, nibble, snip. He freed the youngest dove. Nibble, nibble, snip. He freed the next one. Nibble, nibble, snip. And the next. And the next.

One by one, the doves hopped out of the net. They shook their feathers. They stretched their wings. They cooed with joy.

Last of all, Zirak nibbled the strings around the Ringdove. Nibble, nibble, snip.

She was free.

The whole flock gathered around Zirak. They cooed and bowed and fluffed their feathers.

"Thank you, Zirak!" they said.

"Thank you for not giving up," said the youngest dove to the Ringdove. "And for telling us to fly together."

High up in the olive tree, a black crow had been watching the whole thing. He had never seen anything like it.

He flew down and landed beside the mouse.

"Excuse me," said the crow. "I saw what you did. I would very much like to be your friend too."

Zirak looked at the crow. Then he looked at the doves.

"Well," he squeaked, "I have learned that a good friend is the best thing in the world. And I think there is always room for one more."

From that day on, the doves, the mouse, and the crow were the best of friends.