The Hare and the Hedgehog

Once upon a time, at the edge of a field, there lived a Hedgehog. His legs were short and a little bit crooked, but his head was a clever one.

One morning the Hedgehog went out to see whether the beets had grown. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, down the path he trotted. And who should come along but the Hare: ears up to the sky, legs long, nose in the air.

“Oh, I can’t bear it!” laughed the Hare. “Where are you off to, Hedgehog, on those crooked little legs? Will you even reach the end of the path by nightfall?”

“My legs are just legs,” the Hedgehog said calmly. “They do me fine.”

“Do you fine!” snorted the Hare. “I can cover more ground in a single hop than you can in a whole day.”

The Hedgehog thought and thought, and then he said:

“Then let’s have a race. Whoever loses never laughs at anyone ever again.”

The Hare laughed so hard he fell over in the grass.

“You? Race me? All right then! Right now, if you like!”

“No,” said the Hedgehog. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet. Come to the ploughed field a little later.”

The Hedgehog hurried home and called out:

“Mrs Hedgehog, come and give me a hand. We’re going to teach the Hare a lesson.”

“What Hare?” cried Mrs Hedgehog, throwing up her paws.

The Hedgehog told her the whole story, and she laughed too.

Off they went to the field. There were two furrows there, long, long little ditches in the earth, running side by side. The Hedgehog sat his wife down at the far end.

“Sit very quietly. When the Hare comes running, pop out and shout: ‘I’m here already!’”

Now, I must tell you that Mrs Hedgehog and the Hedgehog were as alike as two peas in a pod. Both round, both prickly, both with little black noses.

The Hedgehog went back to the start. The Hare was already there, impatiently thumping his foot.

“Well, Crooked-Legs, are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“One, two, three!”

Whoosh! Off flew the Hare down the furrow in a great cloud of dust. But the Hedgehog took three steps, crouched down in the furrow, and stayed right where he was.

The Hare reached the end, and out of the furrow popped Mrs Hedgehog:

“I’m here already!”

The Hare nearly sat down in surprise. His ears shot straight up.

“How can that be? Again! Back the other way!”

And whoosh! Back he went. He reached the end, and there was the Hedgehog:

“I’m here already!”

“Impossible!” shouted the Hare. “Again!”

There: “I’m here already!” Back: “I’m here already!”

The Hare ran and ran until his legs went as soft as cotton wool. Thump! Down into the grass he flopped. There he lay, puffing and panting, his ears flung out on either side.

“That’s it…” he could barely say. “You win.”

The Hedgehog came over and sat down beside him.

“Well, little Hare, are you going to laugh at my legs again?”

“No,” sighed the Hare. “I won’t. I won’t laugh at anybody’s legs ever again.”

Slowly, slowly, the Hare hobbled off to the forest. And the Hedgehog and Mrs Hedgehog went home. Their house smelled of baked pears. They ate until they were full, curled up into little balls under the warm leaves, and fell sweetly asleep.

And from that day on, whenever the Hare sees the Hedgehog, he bows to him most politely.