The Birds and the Beasts

There was a kind of bird and a kind of beast that lived together.  It was a region of grassy plains and great sickness, but these beasts rarely got sick because the birds assiduously picked off all parasites and biting insects from the beast.  In turn, the bird was nourished this way and had protection, because what fox or plains cat would risk getting trampled and gored?

But of course the beasts were beasts and sometimes would stampede down into a river and in the thrashing muddy ruck birds would die who hadn’t flown off in time.  Even on the plains in the great jostling and the dust occasionally birds would die or have their wings broken.  So the birds began to remonstrate with the beasts.

The birds explained to the beasts that they were killing and hurting birds.  The beasts did not want this so they tried to be more careful.

The birds complained again, though.  The birds were not dying now, mostly, but it was still unpleasant to have to take wing while the beasts ploughed through a river or while they galloped in the dust, and even then get a bit dirty or muddy or wet.  This was still beastly behavior, the birds explained.

the beasts replied that they were beasts.  But the birds explained that beastliness was toxic.  The point of beastliness was to make bird existence better, that was the only good kind of beastliness, and the river stuff and the dust clouds and all that, even if they didn’t kill or injure any birds were still a  hassle and a nuisance and had no justification other than the beasts ideology that they were supposed to be “beastly.”  So the beasts mostly stopped.  A few sympathetic birds encouraged their beasts to still go through rivers, sedately, or occasionally take a solitary light  jog, but regardless over the time the beasts became dirty and weak and mostly died.  The birds who relied on them mostly died with them.