415: Aesop's Fables: Bray it Ain't So

This week, on Myths and Legends, we're in the stories of Aesop's fables, and you'll see why you shouldn't do a fad diet a grasshopper is doing.

If a friend kicks you in the face when you're trying to flee from a bear, they might not be a real friend,

and if someone compliments you when your mouth is full of raw meat, they might have ulterior motives.

The creature this time is the stag on your roof, if you happen to be an epic Norse warrior.

This is Myths and Legends, episode 415.

Bray It Ain't So.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore.

Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins.

Some are stories you might not have heard before, but really should.

Today we're back in Aesop's Fables.

Aesop, if you didn't know, was a fabulous Greek fablist, and the definition of a fable is a short story with a little life lesson.

We have a lot of them all woven together into a single story, so we'll jump into a donkey jumping in.

To a river.

Oh no, I fell!

The donkey cried out when crossing the river.

It came out as a hee-haw sort of sound, though.

The whips of the salt peddler weren't nearly as bad as carrying his salt the miles and miles back home.

It was a happy accident the first time, him stumbling in the river at the beginning of their journey, and feeling the burden on his back literally dissolve.

The next two times, including this one, were 100% on purpose.

It's not that the donkey minded doing hard work.

He was a beast of burden.

It's just that he didn't want to be a rent a donkey for some jerk who was just going to overload and overwork him and pay his master and no matter how good a job the donkey did, his master got the pay.

And that pay never seemed to trickle down to better oats and more leisure time.

So he would stumble.

He could do this all day because literally, what else did he have going on?

He was a rental donkey.

And it would cost more for this guy to kill him than the satisfaction was worth.

The donkey hoped.

Stumbling and dipping in the river, he enjoyed the cool bath and looked forward to the weight literally dissolving.

Dissolving, not doubling or tripling.

The donkey could barely rise to his hooves.

What was happening?

He heard a laugh.

Thought you were a smart rental donkey, didn't you?

Thought you would keep up your little fake stumbles and walk all day without carrying anything?

Well, those are sponges on your back now, and thanks to you, they're full of water.

Enjoy the added weight.

The donkey grumbled, not even a pithy life lesson here, just gloating.

The donkey made it back to town, exhausted and bedraggled, and his energy had evaporated almost in conjunction with the water and the sponges on his back.

So, when he made it back to the stable, all he wanted to do was sit.

But when he saw his owner as he arrived at the stall, he despaired.

The man was

packed, ready to go.

He looks exhausted.

What did you do to my donkey?

His owner demanded.

They were set to leave.

If he dies, I'm going to come back to you for recompense, the owner pointed.

But they did have to leave now.

They were losing daylight as it was, and they wouldn't be able to make it across the wastes by nightfall if they didn't hurry.

The donkey ached as his owner piled bags on his back and, alongside his companion, let him back out of the city gates.

They pushed it, but they made it.

Well, they as in the donkey who carried all their stuff.

And not the two guys who walked kind of faster than they might usually walk.

Still, they made it, and the donkey could rest.

Not alongside all of his friends back at the stable, where they could share stories about how horrible it was being an animal in this time period.

No, now he is with camels and horses who all looked down on him, mostly literally, but also in every other way.

And it was stifling.

They didn't even have his normal feed.

Up early the next day, they were no longer traveling in the cool of the afternoon and evening, but in the heat of the morning, with the sun beating down atop them.

Come early afternoon, everyone needed a break.

not just the animal carrying everything.

The donkey wasn't allowed to drop, mainly because they were worried about getting him back up, but also because they wanted the shade.

But, seeing as he was a working donkey, there wasn't much shade to be had.

Only one man could sit in the shadow of the donkey.

Hey, what are you doing?

The owner asked, nudging the man and then shoving the man.

The traveler rolled onto the burning ground, while the owner sat down and fanned himself in the shade.

What?

We should at least share.

You know how hot direct sunlight is?

Nope, because I'm not in it, the owner gloated.

You rented the donkey.

That's all your stuff atop him.

You didn't rent his shadow.

Nowhere in the contract mentioned a donkey shadow.

Vis-a-vis, the shadow still belongs to me.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

Shade.

Medieval air conditioning.

It's pretty important that, when you make someone angry enough to kick you in the ribs, you don't close your eyes for some nice me time.

Because, well, the owner caught a kick to the ribs and a shove of his own when the traveler pushed him to the side and took a spot.

This went on.

The donkey watched two men come to blows over the scrap of his shade and, well, he didn't care.

This kind of ruled, actually.

After the owner recovered the spot, the donkey felt the traveler rooting through his own bags, the ones tied to the donkey.

Uh-oh, he was getting

something.

A sword, an axe, a stick, whatever it was, this was about to escalate.

He would sit back with some popcorn if he had popcorn or could sit.

Then he felt something else when the man was rooting around at his side.

Everything was unbalanced.

In fact, when drawing his dagger, the man had accidentally sliced one of the ropes holding everything in place.

His owner had drawn a knife of his own, and, seeing both men preoccupied trying to stab and also not be stabbed, the donkey realized that he could do it.

He shifted, and the bulk on his back moved even more.

All right,

let's do this.

Breaking off in a run, the donkey felt his burdens fall from his back as his owner and the traveler stood with knives out, ready to kill each other for the shade that had just bolted.

They took off after the donkey, but they were only running to catch what they had.

The donkey was running unburdened and for freedom.

They didn't stand a chance.

When the men slowed, the donkey also slowed at a safe distance.

The owner sighed.

In quarreling about the shadow, we often lose the substance.

The traveler looked at him.

What did that even mean?

And did the owner hear a chime?

He felt like he heard a chime.

It means when we get caught up arguing about tangentially related trivial things, we can sometimes lose the sight of the bigger substantive issues.

Like how arguing about the donkey's shadow led to us losing not just the shadow, but the donkey as well, the owner said.

Nope, I don't get that from that situation, the traveler replied.

In fact, I see you found a nice, cushy spot of grass to sit on.

I want it, the traveler held up his knife again.

The owner said that this was exactly what he was talking about.

Their very survival was at stake now.

They couldn't argue over an insignificant spot of grass.

Said the guy with the springy, cool grass, cushioning his feet.

The traveler pointed the knife and lunged.

The donkey was glad to not be wrapped up in that road trip anymore.

Also, he had bigger things to worry about.

This was a vast, new world, and he would need to face it on his own now.

He would need to secure his own places to rest and to eat.

Still, it was a small price to pay for freedom.

Freedom was horrible.

The natural world was a nightmare.

Food was everywhere, which was good.

Once he made it out of the desert and into the forest, he could munch on all sorts of grasses and leaves.

What he noticed, though, after he ran for his life from the third time after kicking a wolf or bear in the jaw, was that food was everywhere, and that included food for the predators, which included him.

In his head, he pictured freedom as just grazing and prancing around in the fields all day.

In truth, freedom was running for his life for as long as that life would last, and, if predators, disease, and danger had their way, wouldn't be for very long.

Case in point, he skidded to a stop when he heard the now familiar form of a wolf in a clearing.

Though he relaxed a bit when he noticed the wolf was whimpering.

He seemed to be choking.

Please, please help me, the wolf whimpered.

I will pay a great sum.

I have a bone stuck in my throat.

The donkey blinked.

Um, assuming he wanted to help, how would he help?

Lifting up his hooves, he said he couldn't very well do surgery with these clumpy boys.

The wolf snarled, and the donkey laughed when the wolf got up, but wincing, had to sit back down.

Yeah, and also, you know how many times I, a donkey, have had a bone stuck in my throat?

The donkey asked.

Zero.

Zero times because I don't eat other animals.

No, we're good.

Enjoy your death, I hope it's slow and painful, the donkey laughed.

But before he could get too far, a voice piped up.

A great sum, hm?

A crane strutted from the trees.

Yes, a great and worthy sum for a wonderful creature such as yourself, the wolf whined.

The crane told the wolf to open his mouth.

He would have it out in a moment.

The wolf opened his mouth, and the crane's long, delicate beak reached down past the teeth, past the tongue, and on down the throat until he found the bone.

The wolf yelped as the crane jiggled the bone free, but he sighed as the bird drew his head up from deep in the animal's throat and, soon, stood next to him with the saliva-soaked bone only tinged with blood.

The crane's feathers were slick with the wolf's spit as he dropped the bone in the dirt.

Then things got awkward.

The donkey stood there, the crane stood there, the wolf smiled.

Hey, uh, that great sum you were talking about?

The crane prodded.

Mm-hmm, the wolf said.

Can I

can I have it?

The crane looked to the donkey, who was half cowering in the shade of a tree.

But of course, the wolf grinned again.

There were a few more seconds of awkward silence.

Okay, see, like, yeah, Venmo, Zell?

The crane asked.

Oh, dear bird, you already have sufficient recompense, and having been permitted to draw your head out in safety, from the mouth and jaws of a wolf, the creature said.

For, in serving the wicked, expect no reward, and be thankful if you escape injury for your pains.

The crane scoffed.

That wasn't fair.

I'm right there with you, the donkey chimed in.

Also, that was a terrible lesson.

We should not expect people to honor their their agreements and if they scam us, be grateful they didn't do more.

Really?

The wolf didn't address the donkey, but filled the sky above the crane.

What's not fair is you expecting me to pay the same sum twice.

The wolf looked at the bird, saliva beginning to drip from his mouth.

Quickly understanding what was being threatened, the bird ran and took flight.

At that, the wolf's head snapped over and his eyes focused in on the donkey, the creature that couldn't fly, there on the edge of the clearing.

The donkey shuffled.

He didn't suppose he'd get what the crane got, but just like on credit.

His application was rejected and the wolf took off after the donkey.

Like that jazzy little razmataz we got going on.

We'll see what happens to the donkey, but that will be right after this.

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It took about an hour to lose the wolf completely, and the donkey was exhausted.

He hadn't run for his life, ever?

This was so much worse than having to haul some stuff sometimes and getting free food in a safe barn.

Still gasping hungrily at the air, the donkey froze when he heard a scream.

His own head shot up to better take in the sound.

Humans.

Two humans.

What are you doing?

You can't leave me here.

What do you want me to do?

Climb the tree for you?

Wish I could help, really do, but yeah.

Hopefully when he's done with you, he'll be too full to climb for me, the other voice said.

You could not kick me down from the tree.

That's what you could do.

You let me up.

The other man was almost in tears.

It's not thick enough.

It'll break and we'll both die.

You're so brave.

I'll tell your story.

The other one landed a kick on the man's forehead as he tumbled to the leaves.

The donkey's head poked through the clearing, and he could hear, just behind the trees, why the humans had been screaming.

A bear, a bear lumbered through the woods.

The donkey felt for the human.

He really, he did.

He didn't even dislike humans, but that one was gonna die.

As long as the donkey stayed silent and still, the bear would eat this human and be too tired to come after him.

Unlike the human, he could outrun the bear's top speed.

That's when the human died.

Just dropped dead right there in the forest.

This made things more complicated for the donkey.

Everyone knew a bear wouldn't eat the rotten scraps of someone else's kill.

The bear would go after the man in the tree if the donkey remained completely still, if, of course, it was worth the trouble.

The bear lumbered in the clearing and looked at the other human in the tree.

The bear's belly was bigger, he had fed recently.

They were likely all safe.

Still, the bear was unpredictable.

A hunter.

The donkey never had to chase down grass in a field, so he didn't know how this animal's brain worked.

Appearing to do his due diligence, the bear nudged the human on the ground, sniffing his arms and then jamming his snout in the man's ear.

Then he lumbered on.

The human had good instincts, it seemed, because when the bear was out of the donkey's range of hearing, the human in the tree stirred, and the dead one got up.

Playing dead.

Nice move, the one from the tree said.

You tricked him.

I knew you could do it.

I could never act that well.

That's why I climbed and you stayed down there.

Good work, everyone.

Good team effort.

The man on the ground, though, was serious.

He looked up at his companion.

We didn't fool it, the man said.

What do you mean?

He left, the one from the tree replied.

It it spoke to me, the man said.

The bear wasn't sniffing my ear, it was whispering.

He gave me this advice.

Never travel with a friend who deserts you at the approach of danger.

Looking up at his friend, he told the man he didn't want to travel with him.

The man on the ground,

he was going home.

Seriously?

You're being a baby about this, the man said.

Come on.

No, I'm going.

You're not a friend.

A friend wouldn't do that.

The man wouldn't look at him.

I always knew you were too scared to leave your father's mill.

Run back to him.

You can't handle this life anyway, the man said, slung his pack over his shoulder and disappeared into the trees, back toward the path.

Wow, misfortune tests the sincerity of friends, the donkey brayed.

He was so caught up parsing out the lesson here that he didn't notice the other man was just on the other side of the shrubbery.

Hey, free donkey, the man said and grabbed the donkey's halter.

Loser,

the heifer cried out to the ox, who was plowing the field.

Her head swung to see the donkey being led in by the son, who, if he had the budget for it, would have been a prodigal son.

Aw, look, another beast of burden, the heifer laughed.

Someone to do all the work so she could have all the hay she wanted with no strings attached.

Even with her milking days being over, this was amazing.

Unlike them, they were chumps.

Enjoy your endless, meaningless toil, chumps, she laughed and went back to chewing.

The donkey looked to the ox, who only gave him a knowing nod.

The son walked the donkey up to his father, who stood outside the barn with a net full of dead cranes and one living stork.

The father's face lit up when he saw his son had returned from his ill-advised fairy tale trip to find his fortune, or whatever.

The kid already had his fortune here.

Oh, he held up a finger.

One minute.

He had to finish this up.

Surrounded by dead cranes, the singular stork still stuck in the net begged the father for mercy.

The son knew, since the father had been talking about his plans for a few weeks and his mother had been knitting the net.

He had set the net in the field to catch the birds that would come and eat the seeds, and, apparently, just that morning he had dragged back a net full of cranes and one stork.

Pray, save me, master, the stork said, and let me go free at once.

My broken limb should excite your pity.

Besides, I am no crane, I am a stork, a bird of excellent character.

See how I love and slay for my father and mother.

Look, too, at my feathers.

They're not the least like those of a crane.

The miller laughed aloud, and said, It may be all as you say.

I only know this.

I have taken you with these robbers, the cranes, and you must die in their company.

Both the son and donkey looked away, shuddering at the crack.

Birds of a feather flock together, the father said, as the bird's corpse fell.

He smiled, hugging the young man.

There was so much heat there was crashing inside the house.

Then yells.

There was a donkey, a donkey in the house.

What?

The father spun.

The donkey bounded from the house and made for him, tongue out.

It was a miracle the animal didn't break his collarbone or a rib, because the donkey was nearly on top of him, licking his face.

For the donkey that had just been brought in, things were stranger.

He spoke donkey.

This donkey, though, was not speaking donkey.

Sorry, was all the donkey was saying.

The father's servants all came rushing out with clubs and whips, though, and soon he was screaming out in pain as they drove him back to the barn.

The son helped his father up and gave the forest donkey to the servants, who led him to the stables as well.

The bruised and battered donkey that had just been in the house could talk, it seemed, and he had a lot to say.

The master has a Maltese, a little white lap dog.

He knows so many tricks, and he's a great favorite of master, who holds him, and seldom leaves to dine with friends without bringing the little dog something to eat.

Meanwhile, I walk around the mill all day, grinding corn and carrying wood from the forest.

Why should my fate be so hard, while the lap dogs is so easy and luxurious?

So I decided to do something about it.

I was going to be like the dog.

I broke free from my restraints in the field and galloped to the master's house, where I thought he was.

I danced around like I had seen the little dog do, but those houses are tight for a leaping donkey.

I smashed the table and most of the dishes before I realized my master wasn't even in there.

I knew things were not going well, but I was committed, so I ran to him, and licked him in the face, and well, you know the rest, with with the beatings.

The donkey threw back his head.

I have brought it all on myself.

Why could I have not been content to labor with my companions and not wish to be idle all day, like that useless little lap dog?

I mean, that's that's bleak, the forest donkey said.

Their worth wasn't defined by their productivity and output, and they should be able to live meaningful lives apart from their labor wrong, the heifer from earlier laughed.

She was just a few stalls down from the donkeys and had opinions.

You're beasts of burden, that's all you are.

You're defined by the use others get out of you.

She chewed her cud a bit more.

Not me, though.

Even though, like I said, my milking days are through, they're treating me like the queen that I am.

One donkey shot the other a knowing look.

Yeah, that was exactly what it sounded like.

I got it, bro, the donkey said to the protagonist donkey, our donkey, who I'm just going to start calling donkey at this point and desperately try to not let a Shrek imitation slip in, but we'll see how it goes.

Got what?

Donkey asked, while they were unloading the wheat from the field, and the other donkey was grinding the wheat in the mill.

How I can be beloved by master as much as that little dog.

The mill donkey laughed.

Wasn't your takeaway that your self-worth was defined by the labor you could produce or something?

Donkey asked.

You know what?

I thought that, but you were right, the mill donkey said, about the intrinsic value of us as creatures.

So I am going to learn to be charming so that master will love me.

The mill donkey bobbed his head.

That's not remotely what that means.

Donkey pointed out.

But the mill donkey wasn't hearing it.

He had been talking to the grasshopper, the one that hangs around the barn, and he was trying to understand the reason why the grasshopper had such a beautiful, sonorous voice, and they, as donkeys, had their grating bray.

Do they, though?

Grasshoppers, having a beautiful, sonorous voice?

The donkey froed his brow, but accepted it as at least a theoretical premise so he could understand the other donkey's story.

The mill donkey cracked the code, too, as to how he could get such a beautiful voice.

Be a different species entirely?

Donkey was back to not following his co-worker, even with accepting the premise.

Dew!

The donkey grinned.

What?

Dew!

The dew!

Grasshoppers eat dew.

So from now on, I'm eating nothing but dew.

I'm transforming my donkey vocal folds to sound like a beautiful, melodic grasshopper.

Really, are they, though?

Also, you can't only eat dew.

You're a donkey, you'll starve to death.

Donkey was about to say.

And also, Donkey said he'd never really thought of grasshoppers as particularly melodic, when he was interrupted by a small voice from the rafters above.

Hey, sorry, a mouse called out from the rafters.

They were being quite loud.

He had company in from town.

His cousin, Town Mouse.

He was trying to show the guy a good time because he was always ragging on the country.

Oh, sorry, Donkey said, but ended up complying whether he was sorry or not, when one of the sons pulled him from the barn after they finished loading him up.

Country Mouse scurried back.

So what do we think?

Town Mouse looked on the raisin, which was stretching it.

The thing was just a very dry grape, and some wheat stalks and roots that Country Mouse had gathered recently.

So, eh?

Country Mouse asked.

But by the look in the Town Mouse's face, he already knew the answer.

What do I think?

You live here, I don't know, the life of ants.

Well, in my house, it's a horn of plenty.

I'm surrounded with every luxury, and if you come with me, as much as I wish you would, you shall have an ample share of my dainties.

You know what?

Fine.

I'm kind of tired of you always talking about how amazing the city is and putting down my home.

Sure, let's go.

Let's check it out.

Country Mouse said, and caught his cousin before he bit into the raisin.

Yeah, you probably don't want to do that.

It's extremely old and I'm not even sure it was a grape at one point.

That might actually just be dung.

I don't know.

We'll see Donkey take yet another trip, but that will, once again, be right after this.

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The five sons were arguing all the time.

The miller's house was as good a place as any, but the older brother's return home had really led to something of a vibe shift.

The five sons were arguing all the time,

and the donkey was present one day in the field when the father finally called them all together.

My sons, bring me sticks, the father waved.

Ow He's whipping me, Dad, he's whipping me with his stick.

Tell him to stop whipping me with the stick, the middle brother said, as he turned and started smacking his younger brother.

The two older ones were fighting over one stick.

The youngest was sharpening his.

Sons, give me your sticks, the father said.

And they did.

Eventually, with only substantial blood loss.

When he had them all, he took them in hand and wrapped them with a a leather strap.

Then he passed it around, asking the brothers to break it.

They each thought they would have one over on the others and tried to break it, but they just couldn't.

The father took it, untied the leather strap, and handed out the sticks.

Now, break those, the father said.

The sons all broke their sticks.

My sons, if you are of one mind and unite to assist each other, you will be as this bundle of sticks, uninjured by the attempts of your enemies.

But if you are divided among yourselves, you will be broken as easily as these sticks.

The boys looked at the cracked and broken pieces of wood in their respective hands and nodded.

They began gathering other sticks and found their own straps.

A tear came to the father's eye.

They heard him.

They wanted to recreate the lesson as a symbol of their family's strength.

They were

very quick about it, too, eager to pick up all those sticks.

When the first two finished their bundles and started clubbing each other, and the other brothers with them, because a bundle of sticks was a way more effective and damaging weapon than just one stick, the father worried that they might have taken the wrong message from this little lesson.

A trip into town, it wouldn't have normally been Donkey's thing, but since the other donkey had starved to death on account of only eating dew for weeks, so he could sing like a grasshopper, it fell to him.

Before they left, the father had called one of the older sons and told him to prepare the old heifer and the ox for the harvest festival upon his return.

The heifer, who was in the middle of berating the ox like she did all day, every day, laughed.

She was excited to be crowned queen of the harvest festival.

I uh I don't think that's a thing, Donkey called, as the older brother approached with the knives.

It was not.

The ox was to be set free to enjoy a day off.

Butcher the old heifer and have the meat ready.

We'll only be a day, the father said, as he and the son started out on their journey.

Wait what?

the heifer said, and staggered.

The ox laughed.

For this you are allowed to live in idleness, because you are presently to be sacrificed.

sacrificed.

Donkey shuddered as he was led away, laden with the packs, toward town.

An hour later, the donkey stood next to the father and son as they rested on their journey.

I want that meat.

I want it.

A crow in the tree had a chunk of meat, and the fox at the base of the tree paced.

How handsome is that crow, he exclaimed.

In the beauty of her shape and in the fairness of her complexion, oh, if her voice were only equal to her beauty, she would deservedly be considered the queen of birds.

Donkey wasn't exactly sure how beautiful a crow was, but that wasn't the part the crow took issue with.

Eager to show that her voice was equal to her beauty, she opened her beak and let out a loud and harsh caw,

I guess proving that it was.

When she did so, the meat hit the leaves, and the fox immediately snatched it up.

My good crow, your voice is right enough, but your wit is wanting.

The fox chuckled and took off with the meat.

Before Donkey was pulled away, he saw a weasel sneak off after the fox, no doubt thinking of a way to con him out of the meat.

Town wasn't far.

On their way they passed a snickering shepherd boy, doing vocal warm-ups, and it was not long before they were in the market, unloading their goods.

And then they were being pushed out of the market by a mob of armed citizens.

Wolf, wolf, They heard from beyond the fray.

It was the shepherd boy they saw on the way in.

The one that looked like he was up to something was, in fact, up to something.

The miller and his son were separated from the donkey in the rush, which was still surprisingly fervent, given that it was the fourth time this week that the kid had yelled out he was being attacked by a wolf.

I like a prank as much as the next person.

Actually, no, that's not true.

I hate pranks.

I think they're mean.

But this one had always felt a little weak to me.

And yeah, this is where that story comes from, and you know exactly what happens.

Because he didn't have TV or TikTok or books or anything interesting, really, this joke was apparently hilarious.

Oh, haha, you thought a child was going to die, so you came to their aid.

Because these are the Middle Ages and people only had a 50-50 chance of making it to adulthood.

You fool, you absolute knave.

While everyone was getting annoyed at falling for that again, the donkey felt a tug on his reins.

There you are, we have to go.

Donkey fold a weight on his back, and someone he had never seen lead him up the hill toward the church, at the center of the town.

But as he did, he noticed the people, people who looked at him gasped and pointed before bowing down.

Some wept, a wave of people before him fell prostrate.

A feeling swelled within the donkey.

Pride.

He was finally getting the respect, admiration, and yes, the worship he deserved.

The crowd swayed and wept and sang praises before Donkey, and it was good.

He felt another tug on his head and thought, no.

If all these people thought that he was worthy of such love, of such devotion, he needed to start acting like he was worthy.

His back bristled, and he stood up straight, refusing to move.

And the worker laid in to him with a whip.

Still, he would not dignify it with a response.

The people, though, were surprisingly cool with him whipping the object of their devotion.

He didn't quite understand, but he didn't give in.

The worker, though, did.

He was only a dozen feet from the church, and even though the image the donkey was taking was heavy, he had stuff to do.

As he took the statue from the back of the donkey into the church, the adoration went with him.

Oh,

they weren't worshiping him, they were in awe of the carved image that belonged in the church.

They are not wise who take to themselves the credit due to others, donkey brayed.

Did you walk that all the way up the hill on your own?

A priest asked the worker, who laughed.

Of course not.

He took the donkey.

The priest pointed to the opposite window of the church, to the donkey standing just outside of it.

The worker looked to the donkey, standing out in the square.

Did you did you steal that donkey?

The priest asked.

Nope, borrowed, just without permission, he called back, hooking Donkey's reins and leading him back down the hill toward the market.

That sounds a lot like stealing, the priest called after him.

Hey, Donkey heard from a house, as the man led him down a quiet alley.

He looked up and saw, Hey, country mouse, what are you doing here?

I'm about to enjoy a dainty feast.

Country Mouse squeaked back.

That's Donkey, he said to his cousin.

Town Mouse, he's good people.

Feast?

Country Mouse asked.

Town Mouse pointed to a hole in the wall.

Right this way.

They squeezed their way into a room that was roughly their size, with light coming through a crack in the door.

Still, they could see well enough to spy bread, barley, beans, dried figs, honey, raisins, real raisins, not just wrinkly dung, and cheese, all in a basket.

Country Mouse's mouth watered.

He had never seen such a bounty.

He dove into the basket.

But before he could take one bite, the crack widened and light spilled into the cupboard.

Both mice were able to dive down into the basket, out of sight as a giant hand reached in and grabbed a bottle of beer on the shelf next to them.

The room was soon dark again.

That hardly ever happens, Town Mouse laughed, nervously.

Here, you have to try the figs.

Country Mouse, though, was kind of stuck, watching the crack of light with apprehension.

It took a few minutes before Country Mouse relaxed.

Relaxed enough to finally pick up a morsel of cheese.

And as soon as he did so, the crack widened, the door opened, and a hand reached in.

With this, Country Mouse squeaked and jumped from the basket, scrambling from the cupboard as the humans in the room outside screeched.

Tau Mouse followed, and both squeezed through the hole in the back of the cupboard before a wooden spoon came down on them.

They were back outside, overlooking the road.

Tau Mouse told Country Mouse to follow him.

Just one house down, way better.

Country Mouse, standing famished, said No,

Although you have prepared for me so dainty a feast, I must leave you to enjoy it by yourself.

It is surrounded by too many dangers to please me.

I prefer my bare ploughlands and roots from from the hedgerow so that I only can live in safety and without fear.

Country Mouse scurried off back home.

Donkey cocked his head.

Wolf!

Wolf!

The people laughed.

Nope.

Seriously, it is a wolf.

Oh no.

He's eating one of the sheep.

Oh, it's horrible.

The voice screamed, alongside a sickening crunch and some gurgled bleating.

The people looked at each other.

Wow.

Kid was pulling out all the stops this time.

They had to admit, great production value.

It sounded like he recruited a Foley artist.

Now he's coming for me too.

Someone help!

The voice screamed.

The people laughed again.

Not gonna fool us.

Donkey, though, could hear well enough to catch the snarls of the wolf and knew it was real.

He shook his head.

Yikes.

There's no believing a liar, even when he speaks the truth.

He felt his reins go slack, and the worker from the church run off, as he heard another, there you are.

It was the miller and his son.

Come on, we have to go, the man said.

It's almost time for the festival.

He pulled the donkey from the market and from town.

Ha ha ha,

they heard as they walked.

Look at that, look at them.

Have you ever seen such fellows to be trudging along the road on foot when they might ride?

A person who had opinions and also the feeling that everyone must know them the moment he thought of them as loudly as possible, said.

Get on the donkey, the father hissed to the son.

The boy asked why he didn't mind walking.

You're embarrassing me in front of this guy I never met.

Get on the donkey.

The father picked up the boy and plopped him down.

It was a little while before they passed the next group, and it was a group of older men and women cleaning out an inn in the warm afternoon.

Psh, there.

See, it proves what I'm saying.

There's no respect for the older generations these days.

Look at that idle lad riding while his father has to walk.

Get down from there, scapegrace, and let your father rest his weary limbs.

The father looked at them and then quickly to his son, yeah, get down from there, you scape grace, because I definitely know what that word means.

He yanked his son from Donkey and leapt atop himself, to the approving nod of the people by the tavern.

Of course, the next group had their own opinions about this lazy old fellow who could ride upon this beast while the poor lad could hardly keep pace behind him.

Terrible.

Simply terrible.

What are you doing down there?

Get up here, the father demanded, and the next time they passed a stump, the boy used to climb up the donkey and ride behind him.

Now,

donkey was fine, but as they approached a bridge, a man shook his head.

This was unconscionable.

Is that donkey yours?

The miller father proudly puffed out his chest.

Why, yes, he was.

My son found him in a forest, finder's keepers.

I never would have thought so, by the way you load him.

The man shook his head.

It looks like you two strong fellows are more capable of carrying that beast than he is you.

The man clicked his tongue and continued on.

Immediately the father leapt down.

Get off, get off the donkey now, he said.

His young son obeyed, and the father, saying it loudly enough for the man on the bridge to hear him, said, That man is right.

Pick up the donkey, pick him up.

The donkey felt them trying to lift him and resisted.

It was weird.

Them trying to hoist a full grown male donkey on their shoulders, it didn't really work.

He wiggled and fought it, but soon felt his hooves leave the bridge.

Hey, stop it.

This is weird.

Stop being weird.

Donkey brayed.

Well, okay, I feel I'm worried because oh no.

Donkey and father and son realized it.

Donkey was high enough and off balance enough that he tumbled over the side of the bridge and splashed into the deep river below.

The last the miller and son saw of the donkey, his head popped up above the water in panic as he was rushed away.

Crossing to the other side of the bridge to the laughter of all the people standing there, the miller reflected that, in endeavoring to please everyone, he had pleased no one, and it had cost him his donkey in the process.

Donkey bobbed in terror for a long while until, downriver, his hooves found a gravel crossing and, catching it, he was able to stop himself and pull himself from the river.

Panting and finding the trail, he was grateful to be alive when he heard, behind him, a rental donkey?

Donkey turned to see the salt peddler from several weeks ago at this point, when his master had rented him out.

The man was staggering under a load of salt.

It is you.

Oh, thank goodness.

You know what?

I'll take you home.

Here, though, you can help me out, he said, gripped the donkey's reins and hefted the salt upon his back.

It was less than the donkey was used to, especially from the salt peddler, since the man had been carrying it by himself.

As Donkey crossed the river, he knew he didn't have to, but

yeah, he wanted to.

Oh no, I fell, Donkey said, and dipped the salt into the river to the salt peddler's cries.

That was a fun one.

Of course, they all aren't tied together like this in the text, but that's what we do with the Aesop's Fables episodes.

I was a little bummed to not be able to use the tone that much this time, since most most of them didn't have a clear stated moral.

Still though, these have really grown to apparently be fan favorites based on the responses I get.

All the stories I used for this time and the last I actually collected for just last time, so I need to go back into the text for next time, but let me know if there are ones you'd still like to hear.

In two weeks on the podcast, I don't know what we're doing yet.

We've had a lot of life stuff happening lately, and I'm behind.

But we will see you in two weeks with something.

But in the meantime, if you need that that cool, crisp Myths and Legends flavor, but you've inexplicably exhausted our back catalog.

There are like 100-plus member episodes at this point as part of the membership, as well as probably 500 ad-free shows.

And you'll get them week to week too.

After that, you can check it out at mythpodcast.com/slash membership or find us on Apple Podcasts.

The creature this time is Iktmir from Norse myth.

So there's a lot going on on the roof of Valhalla.

And yeah, some people, like me for years and years until it was actually my job to know otherwise, thought of Valhalla like a vague afterlife region.

But it's really just a house.

I mean, it's a very big house, and there's a lot going on on the roof.

Inside, too, of course, where all the Norse heroes Odin tricked into tragic, revenge-related deaths relatively early in life fight and prepare for Ragnarok.

But today we're talking about the roof, where, instead of shingles, the roof has the shields of the fallen, which is extremely Norse, and it also has two tenants.

The first is Hythron, the goat.

She sits there and eats the leaves of the world tree, and from that sustenance, mead flows daily from her udders, which to me...

feels like something of an incontinence issue because that's not technically how udders work.

but it works out because the mead flows down for the warriors of Valhalla to drink.

In addition to the goat, there's Akternir, whose name apparently follows the Friends episode naming scheme with him being called the one with the oak-like antlers.

Sidebar, I've never been super into Friends, but I'd watch that episode.

It's a massive H-A-R-T heart, and if you want a sense of scale, The drops of water falling from its antlers fill a nearby spring, which feeds all of Miggar's, our world's, rivers.

And really, these two are probably the best case scenario for roof animals.

I live in Cincinnati, so we have those little lizards running around everywhere.

Those, or like, the random squirrel that gets stuck up there.

But those hardly ever brew me alcohol anymore.

That's it for this time.

Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser.

Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Colmes.

There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes.

Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time.