The Dove and the Crow

On the edge of a peaceful village stood a grand farmhouse with a beautifully constructed dovecote. This wooden structure, painted white with a decorative red roof, housed dozens of doves who lived in comfort and security. Each day, the farmer would spread grain for the doves, ensuring they never went hungry. In return, the doves provided eggs, occasional meat for special feasts, and their soft feathers for stuffing pillows and quilts.

Among the doves lived a particularly striking white dove with feathers that shimmered like pearls in the sunlight. She was gentle and kind, with a soft coo that was pleasant to hear as she went about her days in the dovecote.

In a nearby wood lived a sleek black crow. With feathers as dark as midnight and eyes bright with intelligence, the crow spent his days foraging for whatever food he could find – nuts, berries, insects, and occasionally the leavings from human meals. Unlike the dove, the crow’s life was not easy. He had to search constantly for food and remain vigilant against predators and angry farmers who considered him a pest.

One bright spring morning, the crow was flying over the farmhouse when he spotted the white dove sitting contentedly on the roof of the dovecote. Before her was a generous pile of golden grain that the farmer had just scattered. The crow landed on a nearby tree branch to watch.

“Good morning, friend Dove,” called the crow, his voice harsh compared to the dove’s melodious tones. “I see you’re enjoying a fine breakfast.”

The dove looked up and nodded politely. “Good morning to you, Crow. Yes, the farmer is very generous. We never want for food here.”

The crow watched as other doves emerged from the dovecote, all looking plump and well-cared for. Their feathers were clean and glossy, and they moved with the unhurried pace of creatures who had never known real hunger.

“You doves have a wonderful life,” observed the crow, feeling the hollow pang of hunger in his own stomach. “Safe from predators, protected from the weather, and fed the finest grain every day without having to search for it.”

The dove nodded again. “We are fortunate indeed. The farmer takes good care of us.”

“What must one do to join such a pleasant community?” asked the crow, his mind racing with possibilities. “I grow tired of scavenging through the woods and fields each day for meager meals.”

The dove looked somewhat surprised by the question. “Well, I suppose you could speak to the farmer. Though I must tell you, I’ve never seen any birds but doves living in a dovecote.”

“Why should that matter?” replied the crow. “I can coo like a dove with a bit of practice.” And to demonstrate, the crow attempted to soften his harsh caw into something more melodious. The result was a strange, strained sound that made the dove flutter her wings in surprise.

“Perhaps with practice,” she said diplomatically. “But there’s more to being a dove than just our voice.”

“Nonsense,” said the crow dismissively. “We’re both birds, aren’t we? We both have wings, beaks, and feathers. The only real difference is that you’re white and I’m black, and surely that’s not important.”

The dove seemed uncertain but didn’t wish to argue. “If you truly want to join us, you could try tomorrow morning. The farmer comes at dawn to feed us and check the dovecote.”

The crow spent the rest of the day practicing his “cooing” and observing the doves’ gentle, graceful movements. By nightfall, he was convinced he could pass for a dove, despite his midnight-black feathers.

The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, the crow flew to the dovecote and settled among the white doves who were just awakening. He tried to copy their gentle movements and soft cooing, though several doves gave him curious glances.

When the farmer approached with a bucket of grain, the crow’s heart raced with excitement. Soon he would be enjoying the easy life of these pampered birds! But as the farmer drew nearer, his practiced coo faltered, and a nervous “caw” escaped his beak.

The farmer looked up sharply. “What’s this? A crow among my doves?” His face darkened with anger. “Thieving bird! You’ll steal my grain and harass my doves!”

The crow tried desperately to coo, to blend in, but his natural voice betrayed him again. The farmer quickly grabbed a long stick and swung it toward the crow, who barely managed to dodge the blow and take flight.

“And stay away from my dovecote!” shouted the farmer, as the crow fled back to the safety of the woods, his heart pounding from the narrow escape.

Later that day, as the crow was catching his breath on a branch deep in the forest, he spotted the white dove flying nearby. She settled on a neighboring branch.

“I’m sorry about what happened this morning,” she said gently. “Are you unharmed?”

The crow nodded, though his pride was severely wounded. “I don’t understand,” he said after a moment. “Why does the farmer welcome you but chase me away? Is it merely because of the color of my feathers?”

The dove considered this before answering. “It’s not just about appearance, though that’s part of it. You see, we doves have made an arrangement with the farmer. We provide certain things he values – our eggs, occasionally our flesh for his table, our feathers for his comfort. In exchange, he gives us security and food.”

“But I could provide similar benefits,” protested the crow.

“Perhaps,” acknowledged the dove. “But there’s another difference you haven’t considered. Have you noticed what happens when the farmer enters the dovecote with an empty cage?”

The crow shook his head.

“He selects one of us to take away for his table,” explained the dove. “And we accept this as part of our arrangement. Each of us knows that one day we might be chosen, yet we stay.”

The crow was silent, considering this information.

“You, on the other hand,” continued the dove, “value your freedom above all else. You would never willingly enter a cage, would you? Even for guaranteed meals and protection?”

The crow imagined himself locked in a small cage, waiting to be selected for the farmer’s dinner, and shuddered. “No,” he admitted. “I would not.”

The dove nodded. “Then perhaps your life in the woods, challenging though it may be, is better suited to your nature than mine would be. You have something precious that I do not – true freedom.”

The crow looked at the dove with new understanding. “I never thought of it that way. I saw only the comfort and easy food you enjoy, not the price you pay for it.”

“Every life has its advantages and its costs,” said the dove wisely. “The secret to contentment is not in wishing for another’s situation, but in recognizing the value in your own.”

The crow considered these words as he watched the dove fly back toward the dovecote. From that day forward, whenever hunger gnawed at his belly or rain soaked his feathers, he would remember the dove’s words and the price of her comfortable cage.

Moral: True freedom often comes with hardship, while comfort may require sacrifice. Be careful not to envy others’ lives without understanding the full cost of their circumstances.