Plea #58: Man on a Stick I am a man on a stick.
I was brought into this world by an enemy of crows, and now I serve forever to fight his battle.
I have no say in the matter.
He dresses me however he likes, and as long as I'm around, crows never dare approach his harvest.
I wonder sometimes why I must exist.
I wonder why he can't simply share with the crows.
He believes that they will eat all they can if he does, but surely there aren't THAT many crows around these parts...
It's a big field.
I wonder where their urge to gorge themselves would have come from.
I wonder if, had they been given adequate food when nested, they would feel more sure of their next meal.
But I know he would have already considered these things... And I'm sure many crows are just born rotten.
There is no other option but to go to war with them.
That's why I exist.
To scare away the crows...
The poor, irreparably hungry crows.
I'm sure they'll find another field to feed on, though.
One where the farmer isn't as cunning as Father.