Small Friends are Good Friends (Hans Christian Andersen Style)

Once upon a time not so long ago in a land far away where the water was as blue as the sky, an ant as small as a speck of dust, woke up as happy as a child on Christmas because the sun was shining as brightly as a diamond, and she went running as fast as a cheetah down to the beautiful stream, which had as many currents as gorillas have fleas and long rocks protruding from the water like knives, while the water leaped and bubbled around it like it was laughing. As she was drinking like a camel which had not had water for many weeks, a wave jumped up like a huge roaring monster and dragged her under.

A dove, who was as white as newly fallen snow in December when children go sledding for the first time and as soft as a fresh pillow, was gliding over the trees that stood as tall as towers with there many branches reaching out like many arms and fingers, when she spotted the ant, who was yelling for help as loud as a trumpet, and dropped the bough she was carrying to build her nest with into the rushing river. The ant climbed aboard the bough and laid there like a shipwrecked sailor who had been brutally thrown around like a potato in the ocean. When the bough floated to shore the ant flopped onto the ground, water-logged as a sponge, and then got up and thanked the white dove.

A couple of weeks later when the leaves, which were turning brown and yellow and falling to the ground, a hunter, who was as mean as a grizzly bear with a toothache, took such a perfect aim at the same beautiful dove that saved the ant, that Robin Hood’s jaw would have dropped like a rock off a cliff, but the ant, who was as angry as a wild boar, stung him so hard that he ran like he was being chased by the Roman army, and he never—as long as he lived—never took a step out of his house. However, the brave little ant and the kind dove learned that the smallest of friends are the best of friends.