A CAMEL AND HIS OWNER were travelling across the desert sand dunes when a windstorm came up. The traveller quickly set up his tent and moved in, closing the flaps to protect himself from the cutting, grinding sands of the raging storm.
The camel was, of course, left outside, and as the violent wind hurled the sand against his body and into his eyes and nostrils, he found it unbearable and finally begged for entrance into the tent.
“There is room only for myself,” said the traveller.
The camel begged: “But may I just get my nose in so I can breathe air not filled with sand?”
The traveller relented and replied: “Well, perhaps you could do that.”
He then opened the flap ever so little and the long nose of the camel entered. How comfortable the camel was now!
But soon the camel became weary of the smarting sand on his eyes and ears, and he was tempted to ask again: “The wind-driven sand is like a rasp on my head. Could I put just my head in?”
Again, the traveller rationalized that to acquiesce would do him no damage, for the camel’s head could occupy the space at the top of the tent which he himself was not using. So the camel put his head inside and the beast was satisfied again – but for a short while only.
“Just the front quarters,” he begged, and again the traveller relented and soon the camel’s front shoulders and legs were in the tent. Finally, by the same processes of pleading and of yielding, the camel’s torso, his hind quarters and all were in the tent. But now it was too crowded for the two, and the camel kicked the traveller out into the wind and storm.
This story comes from a collection The Miracle Of Forgiveness by writer Spencer W. Kimball.
This sense of being taken unfair advantage of by someone or something that you have tried to help is common to almost every human being from time immemorial. We all have stories of people who took us for a ride, or who exploited our good natures to their advantage and our loss.
In English the saying is: “Give him an inch and he will take an ell.”
In the lives of camel owners, one night you’re in the warmth of your tent and the next thing you know, you’re out in the cold.
In the lives of dogs, one day you’re the dog and the next you’re the hydrant. And not just dogs, it happens to dog owners as well, except that dog owners never seem to mind.
Many moons ago, I saw my wife and children admiring a new litter of tiny pups born to a very beautiful female owned by one of our friends.
I watched my family play with the pups and knew that something was up, despite my warning that a dog would create problems for us when we wanted to go on holidays. A tiny, pathetic pup was then smuggled into the house and presented to me as a fait accompli.
Wild oats
We named him Crix because of his biscuit-coloured coat. About two years later we went out for a few days, leaving Crix with his original owner. Crix took the opportunity of our absence to sow his wild oats and his litter included a little ball of white fur that could barely stand, while his brothers and sisters were busy chasing one another.
Saying that she feared the poor little runt would die if we did not take care of him, my wife Indranie brought home Bunjie, son of Crix.
Two more years passed and Missy came. An old female dog with sad eyes, Missy had moved into the neighbourhood and ended up at our gate looking imploringly at my wife, the animal magnet.
Thrice we tried to return Missy to her owners and thrice she returned. They gave up and Missy got her nose past the gate and into the house. Then my wife noticed Missy’s stomach growing huge and took her to the vet to see if Missy was pregnant.
The vet said that Missy could not be pregnant since there were no heartbeats of little pups inside the dog. She warned that it could be a tumour. My daughter Jasmine was upset when they returned from the vet. She feared the worst.
An hour later my wife heard Jasmine screaming. Missy had six pups that night. Four look like their father, Bunjie, and two are throwbacks – one black and one brown. No khaki. Even when they were a little more than an inch long, they were one ell of a handful.
Now seven weeks old, they have taken over the verandah and are putting their noses through the door, perhaps praying for a sandstorm to come.
• Tony Deyal was last seen saying that he knows why those mixtures are called “lap” dogs – they are always hungry and “lap” up everything in sight.
