The Dog and the Shadow

A dog once found a piece of meat near the market road. It was not the largest piece in the world, but it smelled rich and good, and the dog carried it proudly in his mouth. He trotted along the path toward a quiet place where he might eat it without being disturbed.

On the way he came to a narrow bridge over a clear stream. The afternoon light lay bright upon the water, and every movement above it trembled below. As the dog stepped onto the bridge, he looked down and saw, so he thought, another dog in the water. That dog also held a piece of meat in his mouth, and because the ripples stretched and shook the image, the meat seemed larger than his own.

The dog stopped. Greed rose in him at once. “If I can frighten that dog,” he thought, “I shall have his meat as well as mine.” He forgot that his own jaws were already full. He forgot that water often shows shapes which are not solid things. Opening his mouth wide, he barked fiercely at the dog below.

At that very moment his own meat fell from his mouth. It dropped into the stream with a splash and was carried away by the current. The larger piece vanished too, for it had never been anything but a shadow.

The dog stood on the bridge with an empty mouth. He had not been robbed by another dog; he had been tricked by his own desire for more.