The Dog and Its Reflection

Dust swirled up behind each hurried step on the village road at noon. A dog was running as fast as he could, tail held high, his jaws clamped tight around a big bone. He did not stop and he did not look back. He just kept his head down and hurried on, thinking only of the familiar yard waiting for him at the end of the road.

That morning, at the market on the edge of the village, a butcher had thrown him this bone. The butcher was busy among tables piled high with meat. The bone still had a little lean meat on it. It was pale white and solid, heavy in the dog's jaws. The dog snapped it up at once with delight. He did not care to linger one more minute among the crowd. He carried it straight out of the market and headed home without a stop.

This is an old fable of the Greeks, one attributed to Aesop. It is as short as the stretch of road the dog is about to cross. And yet it has followed countless generations of children, told again and again right up to today.

The village road was empty under the harsh noon sun. The only sound was the cicadas, droning on and on in the trees along the way. Now and then another dog lifted its head in some yard and caught the rich smell of meat drifting past. Then it flattened its ears and lay still again, not daring to chase after a share. The dog with the bone paid no attention to anyone around him. His gnawing hunger only made him walk faster. All he could think of was lying in the shade of the familiar tree in his yard, chewing his bone at leisure, all by himself, to his heart's content.

After a while, the dirt road came to a small stream flowing across its path. The water was crystal clear and still, like a large mirror lying between two green, grassy banks. Across the stream lay a narrow wooden bridge. It was the only way home.

The dog stepped onto the bridge, and the wooden planks creaked under his four paws. Halfway across, he happened to glance down at the water below. An image appeared right before his eyes, so clear that it stopped him short.

Just beneath the still surface, another dog, exactly like him, was also holding a bone in its mouth. It stood looking straight up at him from the bottom of the stream.

The dog stood frozen on the bridge, eyes wide, staring down into the water. For a moment he hesitated. He wondered why there could be another dog so much like himself in such a lonely stream. But the thought passed very quickly. It vanished as soon as he looked more closely at the bone in the other dog's mouth. It looked much bigger than his own, plumper and far tastier.

How good it would be to have both bones, the dog thought to himself, his eyes still fixed on the reflection in the water. The thought grew bigger and bigger in his head, until it crowded out the doubt that had stopped him a moment before. The dog did not let himself wait one more second.

He gave a loud growl and let go of the bone in his mouth. Then he lunged forward, meaning to snap up the other dog's bone.

In that very instant, his real bone fell from his teeth and dropped with a plop into the water. His whole body lost its balance too, and he plunged straight down into the stream after it.

Icy water closed over the dog at once. He floundered in the current, all four legs paddling wildly, struggling to lift his head above the surface to breathe. The stream was not deep, but it flowed strongly enough to sweep him along for a stretch. He had to thrash with all his might and swim hard against the current before he reached the bank.

The dog crawled out onto the grass, soaked from head to tail, his fur matted together, shivering with cold. He stood there panting for a long while. Then he looked back at the stream, searching for the other dog and its big bone. But now the water held only small ripples, slowly settling. There was no image there except his own, a dripping dog with nothing at all, standing on the bank.

His real bone, the one the butcher had thrown him that morning, had drifted away somewhere in the current. There was no trace of it anywhere.

The dog sat down heavily on the grassy bank and watched the stream flow quietly on. It carried away the prize he had held since early that morning. His stomach was still as empty and gnawing as when he had left the market. The only difference was that now he had nothing left to wait for.

He bowed his head and looked down at the water one last time. No other dog stood there. There was only a wet, forlorn reflection, its jaws empty, gazing quietly up at him from the bottom of the stream. Then the last small ripples faded, and the water lay smooth again, as if nothing had ever happened.