Poor Sam the Crow

One fine day, the sun was shining down cheerfully on the Woeful Woodlands. The birds were trilling sweetly, and the brook was bubbling merrily.

Sam the Crow had just awoken. He looked out upon the beautiful morning and thought, 'How pretty!'

At that moment he was hit on the back of the head with a rather large brick.

"Ow!" said Sam the Crow, rubbing his poor throbbing head. He turned to see a crowd of jeering crows. They did not like Sam.

"Ha ha!" they cackled. "You are really. dumb!"

"That was mean," sniveled Sam. "My head hurts a lot."

"Good!" cried another. "Your head is really dumb, too. Now get out of here, you dumb little midget crow!"

Sam hung his head, and turned away, as a tear rolled down his feathered cheek. He was sad. He mournfully spread his wings and flew away from the other crows. They did not like him. They thought he was dumb. They thought he was a little midget crow. He was not socially accepted, and therefore, he was exiled from the commune of crows.

Sam knew he had to find a new home. Winter was coming. Winter was cold. He did not want to freeze. He did not want to die a cold, lonely death with no one to mourn his frozen carcass.

So, he began to search for a new home.

First, he tried to make a home in a shrub. But the leaves were prickly and they taunted him. They whispered inverted Latin to him in the night and he could not sleep. He did not like this.

He decided to find another home. He tried a hole in a dead tree. But a bad tempered opossum already lived there. The opossum cursed Sam and shot at him with a small opossum sawed-off shotgun. Sam did not like being shot at. Guns were dangerous. He knew that it was bad to play with guns. So he left.

Next, he tried to live in a small, red mailbox in front of a cozy little whitewashed house. But everyday, a large ugly and wrinkled giant hand would come and shove large pieces of paper at him. This made Sam very uncomfortable and slightly paranoid. He did not like getting paper cuts, so he decided to leave.

Meanwhile, winter had come, and the cruel wind was whipping painfully through Sam's feathers. He had to seek shelter soon. He saw the large red chimney of the small white house. It looked very cozy and comfy. He laboriously winged his way to the roof, and poked his head into the chimney. It was warm! 'How wonderful!' thought Sam. 'Finally, I have found a warm and cozy home, all of my own.'

He crawled into the chimney, basking in the warm, comfy glow. He felt safe and secure at last. No crows would hit him with bricks anymore. No leaves would whisper in the night. No opossums would shoot at him. No giant hands would lacerate his flesh with paper. He was safe at last.

But then, it began to get a little too warm. In fact, it got down right HOT! Sam felt his tail feathers begin to sizzle. Something was terribly wrong. He was on fire!

'Oh, no!' Sam thought. 'What should I do? I cannot stop, drop and roll in a chimney!' He scrambled desperately to freedom, but all to no avail. The cruel winter wind had frozen the chimney shut. He was trapped in this fiery inferno!

"Help me! Help me! Please!" he cried. All in vain.

Eventually, he was burned to a blackened crisp, and fell to the bottom of the chimney, where he emitted a rather nasty stench as he rotted.


The moral of the story is: COMFORM OR DIE A HORRIBLY FIERY DEATH!