The Crow Who Wanted to Walk Like a Partridge (from Kalila and Dimna)

Once upon a time, on a sunny hillside covered in wildflowers, there lived a crow named Ghurab.

Ghurab had shiny black feathers that gleamed blue in the sunlight. He had bright, curious eyes and a strong yellow beak. He could fly high above the hills, swoop down over the valleys, and land on the very tip of the tallest tree.

When Ghurab walked on the ground, he hopped. Hop, hop, hop. Two feet together. Bouncy and quick.

Ghurab never thought much about his hop. It was just how crows walked. It got him where he wanted to go.

Until one morning, when he saw the partridge.

She came strolling up the rocky path between the flowers. She had speckled brown feathers, a creamy chest with neat stripes, and a pretty orange face. And she walked in the most beautiful way Ghurab had ever seen.

Step, and step, and step. Her head bobbed gently. Her feet moved one after the other, smooth and graceful. She seemed to glide across the rocks, like water flowing down a stream.

Ghurab stared. His beak fell open.

"Oh," he whispered. "How elegant. How graceful. That is the most wonderful walk in the whole world."

He looked down at his own two feet. Then he did a little hop. Hop.

Suddenly, his hop did not seem so good anymore. It seemed bouncy and silly and plain.

"I want to walk like that," said Ghurab. "I want to walk exactly like the partridge."

So Ghurab followed her.

He crept along behind her, very quietly. He watched her feet. Step, and step, and step. He watched her head. Bob, and bob, and bob.

Then he tried it himself.

He lifted one foot. He put it down. He lifted the other foot. He put it down.

Wobble.

He tried again. Left foot. Right foot. Bob his head.

Wobble, wobble.

His feet were not used to moving one at a time. They wanted to hop together. His left foot got in the way of his right foot. His right foot stepped on his left foot.

Wobble, wobble, flop!

Ghurab fell over in a heap of black feathers. A daisy landed on his head.

The partridge looked back over her shoulder. She tilted her head, puzzled. Then she kept strolling on.

Ghurab got up. He shook the daisy off. He was not going to give up.

"I will practice," he said. "I will practice every single day until I can walk like her."

And he did.

Every morning, he practiced on the rocky path. Step, wobble, step, wobble, flop.

Every afternoon, he practiced in the meadow. Step, wobble, step, wobble, flop.

Every evening, he practiced on the branch of his tree. Step, wobble, step, wobble... and once, he wobbled right off the branch and had to flap very fast so he would not land on the ground.

The other animals began to notice.

"What is Ghurab doing?" asked a rabbit.

"I think he is dancing," said a lizard.

Ghurab did not listen. He just kept practicing. Step, wobble, step, wobble, flop.

Days turned into weeks. Ghurab practiced and practiced. But he still could not walk like the partridge. Not even a little bit.

And then, one morning, something strange happened.

Ghurab woke up. He stretched his wings. He flew down from his tree and landed on the ground. He wanted to hop over to the stream for a drink, the way he always used to.

He bent his legs. He got ready to hop.

But his feet did not know what to do.

They tried to step like the partridge. Then they tried to hop like a crow. Then they tried to do both at the same time.

Step, hop, wobble, tangle, flop!

"Oh no," said Ghurab in a small voice. "I cannot walk like a partridge. And now I have forgotten how to hop like a crow."

He sat there among the wildflowers, feeling very sad and very silly.

Just then, a shadow fell over him. Ghurab looked up.

It was the partridge.

She had been watching him for many days. She looked down at him with kind, gentle eyes.

"Hello," she said. "I have seen you practicing. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening. Why do you work so hard to walk like me?"

Ghurab's feathers drooped. "Because your walk is so beautiful," he said. "So smooth and graceful. My hop is just plain and bouncy and silly."

The partridge laughed. It was a soft, friendly laugh.

"Plain?" she said. "Silly? Oh, crow. Do you know what I think every time I see you?"

Ghurab shook his head.

"I think, how wonderful it must be to hop like that," said the partridge. "So quick and bouncy. You can bounce over pebbles in one jump. And when you want to, you spread your wings and fly all the way up to the tallest tree. I can only fly a short way, low over the ground. I have always wished I could soar like you."

Ghurab blinked. "You wish you were like me?"

"Sometimes," said the partridge, smiling. "But then I remember that my walk is just right for me. And your hop is just right for you."

Ghurab looked down at his feet. He thought about how his hop had always carried him wherever he wanted to go. Over the pebbles. Across the meadow. Down to the stream.

"But I have forgotten how," he said quietly.

"Then let us remember together," said the partridge. "Close your eyes. Stop thinking about my feet. Just think about where you want to go."

Ghurab closed his eyes. He thought about the cool, sparkly stream. He thought about the morning sun on his feathers.

He did not think about his feet at all.

And his feet remembered.

Hop.

Hop, hop.

Hop, hop, hop!

Ghurab opened his eyes. He was hopping! Bouncy and quick, just like before!

"I can do it!" he cried. "I can hop again!"

He hopped in a circle. He hopped over a pebble. He hopped all the way down to the stream and back again. The partridge clapped her wings.

Then Ghurab spread his shiny black wings and flew up, up, up, to the top of the tallest tree. He looked down at the hillside, at the wildflowers, and at his new friend.

"Thank you!" he called.

From that day on, the crow and the partridge went everywhere together. She walked, step, and step, and step. He hopped beside her, hop, hop, hop.

And neither of them ever wished to be anyone else again.