Freedom is Priceless

The wild places of Greece are full of wolves. They are always hungry, always on the move, traveling in packs, in search of prey among the boulders and stunted trees of the out lands.
One such wolf was born high up in the mountains of Crete. His mother fed him and took care of him until he was able to fend for himself. Then she let him go out into the wild, so that he could take his rightful place with the pack that hunted on the mountain. It was spring when the wolf cub left his mother's lair, which he'd shared with six brothers and sisters. The older wolves welcomed him with fierce baying that rang through the mountain. He quickly learned to hunt, to search for food with his nose, to stalk deer and goats, and to steal lambs from the snoozing shepherds and their huge, fluffy-coated dogs. When the hunt was successful, there was always a year feast, and the whole pack joined in. Then the mountains echoed with wolf songs from dusk till dawn.
But the spring turned into summer and summer into winter, and with the winter came freezing winds and snow that settled on the wolf's once glossy coat, turning it into a heavy burden of ice. There were no more goats to be stalked, nor deer, nor wild boar. The shepherds moved their flocks down into the valley for shelter. The smaller creatures that the pack had ignored in the warmer months now burrowed deep into the earth to sleep. Soon the earth froze under the wolf's paws so that he could barely run without slipping. One by one the elders of the pack died, and those that survived grew thin with hunger. The wolves' coats turned mangy and coarse.
On the rare occasions when a little food was to be had, there was no feasting, no celebration. The wolves quarreled among themselves, the strong pushing the weak away in a selfish bid to get more meat. The young wolf started hiding in a cave, where he would sit for hours on end, wondering if the spring, the sun, and the good times would ever return.
Then late one evening he heard human voices carried by the wind. There were sounds of horses neighing, bells ringing, and musical instruments being played. The wolf peeped out of the cave and saw a band of pilgrims returning home after offering sacrifices to the old mountain gods. Some _ the rich ones _ rode horses and wore expensive furs wrapped around their shoulders. Servants in plainer clothes rode along behind them on donkeys. There were children on foot, too, each one carrying a heavy basket or a chest strapped to their backs. Dogs_not the huge, fluffy kind that watched over the lambs in the summer, but smaller ones with dark coats _ wove their way through people's legs, barking and yelping. Bringing up the rear were the slaves, their carts laden with enormous pots and cages of fat chickens.
The sight of those chickens drew the wolf toward the band of pilgrims as helplessly as a twig is drawn by a river's current. He slunk out of the cave and followed them, saliva dribbling from his mouth. But he didn't get too close. He knew that a lone wolf had to find the right time to pounce_perhaps at night, if the moon slipped behind thick clouds, or early in the morning, when the mist wrapped itself like a shroud around the mountain.
The next minute on older man with a walking stick announced, "We'll rest here for the night," and the travelers stopped. People got off their horses, the older ones helped by their servants. Grooms unsaddled the donkeys and led them to a stream where they could drink. A group of women lit a fire, placed pots upon it, and brought food out of the hampers to cook over the flames. The smell of cooking filled the air, and the young wolf could not help himself. He edged closer and closer to the camp, his tummy rumbling with acute hunger.
Eventually someone spotted him. "Look out, a wolf!" People leaped to their feet in alarm. The old man with the walking stick started trembling uncontrollably. A cook screamed, and the servants reached for axes and clubs. The wolf, knowing that he was weak from cold and lack of food, quickly melted back into the shadows.
"Not much of a life, is it_skulking in the darkness, trembling at the sight of clubs and axes?" It was one of the dark-coated dogs speaking. He was returning from the nearby stream.
"Times are hard, brother. You do everything you can to survive," the wolf said grimly.
The dog sat on a rock, looking around him with disdain. "Just look at this place," he said. "Bare rocks, the wind howling around your ears all the time, and nothing to keep out the cold. I don't know how you survive. In my master's house we sleep in baskets lined with velvet, right next to a warm fire. And we never go hungry. Meals come piping not, in pretty dishes. Why don't you come with us and live in a palace?"
"I admit, it does sound tempting," said the wolf. "But I am not a dog. I would get thrown out."
"You could pass for a dog," said his friend. "There are many of us in my master's house. Trust me, you will be safe."
The wolf imagined himself eating hot meals out of fancy dishes, snoozing contentedly by the fire, and playing with his new friends without a care i the world.
"I'll come," he said.
Early the next morning he set off with the pilgrims, walking close to his new friend. As the sun came up, he couldn't help noticing how glossy the dog's coat was and how brightly his eyes shone in the morning light. At the foot of the mountain they came to a plain, and in the distance they could see the walls of a city.
"Your new home," said the dog.
The wolf turned to bid the mountain farewell.
"Come on," said the dog. "You'll get left behind." He leaned forward to nudge the wolf on.
"What's that strange mark around your neck?"the wolf asked. "It seems as if the fur has been worn away."
"It's nothing," said the dog. "In my master's house all dogs are marked like this. It's where the leather collar chafes our necks."
"A collar?"
"The master ties us up sometimes, when he doesn't want us to roam around, or when he wants to take us to a particular place."
The wolf looked puzzled. "You mean, you let someone chain you up?"
"You get used to it after a while," said the dog.
The wolf turned and looked at the mountain again. "The wild is a harsh place," he said. "But there are no chains there, no collars, no one to stop me from roaming around of my own free will."
"Think of the comfort," the dog urged him. "All that good food. Isn't it worth a collar wound your neck?"
The wolf shook his head. "I'd rather starve as a free animal than feast in chains. Good-bye my friend."
And with that he turned and bounded back up the mountain toward his cave, his nights of hunger, his old hunting grounds, his cherished freedom.

_Aesop's Fables
"The Wolf and the Dog"
by Saviour Pirotta
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