The Straw Ox

The Straw Ox

Once there lived an old man and an old woman. They did not have much, but they lived in harmony. The old man worked from morning until evening, while the old woman spun flax, kept house, and always found a way not to lose heart, even when only a handful of grain remained in the pantry.

One evening the old woman set aside her spinning wheel and said, “Old man, make me an ox.”

The old man adjusted his spectacles.

“An ox? Where am I to find you a living ox?”

“Make one of straw.”

“Of straw?” he asked, even more surprised.

“Of straw. And smear a little tar on his sides, so that he will be sturdier.”

The old man shook his head, but he did not argue.

“Well, if you have set your mind on it, have it your way.”

He gathered dry straw, tied it into a firm little body, added four legs, a tail, and horns. The old woman gave him two round buttons for eyes. Then the old man carefully smeared sticky tar along the ox’s sides.

The ox was made of straw, yet he looked remarkably solemn and handsome.

“What a fine fellow!” said the old woman with delight.

In the morning she took her spinning wheel and led the ox out to the steppe. She sat beside a little hillock, began to spin, and sang softly, “Graze, little ox, graze while I spin my thread. Graze, little ox, graze.”

The sun grew warm. The wind gently swayed the grass. Before long the old woman’s eyes closed.

Then a bear came out of the forest. He saw the ox and stopped in surprise.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The straw ox answered in an even voice, “I am a little ox, three years old, with sides of straw and a coat of tar.”

“Tar?” said the bear eagerly. “That is just what I need. I caught my side on branches in the thicket, and my fur is all ruffled. Give me a little tar, and I will smooth it down.”

“Take some,” said the ox.

The bear pressed his paw to the tarry side.

“Oh,” he said. “It is sticky.”

He tried to pull his paw away, but he could not. He braced himself with the other paw, and that paw stuck too.

“What sort of ox are you?” growled the bear.

The ox said nothing. He simply started walking home, pulling the bear along behind him.

The old woman woke and saw that the ox was gone.

“Oh dear! Has he gone home by himself?”

She hurried back, and there at the gate stood the straw ox, while the bear struggled to free his paws.

“Old man, look whom our ox has brought!”

The old man helped the bear loose from the tar and asked sternly, “Why did you grab our ox?”

The bear looked ashamed.

“I only wanted some tar. I did not think that I might damage him. Let me go, and I will bring you honey. In the forest I know a hollow tree where the bees have combs full of it.”

“If you take the honey in a way that leaves plenty for the bees,” said the old man, “then we have an agreement.”

The bear promised and went away.

The next morning the old woman led the ox to the steppe again.

“Graze, little ox, graze while I spin my thread.”

And once more she dozed off.

Out from behind the pines came a grey wolf.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am a little ox, three years old, with sides of straw and a coat of tar.”

“Tar? Give me some. I pushed through thorny bushes and scratched my sides.”

“Take some,” said the ox.

The wolf touched the ox and stuck fast. He tugged once, twice, three times.

“Oh dear! Let me go!”

But the ox was already plodding home, pulling the wolf behind him.

The old man freed the wolf too.

“It is not right to take what belongs to someone else without permission,” he said.

“I know,” said the wolf. “Let me make amends. I know a shepherd whom I often help to find sheep that have wandered from the flock. I will ask him to share some wool with you for a warm blanket.”

“That would be a good deed,” said the old man and the old woman.

On the third day a fox came running to the ox.

“What a pretty little fellow! Who are you?”

“I am a little ox, three years old, with sides of straw and a coat of tar.”

“Tar? Oh, may I have just one drop? My tail has become terribly tousled after the rain.”

“Take some,” said the ox.

The fox touched his side and stuck fast as well.

“So much for one drop,” she sighed.

The ox brought her home.

At once the fox said, “I understand. I should have asked properly instead of grabbing. Let me go, and I will bring you eggs from a housewife I know. I often chase crows away from her henhouse, so she knows me.”

The old man laughed.

“Mind you, little fox, no tricks.”

“No tricks,” she promised.

The next day a hare came along. He was hurrying so quickly that he ran straight into the ox and stuck to him by his soft furry side.

“I did not mean to!” cried the hare at once. “I was not trying to take anything at all!”

The old woman carefully helped him free.

“Then you need not make up for anything,” she said.

But the hare thought for a moment and answered, “I will bring you a cabbage anyway. I have a garden nearby, and this year the harvest is good. It will be a gift.”

A few days passed.

Early one morning there came a sound at the door.

Thump, thump, thump.

The old man looked out and saw the bear with a basket of honeycombs.

“As I promised,” said the bear. “I left the bees plenty.”

They had scarcely thanked him when the shepherd called from beyond the gate. He carried a large bundle of clean wool.

“The grey wolf told me he owed you a kindness,” said the shepherd. “Here is wool for a blanket.”

Behind him came a housewife with a basket of eggs.

“The fox spent three evenings chasing crows away from my yard,” she said. “She told me it was for you.”

Last of all came the hare, carrying a cabbage so large that he could hardly be seen behind it.

“Oh, it is heavy!” he puffed. “But I promised you a gift.”

The old woman set the table. The honey smelled of summer, a pie was baking in the oven, and the old man unrolled the soft wool.

“You see,” he said to his wife, “you thought up a remarkable ox.”

“A useful one, too,” she said with a smile.

The straw ox stood by the cottage for a long time. But the sun dried the tar, the wind tousled the straw, and one day the old man took him apart and carried the straw to the stable for bedding.

Even so, for many years the old woman loved to remember him.

“What an ox we had,” she would say. “He ate nothing, he never mooed, and yet he brought so many adventures to our door.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨