Aesop & Son (un-restored) The French Poodle and the Alley Cat"

Junior, what are you doing? I just chopped down this old tree, Dad. Yeah, I noticed that. But why? Because my girl and I have broken up. That is no reason to chop down a tree. Well, you see, I carved our initials on this tree last Valentine's Day, and I don't want to have to look at them anymore. How do you know she won't come back? Remember the old saying, he who loses faith loses all. How did you know my girl's name was Faith? I didn't, but I do know a fable that would help you to face the facts a little more clearly. It's called The French Poodle and the Alley Cat. Years ago, not very far from here, there stood a tiny village named Barrel City. The reason it was called Barrel City was because clothes not having been invented yet, its citizens wore barrels. My, that's a stunning barrel. Cracker or lard? Pickle? My, it is a dilly. Wearing barrels had its disadvantages, however. Not only was it difficult sitting down, but everyone's barrel looked alike. That is, until a French poodle, out to seek his fortune, opened a paint shop. I will paint my way to the pinnacle of success. Well, sir, that started a fad. By the end of the week, everyone in Barrel City was sporting a different colored barrel, painted by the French poodle, who in turn became the fashion leader of the community. Here, madame and messieurs, we have my latest creation, a polka dot barrel with matching holes, and a cerise ribbon draped around the slats. Breathtaking, n'est-ce pas? Both the poodle and his shop continued to prosper until one fine day, a seedy-looking alley cat wandered into Barrel City and had the misfortune to pass beneath a window ledge, upon which rested a flower pot containing one petunia. Look at that stunning hat! Word spread like wildfire throughout the city that a new style of headgear had been created. The cat, quick to seize the opportunity, bought all the flower pots in town and rented a dilapidated run-down shack that happened to be right next door to the poodle's barrel shop. Bonjour, mademoiselle Goose. Bonjour to you. I suppose you're in the market for a new barrel. Quite the contrary. The new rage is flower pot hats. If this keeps up, I will be the Ruff-Bank-Turd. That night, under the cover of darkness, the poodle, carrying a can of gunpowder, stole into the alley cat's hat shack. Striking a match, he lit the fuse. That should take care of him. But with the dawn came the sad realization that a slight faux pas had been committed, for instead of blowing up the cat shop, he had blown up his own. Are you having a fire sale this week? You little stinker! You are the cause of all this, but let the bygones be the bygones. Therefore, I would like to cement our friendship. That's okay by me. Bon. Now, in case you did not know, you have become quite famous, and people who are famous put their footprints in cement. Step into this bucket. The cat did, and the cement hardened fast. Tell me this, can you swim? Oh, sure. With a bucket full of cement on your feet? Oh, no. That is all I want to know. Wasting no further time, he dragged the helpless cat to the river bank and pushed him in. Au revoir! Sir, I got a little bad news for you, poodle. That river's been dry for years. Calamity followed calamity, for the townsfolk had seen the cat clomping along in his bucket full of cement, and this too caused a sensation. Two days later, everyone was wearing this new type of shoe. That does it. I might just as well kill myself. But he didn't have to, for the townsfolk suddenly decided to hold a fashion contest, and the one who came up with the most ingenious design would get a contract that would set him up for life. Good luck, poodle. This is my last chance. The poodle worked feverishly, and by morning had devised a new type of summer dress, which was in reality a flat tire with a moldy shower curtain hanging from it. Ah, but the alley cat was equal to the occasion, for he had created a hat consisting of a saddle studded with horse chestnuts. The poodle took one look, gasped. Gasp! And knew he'd run a poor second, but there was still time to act, for if he could ruin the hat before the judge saw it, he might still be victorious. There on a long banquet table sat a large vat of beef stew, which didn't sit there long. Well sir, you'd never believe what happened. That cat still believed that his creation even covered with beef stew was still a winner, and he was right. Some fable, Pop. Well, I think it does prove that he who loses faith loses everything. It also proves something else. What? If the stew fits, wear it.