The Fox and the Grapes

A fox named Felix walked through the forest with an empty stomach. He had been searching for food all morning.

Then he saw them: a bunch of ripe purple grapes hanging from a vine.

They looked juicy and sweet.

Felix licked his lips. “Perfect!” he thought.

The grapes were high, but Felix was quick. He stepped back, took a running start, and leaped.

He missed.

He tried again.

He missed again.

Felix jumped from a rock. He jumped with a bigger run. He jumped with all his strength.

But the grapes were still out of reach.

Felix’s legs began to ache. His pride began to sting.

A bird perched nearby, watching.

Felix pretended not to notice.

Finally, Felix sat down and breathed heavily.

The grapes still hung above him, untouched.

Felix felt disappointed. He wanted the grapes very much.

But Felix didn’t want anyone to know he had failed.

So he stood up, brushed the dust off his fur, and said loudly, “Hmph! Those grapes are probably sour anyway. I didn’t want them!”

He turned his head away and marched off.

The bird chirped softly, almost like a question.

Felix kept walking, but inside, he knew the truth: the grapes were not sour. He simply couldn’t reach them.

On his way home, Felix passed a rabbit carrying a small ladder.

Felix paused.

He could have asked for help.

He could have tried again later with a new plan.

But his pride was still heavy.

He kept walking.

That evening, Felix ate a plain meal and felt hungry again.

As he lay down to sleep, he thought about the grapes.

He realized something important:

When you pretend you don’t want what you failed to get, you don’t become stronger—you only hide from learning.

The next day, Felix returned to the vine—this time with a plan. He found a rock, pushed it beneath the grapes, climbed up, and finally reached them.

And when he tasted them, Felix smiled.

“They’re sweet,” he admitted.

Sometimes the bravest thing is not making excuses, but telling yourself the truth and trying again.