AUSTIN ADVOCATE

Texas Hate Crimes Bill to Protect the Homeless Falls One Vote Short in Senate

The National Coalition for the Homeless just issued its 6th report on Hate Crimes citing 142 violent crimes directed at people experiencing homelessness. The number of violent acts is up 65% since last year with 20 of these attacks resulting in death. On February 20th Eddie Berniece Johnson in the House of Representatives from Dallas TX introduced a National Hate Crimes Bill.

Texas has also had its share of the heinous crimes. "Homeless man beaten by teens"-El Paso, "Homeless woman beaten with tire iron"-San Antonio, "Up to Eight suspects Set Sleeping Man on Fire"-Corpus Christi, Homeless man, Curtis Ray Wilson, beaten to death"-Austin. In Texas the list goes on and on. Clearly, Texas has had enough! This legislative session, Texas legislators Elliot Naishtat in the Texas House and Senator Royce West in the Senate introduced our own versions of Hate Crimes legislation.

We brought in a national expert and House the Homeless, brought 25 people experiencing homelessness to a TX Senate Hearing. We presented the 2006 National Hate crimes report, the Texas Hate Crimes Report and a DVD of "60 Minutes" called Bum Hunting produced by the late great Ed Bradley just before he died. Supporting our testimony was Ken Martin with the TX Homeless Network, the NAACP, the Austin Area Homeless Task Force, lots of folks from across TX and of course House the Homeless. When all was said and done, the room was silent. We held our collective Breath. We walked out of there with a 5-0 vote to advance our cause! Yahoo! We had just passed out of one of the toughest Senate committees-Criminal Justice and Jurisprudence...unbelievable!

From the Senate Hearing Committee we headed to the floor of the Senate. We would need 21 votes to get an open discussion and vote needed to send the bill to the House. We were all very hopeful and Senator West and his expert support staff (Lauren Doss was our contact), started to get Senators to sign on their support. Republicans and Democrats both signed on. We got 18 sign-ons before things started to slow down. We contacted everyone we knew and encouraged them to support the TX Hate Crimes bill that would enhance a punishment if it could be proven that the perpetrator had committed a crime against a person for no reason other than because the victim was homeless. We repeatedly wrote to our friends and homeless service providers seeking their help. I contacted our wonderful friend and supporter Sara Hickman (musician). I even contacted The TX Baptist Commission and Senator Kirk Watson. We got 20 votes. One more vote to go! I encouraged all the homeless folks to call a pool of ten Senators in hopes that ONE of them would support us. We operated under the premise that we are homeless (and at-large) and therefore we are the constituents of all TX Legislators.

While we had to get 21 votes to have the bill read and voted on in the Senate, we really only need a simple majority of the 31 member Senate to pass it. We felt confident that we could then move the bill in the Texas House. But every remaining Senator also new that the last vote was the single most important one. Out of the remaining Senators, we could not get one to support us. They were all Republicans and they may have viewed this as a Democratic initiative. I do not know the exact reason for not supporting us. We tried to convey this as a human issue NOT a political one.
In any event, the bill stopped there but not before we used every ounce of energy that we had. We will go again in the next Legislature two years from now, and we will work on the national level to pass a National hate Crimes Bill. Thank you all for your tremendous support!!

In Unity There is Strength
Richard R. Troxell

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Sweet Song Goodbye
By Richard Troxell

Tammy McCurley Simpson was born July 7th, 1967 and left this earth on May 12, 1007. An attractive looking woman, she stood 5'8", sandy blond hair, thin build, rocked when she talked with a jaw that often locked between thoughts, and she talked with her hands. She was an intelligent, warm, caring mother, wife, daughter, and grandmother. She was stabbed to death by a long time acquaintance who had lived in the woods not far from her camp.

On Sunday, May 20th, about fifteen of us, family and friends, gathered at the Homeless Memorial on Auditorium Shores to say goodbye. We gathered under the House the Homeless Tree of Remembrance that fifteen years earlier, had stood as a small twig of a tree and has now grown into a magnificent oak. As we remembered our friend, we stood beneath its rich green foliage which shrouded our group and acted as a giant canopy forming a tent of peace and a world apart from the universe...

With determination, I broke the Texas clay with a pickax. Then several of us reached into the soil with our hands, mixed rich mulch, and soil composite to nurture the ground. We then placed three flats of flowers known as impatience (still in their individual containers) in a horseshoe fashion around the plaque. We shared digging trowels and one by one, we planted pink, white, and clay colored flowers until a beautiful wreath of color encircling the homeless plaque.

Gathered in our circle was Brother Dwayne Severence from Church Under the Bridge. He had counseled Tammy and Johnny long before their marriage, just three short years before. He played guitar and read cool refreshing words from the bible. Johnny requested "Open the eyes of the heart" as a favorite song of Tammy's. There with Johnny was Tammy's son Chris age eighteen and their daughter Heather who was noticeably quite. She had with her Ashlynn, Tammy's grandbaby strapped in a baby carriage. Sweet, beautiful Ashlynn at only eight months managed somehow to fully occupy herself the entire time by quietly observing those gathered.

The theme was hope and renewal. People spoke of Tammy and her relationship with Jesus. Everyone there knew of the huge obstacles faced by Tammy and how she had turned her life around. People spoke of how she would just stop doing and instantly come to someone else’s aid if she saw there was a need. Patricia told, prayed, and cried about the "woman at the well" who had a real conversation with Jesus. My friend, Barbara Bucklin was there as was Vera, a place winner in the Special Olympics. Johnny played "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" on his harmonica and as it came around, we chimed in "His as we remembered our friend truth is marching on." James Patterson and Pasquel Perez prayed with us as did Diane and Brian Maxwell. A friend of Barbara's sang an up-lifting love song. JC and another Richard also planted flowers while Sam Cole, (the first person we helped get into a mobile home trailer) took picture and spoke of Jesus. James was also there along with Terry Walker who placed a small wreath which said, "I will miss you my friend...Terry." My friend and mentor to Tammy, Joan Huntley, read a beautiful, sweet passage from the bible. "He will carry you" was sung by Debra Tate and Brother Severance. Everyone joined in.

Together, we silently read the words on the Plaque-

Homelessness:

It is the Essence of Depression

It is Socially Corrupt

It is Immoral

It is an Act of Violence

None among us knew the truth of these words any more than Tammy. Now, she is no longer homeless. She is with Jesus. She has found peace. She will be missed by so many, but none so much as by her dog, Georgia, who like Tammy, wanted no more than to have peace and to be loved.

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Barriers to Finding Work When Homeless
(Gray Sunshine Publishing)
Jessica P. Morrell and Genny Nelson

One of the biggest myths is that homeless people don’t want to work. I can name on one hand those who have fit that line during the last thirty years. Everyone else just wants the opportunity to earn their own meals. That’s why our customers said to Sandy and me when we founded Sisters, “Don’t be about free food: do this with dignity; either make it cheap enough that I can pay for it on my income, or give me the chance to work for my meal.” Over and over, people have come to us years later to say, “Thank you for not robbing me of my dignity.” Your humanity doesn’t go away just because society doesn’t see it.

It angers me that we don’t have enough places that afford people opportunities after they get their lives together. While people have done some pretty inappropriate things in their lives, all they’re saying is, “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but I’ve done my time.” This is not about feeling sorry for people or being a bleeding-heart liberal. It’s about justice and human rights.

When talking about obstacles to finding work, all our narrators described that keeping up grooming was essential to obtaining work. Some also talked about how landing a job was impossible when you have bad or missing teeth, or other physical manifestations of homelessness.

Logan: Keep your appearance up, and then people have to be motivated to want to go to work. I am a motivated kind of person. I want to work.

Dale: Did you ever go look for a job with a backpack on your back? Boss says, ‘What’s your address?’ [When he discovers he has none]: ‘Well, we’ll call and let you know.’ You are not getting the job when they see you are homeless; you got no telephone, you got a week bed [in a shelter]. If you got an address and someplace to leave your stuff, you can actually wear your best clothes and go there without a backpack on your back and make your best presentation to the person.

Like Dale, Steve believed that there was work available, but it required practical solutions and incentive to find it.

Steve: Do not tell me that there are no jobs. And if there are not, it is because they are going to those who have an education or have the money or have connections or what have you. But it is impossible to find a job when you do not have an address. If you have an address downtown, especially in Old Town, any job you are looking for, you would hear, ‘Oh, okay, sure, we’ll take an application,’ and then it goes in the garbage can. And yes, I have worked in a number of jobs, odd jobs, under-the-table … but when they find out that you are from that class of people, well, then either they assume that you cannot do it and they let you go, or some convenient excuse comes along.

Sisters: So, if you were looking at solutions to ending individual homelessness and ending homelessness in general, what would make a real difference?

Steve: [For] those who are homeless now, I would suggest laundry services, clothing services, and I do not mean clothing from the 1920s, I mean, clothing that is appropriate for a job.

Mack explained if there are jobs available, they are for low wages, which makes ending their cycle of homelessness impossible.

Mack: I don’t want to spend the rest of my life at six dollars an hour. I can’t do nothing with my life. I’d rather walk around on the streets, eat out here and there and have some time to myself and work a day a week than to get out there and kill myself and have nothing. Worry about losing your job, trying to maintain a roof over your head, from that kind of money? I don’t even know how people pay rent for that kind of money. Do you? Unless you live at home with your folks.

Trevor explained that some days he chose to miss work in order to get clean.

Trevor: The shower times are horrible. I mean you can take a shower at 7:30 in the morning, but you know what? If you are not at day labor at 5:30 in the morning you are not going to go out. I would suggest an evening shower, like 7 or something like that, or something bright and early in the morning, four o’clock, or 4:30. If I had a roof over my head and a place I could shower, I think I could become a productive member of society. It is a matter of just having a place to lay down at the end of the day.

Voices from the Street: Truths About Homelessness from Sisters of The Road, by Jessica P. Morrell, is available in soft and hardcover and can be ordered online at www.graysunshine.com or through Gray Sunshine’s distributor, Franklin, Beedle & Associates, Inc., at www.wmjasco.com/inkandpaper/inkandpaper.html. For more information about Sisters of the Road, please visit www.sistersoftheroad.org.

By Jessica P. Morrell and Genny Nelson

Reprinted excerpt from ‘Voices from the Street: Truths About Homeless from Sisters of The Road’

© Street News Service: www.street-papers.org

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Unsatisfied
Metro
Bus
Rider
Endures
Luck,
Leaves
Advice

By Kirk Becker

It rained today. Fortunately, I forgot my umbrella.

Last fall, they moved the bus stop for No. 10 NB on So. 1st, just north of William Cannon. I have no idea why. There was no notice of proposed change asking for comments posted at the old bus stop. There was no explanation posted at the new bus stop. One week, it just moved about 200 feet further away from William Cannon.

Further away from the gas station and the fumes. More convenient for some, less convenient for others. Much further from the light, so much harder to jaywalk. Please don't cross in front of the bus. Or behind the bus. Take a hike alllll the way to the corner. Please wave nicely at the bus as it passes you by -- there will be another one in 20 or 30 minutes.

The new bus stop has more benches and a longer bus shelter. Not all the benches are under the shelter, and the shelter is still narrow so that it doesn't shelter too much sun, and so that the wind blows the rain onto the benches. At least the benches have rails so that nobody can stretch out and sleep on the benches. They care, and we can tell that they care.

It's a warm day, raining lightly, almost no wind; in short, a perfect umbrella day. So why was I lucky to have forgotten my umbrella?

Because I'd forgotten my umbrella, I had to wear my poncho. And because the cars splashed water sideways from all the puddles in front of the new bus stop, the poncho kept me dry where an umbrella wouldn't have done so. So a half-dozen people all stood behind the bus benches waiting until the bus came, just so we wouldn't get splashed by the cars driving past the new bus stop with the new benches under the new shelter that doesn't shelter us from much of anything.

Suggestion Time
1) They could put an extra drain about 30 ft uphill from the bus stop, so that the water drained under the street instead of puddling up in front of the bus stop.

2) They could level the street in front of the bus stop so that the water didn't puddle up so deeply in front of the bus stop, and the waiting riders only get splashed a little bit. They might even go so far as to raise the sidewalk a little bit and channel most of the water under the sidewalk.

3) They could groove the street in front of the bus stop, except that would trip up a bunch of bike riders, and nobody wants that except the people designing the new downtown street cars to run on rails like they do in Portland instead of running off overhead wires like they do in Vancouver.

4) They could put in a covered channel for the water to pass under the pavement, except then Cap Metro would have to clean debris out of the channels and spray to prevent mosquitoes when they emptied the two new trash cans by the bus stop. That approach involves a lower capital cost but higher maintenance costs.

5) They could move the bus stop back another 10 feet -- which would work at that location, though not at all bus stops.

Along with everything else, they could design better bus shelters. Of course, better bus stops would probably attract more graffiti. Except there are worse things than graffiti. Like getting splashed with muddy, greasy, oily water just because you were alert enough to remember your umbrella.

I’m' getting off the subject here, but there are also worse things than unsightly electrical wires for the new street cars. Like no place to park because nobody is riding bicycles because they don't want to get dumped by the rails for the new street cars. And graffiti on all the parking garages.

More Info

Customer Satisfaction Advisory Committee

The mission of the Customer Satisfaction Advisory Committee is to assist Capital Metro in developing and maintaining a transit system that is convenient, dependable and practical by providing advice and recommendations on planning, operations, services and all other matters of concern to customers. CSAC is comprised of 12 to 18 members who are primarily transit customers appointed by the Capital Metro Board of Directors.

Meeting Patterns and Descriptions:

CSAC - Meets the First Tuesday of the month from 6:00 - 7:30 PM. All meetings are held at Capital Metro Transit Store 323 Congress Avenue.

Patricia Guajardo, Community Relations Specialist
CSAC Committee Liaison
Telephone 369-6201
patricia.guajardo@capmetro.org

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Leopold the Magnificent

By Marietta Anthony

Leopold was a dog of questionable parentage. He was either an Australian sheep dog, or a Texas cowdog. He had magnificent brown eyes that looked into mine with approval. Leopold's short-haired coat was mottled gray, with accents of black. He was unneutered, thank god!

Leopold, my dog, was given the last name Stakowski by my brother-in-law, Arthur Kline. The human, Stakowski, was a classical orchestra conductor. At seven months, the dog weighed forty pounds, and his "cowdog" ears were undocked. His tail was not docked. When he grew, and gained twenty pounds, we went to obedience class where I had to put him in a choke collar. He was seven months old when I adopted him.

Leopold, the magnificent, tried to herd cattle, tried to herd all animals, although I had never been a cowgirl. He didn't seem to know that he was now a city dog, who could not herd cars. It was almost impossible to keep my dog from herding behavior.

Maybe, prior to his seventh month, Leopold had watched other dogs herd, or round up animals. I loved him, and he loved me, but he was disliked by my mate. I left him in another’s care and when I returned to Austin, Texas he was gone!

-Flashback- Since my dog still squatted to pee, I thought he looked effeminate. I was afraid that he would not mature normally. At first, I lived alone in a small one bedroom duplex. Leopold slept on the floor by the bed. I disciplined, loved, flea treated, and bathed him in the ceramic bathtub. He wore a leather collar. I bought him a long chain and a long leather leash. We walked to and from Shipe Park, and other parks.

Somehow, my dad, Lee, met Leopold the dog. My dad was charming, clear thinking and good looking. Lee would show up at the darnedest times, because he believed in family, and pets. If there is a person who does not like dogs, he is probably not named Kline, Stakowski, Anthony or Murchison.

My dog and I rode across Texas, Louisiana, Tennessee and Mississippi. Leopold tried to be good on these trips. He would eagerly eat chicken bones from around fast food places that people had scattered. He required no veterinarian visit. Once, he ate a pork chop bone, and we made a midnight visit to the vet. The pork chop bone was stuck in his mouth.

I always had a can of Alpo, and a can opener. His water bowl on the back floor of my air-conditioned car was rarely empty. Leopold Stakowski, like my father Lee, liked people.

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To Whom Does Truth Belong?
By Tumen Soliz

Minimum work for maximum pay. Is it the underlying method of lazy human god? Can we claim it as the American Way, or is it universal in the profit game? Is it in the public interest to culturally continue a custom once useful but now detrimental? The functional use of money has transformed into addiction of material excess.

Our factories may or may not build quality products, but profit margins ultimately determine quality. Not all capitalists are saints but they control the game. Saintly businessmen, as well as you and I, must follow the Golden Rule. True quality can only happen when contributing taxpayers are content with their station in life. Minimum work for maximum pay does not work in a fair and just society. Our reliance on precious metals as wealth pleases the bauble pushers (entrepreneurs working on dynasties), but does not care about your gout, ulcers or your soul. All they want is your hard earned money. Throughout mans short time on this earth, the strong and ruthless have ultimately decided the direction of materialism. Now we must uphold the tradition of strength and ruthlessness in acquiring our baubles.

We are programmed by the high priests to pay our taxes, follow the rules and be content with our lot, while they get the best of all there is. The draught of compassion between the haves and everyone else will eventually become unbearable. When homelessness is inevitable in the minds of the have not children the end product is suicide bombers. Similar to past mysteriously disappeared cultures, the Selfish Elites will lose favor; the populace will assimilate and move forward. Superfluous, corrupt, big government will disappear and reappear as local community based authority with emphasis on cultural shift to a neighborhood based sweat equity economy.

Earthly gods with no respect for the innocent, allows our war mentality course. Their strength and ruthlessness play on our traditional fears. Fear of lions, fear of darkness, fear of lightning, and when fear of the unknown became fear of God, the money mongers saw their opportunity. All that is innocent suffers in their mad dash for cash. They claim God and relegate the devil to all who disagree.

Spiritual devotion by good taxpaying citizens to any religion that allows participating in a destructive tradition is negative devotion. Relying on money as a motivator for peace is like letting the fox guard the hen house, or to believe in God, by default, one must also believe in the devil.

An honest days pay for an honest days work must provide comfortable lifestyles for all taxpaying citizens. New beneficial lifestyle priorities must be introduced from kindergarten on. Emphasizing sharing and nurturing the gifts of Earth will replace old out of date traditions and create better citizens for the future.

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One Last Slice
By Richard Troxell

Phillip Workman was executed on Wednesday May 19th. Before he was executed, the warden asked him what he wanted for a "Last Meal". His response was Pizza, and the warden said that was possible. Then Mr Workman clarified and said he wanted pizza for the homeless men and women of Nashville Tennessee where he was imprisoned. The warden took back his offer and countered by saying he was too busy planning Mr Workman's execution to be bothered with his request.

Word of the exchange got out and Hooman Hedayati with the Texas Students Against the Death Penalty, contacted myself and House the Homeless, Inc. We joined forces and raised $150.00, bought 30 boxes of pizza and eight cases of water. We served over 300 people a slice of pizza on paper plates with napkins and a little dignity. We told and retold the story of Phillip Workman who had been homeless, been found guilty of murder and as one of his last thoughts and acts on earth, he reached back to other men and women experiencing homelessness.

We also spoke of Charles Smith who was to be executed that very day as the 393rd person executed in Texas since 1982. Some people questioned the quality and level of representation available to poor people experiencing homelessness.

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SCENE ON A CITY BENCH
By Gary Kent

Downtown Austin--slammed to a dead stop by
the red traffic light, me and my SUV.
Hurry and wait. Outside, it had to be
103---humid as Guatemala. "Gimme' shelter from the swelter."
I mouthed the words, hummed a riff or two, then cranked
the AC a notch.
Looked up---damned light was still red, hanging
there, in the air---lifeless.
Eyes scoping for something to see, I spotted him,
practically sitting next to me
on the bus bech---
only he wasn't waiting for the bus, nor was he
"flaggin' signs," asking hand-outs for old wounds and such.

His head was bowed, dripping sweat onto a stained
denim shirt. He was rocking--back and forth, up and down,
keepinf time to some private, primal rhthm.
He began to cough--reached into
a dirt lined pocket,
brought himeself out the stub of a cigarette and a bedsore
book of matches.
His hands shook when he fired up his smoke.
he coughed again, harder-- a long shivering hack,
spewing spit from some painful hole
inside of his soul.
Then he looked at me--full on, spot on,
close up and directly.

I peered through the misery and grief covering,
like a ragged veil, his watery, blue eyes--trying
to glimpse the man inside the mask. the one
that used to be.
Shame peeked back at me--He was weary, worn-out,
used up by things gone wrong, mistakes made,
promises broken--life and love had somehow
slipped through his fingers, I fantasized,
gliding away like the current
of a deep, dark river.
And then, he smiled. A beautiful, three-toothed smile,
a grand, Chistmas morning smile--and he saluted--
smartly. A first-day-new-recruit-boot-camp-salute
full of vim and vigor and the promise of a future...

Horns honking! The game was starting again...red light,
green light--some drivers were pissed, angry
even before the switch.
I gave a single digit "howdy" to the group--
in their tight, bright little motor machines.
The ghost on the bench, however, got a smile from me
big as an ad in Cosmo.
I snapped off a salute of my own. A real jazzy Navy
left-over, the drove on out of his picture.
Just for a split second, a hair's half of a moment,
I had made a new friend.
On went the radio. The Marshall Tucker Band!
"Take the Highway." Wow! Perfect for a humid,
hot Austin afternoon.

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Back Bone
By Derrick P. Clark

I heard the black woman has the back bone
I’ve seen this in her all along,
She refused to accept the project as her permanent home.

One girl avoided the ghetto trap.
While other fell for the hoods hap.
She raised her brothers, sisters and mother,
Even though she grew up without a father.

I heard the black woman has the back bone
I’ve seen this in her all along,
She refused to accept the project as her permanent home.

She chose a brother with a bright future.
He gave up his dreams to become a hood feature.
Beating on her day and night trying to kill her ambitious light.
She left with her son trusting in her Lords might.

Toughing it through the rough she stood a woman with dignity.
Found liberation in education her state university.
Now many hood folk refuse to die and climb society’s ladder,
Because this ebony queen became a community leader.

I heard the black woman has the back bone
I’ve seen this in her all along,
She refused to accept the project as her permanent home.

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The Final Touch
By Derrick P Clark

Here’s something richer than the darkest oil.
Deeply touch by my mind, body and soul.
I want to be the one to hear your passion cries.
Leaving my image in your pretty brown eyes.
Your thoughts of us will be bigger than the seven seas.
When thinking of the caring and sharing you’ve found in me.

These words will be the only touch.

You will enjoy my warmth; I’ll keep making love an art.
Never again, will you have to settle for a dark heart.
No fighting for silly rights pulling us in confusions’ night.
Girl, I always give you reason to smile in God’s light.
I’m giving you, the best of the best, a heart rebirth.
I’ll love you with the words God left on Earth.

These words are the final touch.

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Where the City Meets the Sky
Thomas Coykendall ©2007

A broken guitar in a broken picture
I took the liberty of your inspired words
That'll never adorn a hidden cave's wall

Hieroglyphics forever hidden from us all...

(chorus)
Where the city meets the sky
Where the city meets the soul
Where the city meets the sky
That's where they'll find you and I

I breathe again like a stone cold Lazarus
Every time I look in your eyes
I dream of days
When a lonely heart's whisper
Could be heard for miles and miles...

(repeat chorus)

(bridge)

Ghost riders in the sky
Oh
Ghost riders in the sky
They're looking down, looking down
On you and I
Yeah they're looking down on you and I

(repeat chorus)

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Let It Rain

Don't let it be said
That I was a dreamer
Sounds like I took my life
To damn easy
Heaven knows there's enough
Reminders
There's been enough pain in
Everybody's life...

Don't let it be said
I was master of nothin'
Though I might of been a jack of all trades...
I got caught up in the wind
I got under...
I guess I got tired of waiting
For the angels to sing...

(chorus)
So let it rain down from heaven
Enough rain to put out the flames
Let it rain down from heaven
Till the wrongs are righted
The wrongs are righted

I jumped out of bed and I looked out the window
And all I could see were souls
Livin' in vain

If there ain't nothin'
Would you give us somethin'
Shed some light on this hardship
Shed some light on this pain...

(repeat chorus)

(bridge)
We're just homeless children
Lookin' for a home
Yeah lookin' for a home

(repeat chorus)

Thomas Coykendall © 1997

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THE WOLF AND THE KID
Aesop

There was once a little Kid whose growing horns made him think he
was a grown-up Billy Goat and able to take care of himself. So
one evening when the flock started home from the pasture and his
mother called, the Kid paid no heed and kept right on nibbling
the tender grass. A little later when he lifted his head, the
flock was gone.

He was all alone. The sun was sinking. Long shadows came creeping
over the ground. A chilly little wind came creeping with them
making scary noises in the grass. The Kid shivered as he thought
of the terrible Wolf. Then he started wildly over the field,
bleating for his mother. But not half-way, near a clump of trees,
there was the Wolf!

The Kid knew there was little hope for him.

"Please, Mr. Wolf," he said trembling, "I know you are going to
eat me. But first please pipe me a tune, for I want to dance and
be merry as long as I can."

The Wolf liked the idea of a little music before eating, so he
struck up a merry tune and the Kid leaped and frisked gaily.

Meanwhile, the flock was moving slowly homeward. In the still
evening air the Wolf's piping carried far. The Shepherd Dogs
pricked up their ears. They recognized the song the Wolf sings
before a feast, and in a moment they were racing back to the
pasture. The Wolf's song ended suddenly, and as he ran, with the
Dogs at his heels, he called himself a fool for turning piper to
please a Kid, when he should have stuck to his butcher's trade.

Do not let anything turn you from your purpose.

THE FROGS AND THE OX

An Ox came down to a reedy pool to drink. As he splashed heavily
into the water, he crushed a young Frog into the mud. The old
Frog soon missed the little one and asked his brothers and
sisters what had become of him.

"A great big monster," said one of them, "stepped on little
brother with one of his huge feet!"

"Big, was he!" said the old Frog, puffing herself up. "Was he as
big as this?"

"Oh, much bigger!" they cried.

The Frog puffed up still more.

"He could not have been bigger than this," she said. But the
little Frogs all declared that the monster was much, much
bigger and the old Frog kept puffing herself out more and more
until, all at once, she burst.

Do not attempt the impossible.

These works are in the public domain. These stories were taken from the 1919 Rand McNally & Co. edition of The Aesop from Children. Illustrations by Milo Winter.

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