The Dog and the Sparrow

Once upon a time, a shepherd’s dog had grown too old to guard the flocks. His master, seeing no further use for the faithful animal, drove him away without gratitude for years of loyal service. The dog, hungry and dejected, wandered the country roads, his once-proud head hanging low.

As he traveled the dusty paths between villages, a small sparrow fluttered down and perched beside him. “Why do you look so sorrowful, friend?” chirped the bird.

The dog sighed heavily. “I am old now, and my master has cast me out after years of faithful service. I am hungry and have nowhere to go.”

The sparrow tilted her head sympathetically. “Then I shall be your friend,” she declared. “Follow me to the next village, and I will help you find food.”

True to her word, when they reached the village, the sparrow led the dog to the butcher’s shop. While the butcher was busy with a customer, the little bird flew inside and, with incredible daring, snatched a piece of meat. She dropped it directly into the dog’s waiting mouth before the butcher even noticed.

“Thank you, kind friend,” said the dog, feeling strength return to his weary limbs. “That is the first meal I’ve had in days.”

“Wait here,” instructed the sparrow. “You need more than one morsel to regain your strength.”

She flew to the baker’s stall next and employed the same clever trick, securing a small loaf of bread for her companion. The dog ate gratefully, his spirits lifting with each bite.

After eating his fill, the dog accompanied the sparrow to the edge of a small stream outside the village. “I am very tired now,” he told his feathered friend. “I must rest awhile.”

“Sleep peacefully,” the sparrow assured him, settling on a branch above. “I will keep watch.”

The dog curled up in a patch of soft grass beside the road and quickly fell into a deep slumber. The sparrow sang softly from her perch, keeping a vigilant eye on the surrounding countryside.

As midday approached, a wagon rumbled down the road, loaded with three barrels of wine. The wagoner, a red-faced man with a cruel set to his mouth, drove his horses at a reckless pace despite the heavy load.

The sparrow, seeing that the wagon would pass dangerously close to her sleeping friend, flew into the road and called out: “Wagoner! Wagoner! Drive carefully, or you will run over my friend!”

The wagoner scowled at the tiny bird. “Get out of my way, worthless creature! I’ll drive where I please.” He cracked his whip and deliberately steered his horses toward the sleeping dog.

“Please!” begged the sparrow, darting frantically before the horses’ faces. “My friend is old and tired. Drive around him!”

“I’ll not change course for a mangy cur!” shouted the wagoner, and with cruel intent, he directed his wheels directly over the sleeping dog.

The faithful animal awoke only at the last moment, not quick enough to save himself. With a yelp of pain and one final glance at his sparrow friend, the old dog died beneath the wagon wheels.

The sparrow’s tiny heart filled with grief and rage. She flew up to the wagon and perched upon it, her small eyes glittering with purpose. “Wicked wagoner!” she called. “You have killed my dear friend! This evil deed will cost you your cart, your horses, and ultimately your life!”

The wagoner laughed heartily, slapping his knee. “What can a tiny bird do to me? Begone, before I snap your neck as well!”

But the sparrow was not intimidated. She flew ahead of the wagon to the next village, where she perched on the gateway arch. As the wagoner passed beneath, she called out: “Wagoner! Wagoner! You will pay dearly!”

Irritated by the bird’s persistence, the man snatched up a stone and threw it, missing the nimble sparrow entirely. She flew down and darted between the horses’ ears, chirping incessantly until the animals grew nervous and skittish.

The wagoner, growing increasingly angry, grabbed his whip and attempted to strike the bird. Each time he missed, hitting his horses instead, causing them to rear and buck in confusion and pain.

In the commotion, the wagon lurched violently. The ropes securing one of the wine barrels came loose, and it fell to the cobblestone street with a tremendous crash, spilling its valuable contents into the gutter.

“Now you have lost one barrel,” announced the sparrow, perching safely on a nearby signpost. “Soon you will lose more!”

The wagoner, face purple with rage, lashed out again with his whip, but the clever bird simply flew to another perch. As the man’s attention was fixed on the sparrow, his horses, still agitated, veered sharply around a corner. The wagon tilted precariously, and a second barrel broke free, smashing on the street and sending rivers of red wine flowing between the cobblestones.

“Two barrels gone!” called the sparrow. “The third will follow, and then more!”

By now, a crowd had gathered to witness the strange spectacle of a tiny bird seemingly tormenting the increasingly frantic wagoner. Some laughed at the man’s predicament, while others collected the spilling wine in jugs and cups.

Blind with fury, the wagoner grabbed an axe from beneath his seat and hurled it at the sparrow. The bird easily avoided the weapon, which instead struck the side of the remaining wine barrel, splitting the wood and releasing the contents in a gushing torrent.

“Your cargo is now destroyed,” declared the sparrow, “but I am not finished with you yet!”

She flew ahead once more, this time perching on the stable roof at the village inn. The wagoner, abandoning his ruined cart, gave chase on foot, axe in hand. “I’ll kill you, demon bird!” he shouted, drawing concerned stares from villagers.

When the man reached the stable, the sparrow fluttered inside through an open window. The wagoner followed, swinging his axe wildly at every flutter of wings. He missed the bird but struck supporting beams and posts instead. The stable roof, weakened by his frenzied attacks, began to groan ominously.

“Your horses will be next,” warned the sparrow, flying out through the window.

Indeed, as the wagoner emerged from the stable in pursuit, the damaged structure collapsed behind him, crushing his team of horses beneath the falling timbers. A wail of despair escaped the man’s lips as he realized his livelihood was now completely destroyed.

Still, his rage burned hotter than his reason. He continued chasing the sparrow through the village, swinging his axe at fences, flower pots, and market stalls—anything the clever bird landed upon momentarily. The trail of destruction followed him, and soon angry villagers joined the pursuit, demanding payment for their damaged property.

Finally, exhausted and cornered in the village square, surrounded by irate locals, the wagoner made one last desperate lunge at the sparrow. The bird simply flew to his head and perched directly between his eyes.

“Here I am,” she chirped. “Strike now if you dare!”

Maddened beyond all reason, the wagoner raised his axe high, intending to bring it down upon his own forehead to kill the bird. The sparrow, watchful as ever, flew away at the precise moment the axe began its downward arc.

The cruel wagoner, unable to stop his momentum, brought the axe down upon himself, fulfilling the sparrow’s prophecy that his wicked deed would ultimately cost him his life.

As the stunned villagers looked on, the sparrow circled once above the grim scene and then flew back to the spot where her friend had been killed. She gathered a small twig in her beak and placed it gently over the place where the old dog had drawn his last breath.

“Rest well, faithful friend,” she chirped softly. “Justice has been served.”

From that day forward, the villagers told the tale of the loyal sparrow and her dog companion. They taught their children to be kind to animals both great and small, for friendship knows no boundaries of size or species, and even the tiniest of creatures may possess the mightiest of hearts.

Children would leave breadcrumbs for the sparrows in the village square, and travelers would take care to drive their wagons with consideration for animals resting by the roadside. And sometimes, on quiet afternoons, the oldest villagers claimed they could hear a sweet sparrow’s song near the stream—a melody of friendship that transcended even death itself.