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     Two Gallons of Paint

It was very early morning, and the sun was not yet visible in the brightening sky. On both sides of the old country road, frogs and crickets made quite a bit of music, as the birds with sweeter songs tried to be heard in the trees above.

A young boy walked with his father on the road to town. Each of them carried a few sticks, small cuttings from willows that had been simply, but attractively, fashioned into walking sticks. The boy did this in the evenings, whenever he had the time. A skill he had learned from his grandfather. Already, the boy showed a fine talent for carving.

Behind them waddled two white ducks accompanied by a small dog.

"Where are we going?" the dog asked the ducks. "I've never been this far from home."

"Oh, we are going to the market," the older duck answered.

"What's a market?" the dog asked.

"It's a grand place, with lots of people from all around the countryside.  And lots of animals are there, too!" the younger duck replied. "I've heard so much about it!"

"Yes," the older duck said. "It is a wonderful place where people gather to share ideas and to exchange things of value. The farmer and his son are going there today to trade those sticks for paint. The farmer's wife is with child, so they are preparing a room for the new baby."

"Oh," the pup said. Being new to the family he had lots of questions, and very often the answers he got only produced more questions. Of course, many of his questions were forgotten before he could even ask them, and some of the answers he did get were also forgotten. Not because he was exceedingly stupid. He was actually very quick-witted for a dog. But he was also young, and had many things on his mind, like chasing rabbits or catching butterflies.

After trying to learn what paint was, and why people would cover the walls of a room with it, the dog asked, "So why are we going with the farmer to the market?"

The younger duck answered, "It is customary for animals to visit the market, and sometimes more than once. This is my first visit. But my father here is making his second journey."

"Yes," the older duck said. "I first came to the market for trading when I was very young.  That's when I first met the farmer.  And now I've been invited by the farmer to visit again. Maybe I will be traded again. Or maybe I will just have the opportunity to talk with some of the other ducks and learn many things."

The dog was listening. Well, sort of. He was mostly running and dancing about, chasing mosquitoes and flies. But his hearing was very keen, and so he got most of what the duck was saying.

“You, my young friend,” the old duck was saying, “were probably invited along because you are so young and have many things to learn. And I was no doubt invited because I am such a wise teacher of the young. I have many good things to tell you, if you will only listen.”

At this, the young dog yapped and spun around to catch a fly that had landed on his tail. He almost caught it, too, and did manage to bite his tail a little more forcefully than he had intended. He let go quickly, and answered, with eyes watering, “Oh, yes. I do want so much to learn everything.”

They walked along, as the dark, early morning coolness turned into bright summer warmth. And they talked about the great market, for the young dog had many questions, and the ducks delighted in explaining all things to him.

The dog learned that even though objects or creatures of value were often traded at the market, it was mostly a place of great intellectual stimulation and advancement. A wise animal could learn more in one day at the market than he might discover alone in a whole lifetime at home. It truly sounded like a wonderful place.

Finally, the farmer and his little caravan reached the edge of town. So many houses and buildings! So many new smells and sounds for the small dog who had seldom left his home on the farm! They went this way on this street, and then that way on that street, until they got to the center of the town.

It was still early morning, but already the streets were busy. The small dog and the ducks had to be careful to walk much closer to the farmer and his son, so as not to get lost among all the people.

And then, there it was: the Great Market itself. Such noises and smells and colors, it almost made the little dog dizzy. He was running round and round the farmer and his little company, barking and leaping with excitement.

"Oh, at last!" the older duck exclaimed, as they approached the butcher shop. "I’ve heard of this place. I will be able to share all my learning with others, and they in turn will teach me many new and wonderful things. We will not be the same when we come out of this sacred place!"

And it was true. When the ducks finally left that place, they were nothing like they had been when they went in.

Both ducks went into the butcher's shop and were sold. And there they met with other ducks from all over the wide county. They all talked about many wonderful things. The wise older duck was able to teach many new things to the other ducks. And he was also able to gather in much new wisdom and knowledge. And when the ducks finally left that place they were very different, indeed.

Of course the dog was not around to see them or talk with them anymore. He remained with the farmer and his son as they went to another small shop. There the farmer sold the walking sticks that his son had made. And then the three of them went to several other places in the big market, including a place where they bought paint, as the wise old duck had predicted. And then they went home.

The ducks waited there in the butcher's shop, until the next morning, when butcher's helper had time to take them out back and chop their heads off. All the excellent learning they had gathered remained in their heads when they fell to the ground, and some of it made its way into the cheap sausage that was so popular with the townsfolk.

However, it's unlikely that the duck’s knowledge actually made a detectable difference in the flavor of the sausage, since the spices were so overpowering. But I’m sure it didn’t hurt anything, either.

But all in all, it was a good day. And a few days later, the baby's room did look so nice with its fresh coat of paint. The small dog never really noticed it, of course. He was too busy growing up, chasing dragonflies in the meadow, and playing with the farmer's son in between chores.

The dog is older now, and seldom remembers anything that the old duck once tried to teach him. But he always entertains a gentle fondness for well-meaning old quacks who take themselves, and their grand ideas, a little more seriously than is really necessary or profitable.



 

©2004 Jim Sutton