The Crow and the Pitcher

Once there was a crow. She had shiny black feathers. She had a strong beak.

It was a very hot day. There had been no rain for a long time. The ponds were dry. The puddles were gone.

The crow flew and flew. She was looking for water. She felt hot. She felt thirsty.

At last, she saw a pitcher in a garden. A pitcher is a tall jug. The crow flew down to look.

She looked inside. There was some water! But it was right at the bottom.

The crow put her beak inside the pitcher. She stretched her neck. But she could not reach the water. The neck of the pitcher was too long and thin.

The crow felt frustrated. “I am so thirsty,” she said. “And the water is right there.”

She tried to push the pitcher over. Push, push. But it was too heavy. It did not move.

The crow sat on the garden wall. She took a deep breath. In, and out. She stopped and thought. “There must be a way,” she said.

Then she saw some small stones on the ground. They were pebbles. The crow had an idea.

She picked up one pebble in her beak. She dropped it into the pitcher. Plop!

She looked inside. The water had come up, just a little bit.

She picked up another pebble. She dropped it into the pitcher. Plop! The water came up a little more.

“This is working,” said the crow. She felt hopeful.

One pebble. Plop! Two pebbles. Plop! Three pebbles. Plop! Four pebbles. Plop! Five pebbles. Plop!

The crow kept going. She did not give up. Six pebbles. Plop! Seven pebbles. Plop! Eight pebbles. Plop! Nine pebbles. Plop! Ten pebbles. Plop!

Each time, the water came up a little higher. Higher. And higher.

At last, the crow looked inside the pitcher. The water was at the top! She put in her beak. She could reach it.

The crow drank the cool water. Sip, sip, sip. It was lovely. She felt so much better.

The crow felt proud. “I had a problem,” she said. “I stopped. I thought. And I tried, one pebble at a time.”

Then the crow flew up into a shady tree. She tucked her head under her wing and had a rest. The end.