Old White Whiskers and Mr. Bunny

Old White Whiskers and Mr. Bunny

High in the Korean mountains, where pines grow between gray rocks and winter streams hide beneath clear ice, there lived a great tiger.

His name was Old White Whiskers.

Once he had diligently helped the Mountain Spirit keep order in the forest. But over the years the tiger had become too proud of his strength.

“My paws are like hammers!” he boasted.

“And your teeth?” asked the magpie.

“Sharper than the winter wind!”

“What about your wits?” the squirrel asked one day.

The tiger did not bother answering. He was certain that anyone so big and strong had little need to think.

Because of this, the forest dwellers were afraid of him. Old White Whiskers liked to suddenly jump out from behind a pine tree, growl at a deer, scatter birds near a feeder, or take for himself the best pears that the animals gathered together.

“I’m a tiger,” he explained. “I can do as I please.”

One frosty morning, the tiger was walking beside the frozen river when he spotted Mr. Bunny.

The little rabbit wore a gray winter coat. His eyes missed nothing, and his ears seemed to hear things before anyone else had even thought of them.

“Where are you hurrying?” the tiger roared.

“Good morning, White Whiskers,” Mr. Bunny replied politely. “I’m looking for breakfast.”

“Excellent!” said the tiger. “I’m looking for someone to make my breakfast.”

Mr. Bunny looked at the great paws, the long whiskers, and the slippery ice. He knew at once that a race would be no use.

“I can arrange more than breakfast for you,” he said. “I can arrange a royal feast.”

The tiger straightened up.

“A royal feast?”

“The finest in all the mountains. But it needs something you often lack.”

“What do I lack?”

“Patience.”

Old White Whiskers frowned.

“I have more patience than ten bears!”

“Then all will be well,” said Mr. Bunny seriously. “Lie here on the wide stretch of ice, close your eyes, and keep still. I will call the feast to you. It is very shy and won’t approach anyone who growls or stamps.”

The tiger lay down.

“Like this?”

“Perfect. Now, no peeking.”

Mr. Bunny hurried to the bank.

“Magpie! Squirrel! Deer!” he whispered. “Will you help White Whiskers learn patience?”

The animals looked out from behind the trees.

“Is it safe?” asked the deer.

“Quite safe. No one will hurt him. We will simply show him that strength cannot get him everything.”

They gathered dry reeds, empty nutshells, pine cones, and a few light cords woven from grass. They placed the reeds around the tiger so the wind would rustle them on every side. They tied shells to some of the stems, making them gently click: click, click; click, click.

The tiger lay with his eyes closed.

“Is my feast coming?” he whispered.

“It is very close,” Mr. Bunny replied.

The magpie sat on a branch and shouted:

“Caw! Over to the left!”

The squirrel shook the cones to the right.

Rustle, rustle!

The deer stamped a hoof some distance behind him.

Thump!

White Whiskers turned his ears this way and that.

“Oh! There is so much all around me!”

“Keep still,” Mr. Bunny reminded him. “Otherwise, it will all run away.”

But the tiger really had no more patience than a very impatient tiger.

When the wind rattled the shells again, White Whiskers could wait no longer.

“Mine!” he roared, springing up on all four paws.

And the ice was smooth.

His front paws slid forward, his back paws slid backward, and his tail whirled like a rope in the wind.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh!”

The tiger slid several paces, slowly turned sideways, and glided gently into a great snowdrift on the bank.

Poof!

Only his ears and the white tip of his tail stuck out above the snow.

Mr. Bunny ran closer.

“Are you all right, White Whiskers?”

An angry voice came from the snowdrift:

“Quite all right.”

“Then come out. The feast is over.”

The tiger climbed out of the snow. A white cap sat on his head, snowflakes hung from his whiskers, and he looked anything but frightening.

The animals peered out from behind the trees. None laughed aloud, but the magpie pressed a wing so tightly over her beak that she nearly fell off her branch.

“You outsmarted me,” the tiger grumbled.

“No,” said Mr. Bunny. “I only asked you to lie still for a while. You did the rest yourself.”

That evening, the Mountain Spirit heard what had happened and called for Old White Whiskers.

“They say a little rabbit defeated a great tiger today.”

“He tricked me,” White Whiskers complained.

“And you boasted,” replied the Mountain Spirit. “Strength is useful when it protects those who are weaker. If you use it only to frighten others, someone will eventually stop you with a single clever plan.”

The tiger said nothing.

The next morning he came to the place where the animals were gathering their winter supplies. Everyone was on their guard.

White Whiskers set a basket of pears before them.

“I took these yesterday. I am giving them back.”

Then he turned to Mr. Bunny.

“And you… if you ever arrange another royal feast, just tell me what I should bring.”

Mr. Bunny smiled.

“It’s a deal. Let’s start with carrots.”

Old White Whiskers remained a large, strong tiger. But he growled less and listened more. Whenever he felt like boasting, he remembered the slippery river, the snowdrift, and the little gray rabbit.

Then his long white whiskers would twitch as though they were whispering:

“Think first. Jump afterward.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨