August 16, 2025 • 11 mins
Listen Ad Free https://www.solgoodmedia.com - Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and ambient sounds all ad free!
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Listen, said the nie Ox. Don't you hear some friends coming?
The off Ox raised his head from the grass and
stopped to brush away a fly, for you never could
hurry either of the brothers. I don't hear any footfalls,
he said. You should listen for wings, not feet, said
(00:22):
the nie Ox, And for voices too. Even as he spoke,
there floated down from the clear air overhead a soft
did a little little ee, as though some bird were
laughing for happiness. There was not a cloud in the sky,
and the meadow was covered with thousands and thousands of
(00:44):
green grass blades, each so small and tender and yet
together making a most beautiful carpet for the feet of
the farmyard people, and offering them sweet and juicy food
after their winter fare of hay and grain. Truly, it
was a day to make one laugh aloud for joy.
(01:05):
The alder tassels fluttered and danced in the spring breathe,
while the smallest and shyest of the willow pussies crept
from their little brown houses on the branches to grow
in the sunshine. Tit a little little lee, tit a
little little lee. And this time it was louder and
clearer than before. The swallows cried the oxen to each other.
(01:31):
Then they straightened their strong necks and bellowed to the
horses who were drawing the plow in the field beyond.
The swallows are coming. As soon as the horses reached
the end of the furrow and could rest a minute,
they tossed their heads and whinnied with delight. Then they
looked around at the farmer and wished that he knew
(01:52):
enough of the farm yard language to understand what they
wanted to tell him. They knew he would be glad
to hear of their friends return, for had they not
seen him pick up a young swallow one day and
put him in a safer place, did little little ly,
And there was a sudden darkening of the sky above
(02:13):
their heads, a whir of many wings, a chattering and
laughing of soft voices, and the swallows had come perched
on the ridgepole of the big barn. They rested and
visited and heard all the news. The doves were there,
walking up and down the sloping sides of the roof
(02:34):
and cooing to each other about the simple things of
everyday life. You know, the doves stay at home all
winter and so it makes a great change when their neighbors,
the swallows, return. They are firm friends in spite of
their very different ways of living. There was never a
dove who would be a swallow if he could. Yet
(02:57):
the plump, quiet, gray and white doves dearly love the
dashing swallows. And happy is the squab who can get
a swallow to tell him stories of the great world.
Isn't it good to be home, home, home, sang one swallow.
I never set my claws on another ridge pole as
(03:17):
comfortable as this. I'm going to look at my old nest,
said a young swallow, as she suddenly flew down to
the eaves. I think I'll go too, said another young swallow,
bringing away from his perch. He was a handsome fellow,
with a glistening dark blue head and back, a long
(03:38):
forked tail which showed a white stripe on the underside,
a rich buff vest, and a deep blue collar, all
of the finest feathers. He loved the young swallow whom
he was following, and he wanted to tell her. So
there's the nest where I was hatched, she said, Would
(03:59):
you think I was ever crowded in there? With five brothers?
And sisters. It was a comfortable nest too, before the
winter winds and snow ward away. I wonder how it
would seem to be a fledgling again. She snuggled down
in the old nests until he could see only her
(04:19):
forked tail and her dainty head over the edge. Her
vest was quite hidden, and the only light feathers that
showed were the reddish buff ones on throat and face.
These were not so bright as his, but still she
was beautiful to him. He loved every feather on her body.
(04:41):
I don't want you to be a fledgling again, he cried.
I want you to help me make a home under
the eaves, a lovely little nest of mud and straw,
where you can rest as you are now doing, while
I bring food to you. Will you yes, she cried, oh,
(05:02):
tittle little little ly, and she flew far up into
the blue sky, while he followed her, twittering and singing.
Where are those young people going, said an older swallow.
I should think they had flown far enough for to
day without circling around for the fun of it. Don't
you remember the days when you were young, said the
(05:25):
swallow next to him. When I was young, he answered
my dear. I am young. Now, I shall always be
young in the springtime. I shall never be old except
when I am molting. Just then, a family of doves
came pattering over the roof, swaying their heads at every step.
(05:47):
We are so glad to see you back, said the father.
We had a long cold winter, and we thought often
of you. A very cold winter. Coota's plump little wife.
Tell me a story, said a young dove. Their son. Hush, hush,
said the father dove. This is our son, he added,
(06:11):
and this is his sister. We think them quite a pair.
Are last brood, you know, tell us a story, said
the young dove. Again. Hush, dear, you mustn't tease the swallow,
said his mother. They are so fond of stories, she cooed,
And they have heard that your family are great travelers.
(06:34):
But I want him to tell us a story, said
the young dove. I think he might. This made the
swallow feel very uncomfortable, for he could see that the
children had been badly brought up, and he did not
want to tell them a story. Just then, perhaps you
would like to hear about our journey south, said he
(06:56):
Last fall, when the maples began to show red and
yellow leaves among the green. We felt like flying away.
It was quite warm weather, and the forest birds were
still here. But when we feel like flying south, we
always began to get ready. I never feel like flying south,
(07:16):
said the young dove. I don't see why you should.
That is because I am a swallow and you are
a farmyard dove. We talked about it to each other,
and one day we were ready to start. We all
had on our new feathers and felt strong and well.
We started out together, but the young birds and their
(07:39):
mothers could not keep up with the rest. So we
went on ahead ahead of foam, said the young dove,
who had been preening his feathers when he should have
been listening. Ahead of the mothers and their fledglings. We
flew over farms where there were doves like you, over
rivers where the wild ducks were feeding by the shore,
(08:02):
and over towns where crowds of boys and girls were
going into large buildings, while on top of these buildings
were large bells singing ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
I don't think that was a very pretty song, said
the young dove. Hush, said his mother you mustn't interrupt
(08:25):
the swallow. And at last we came to a great lake,
said the swallow. It was so great that when we
had flown over it for a while, we could not
see land at all, and our eyes would not tell
us which way to go. We just went on as
birds must in such places, lying as we felt we ought,
(08:48):
and not stopping to ask why or to wonder if
we were right. Of course, we swallows never stopped to eat,
for we catch our food as we fly, but we
did some time stopped to rest. Just after we had
crossed this great lake, we alighted. It was then that
a very queer thing happened. And this is really the
(09:11):
story that I started to tell. Oh, said the young
dove and his sister. How very exciting. But wait just
a minute while we peep over the edge of the
roof and see what the farmer is doing. And before
anybody could say a word, they had pattered away to look.
The birds who were there say that the swallows seemed
(09:32):
quite disgusted, and surely nobody could blame him if he did.
You must excuse them, cooed their mother. They are really
hardly more than squabs. Yet, and I can't bear to
speak severely to them. I'm sure they didn't mean to
be rude. Certainly, certainly, said the swallow. I will excuse them,
(09:56):
and you must excuse me. I wish to see a
few of my old friends before the sun goes down.
Good afternoon, And he darted away. The young doves came
pattering back, swaying their heads as they walked. Why where's
the swallow? They cried? What made him go away? Ride
(10:17):
at the best part of the story too? We don't
see why folks are so disagreeable. People never are as
nice to us as they are to other young doves. Hush,
said their mother. You mustn't talk that way. Fly off
for something to eat, and never mind about the rest
of the story. When they were gone, she said to
(10:40):
her husband, I wonder if they did hurt the swallows feelings.
But then they are so young, hardly more than squabs.
She forgot that even squabs should be thoughtful of others,
and that no dove ever amounts to anything unless he
begins in the right way as a squab. End of
(11:05):
the story, the swallow didn't tell
Listen, said the nie Ox. Don't you hear some friends coming?
The off Ox raised his head from the grass and
stopped to brush away a fly, for you never could
hurry either of the brothers. I don't hear any footfalls,
he said. You should listen for wings, not feet, said
(00:22):
the nie Ox, And for voices too. Even as he spoke,
there floated down from the clear air overhead a soft
did a little little ee, as though some bird were
laughing for happiness. There was not a cloud in the sky,
and the meadow was covered with thousands and thousands of
(00:44):
green grass blades, each so small and tender and yet
together making a most beautiful carpet for the feet of
the farmyard people, and offering them sweet and juicy food
after their winter fare of hay and grain. Truly, it
was a day to make one laugh aloud for joy.
(01:05):
The alder tassels fluttered and danced in the spring breathe,
while the smallest and shyest of the willow pussies crept
from their little brown houses on the branches to grow
in the sunshine. Tit a little little lee, tit a
little little lee. And this time it was louder and
clearer than before. The swallows cried the oxen to each other.
(01:31):
Then they straightened their strong necks and bellowed to the
horses who were drawing the plow in the field beyond.
The swallows are coming. As soon as the horses reached
the end of the furrow and could rest a minute,
they tossed their heads and whinnied with delight. Then they
looked around at the farmer and wished that he knew
(01:52):
enough of the farm yard language to understand what they
wanted to tell him. They knew he would be glad
to hear of their friends return, for had they not
seen him pick up a young swallow one day and
put him in a safer place, did little little ly,
And there was a sudden darkening of the sky above
(02:13):
their heads, a whir of many wings, a chattering and
laughing of soft voices, and the swallows had come perched
on the ridgepole of the big barn. They rested and
visited and heard all the news. The doves were there,
walking up and down the sloping sides of the roof
(02:34):
and cooing to each other about the simple things of
everyday life. You know, the doves stay at home all
winter and so it makes a great change when their neighbors,
the swallows, return. They are firm friends in spite of
their very different ways of living. There was never a
dove who would be a swallow if he could. Yet
(02:57):
the plump, quiet, gray and white doves dearly love the
dashing swallows. And happy is the squab who can get
a swallow to tell him stories of the great world.
Isn't it good to be home, home, home, sang one swallow.
I never set my claws on another ridge pole as
(03:17):
comfortable as this. I'm going to look at my old nest,
said a young swallow, as she suddenly flew down to
the eaves. I think I'll go too, said another young swallow,
bringing away from his perch. He was a handsome fellow,
with a glistening dark blue head and back, a long
(03:38):
forked tail which showed a white stripe on the underside,
a rich buff vest, and a deep blue collar, all
of the finest feathers. He loved the young swallow whom
he was following, and he wanted to tell her. So
there's the nest where I was hatched, she said, Would
(03:59):
you think I was ever crowded in there? With five brothers?
And sisters. It was a comfortable nest too, before the
winter winds and snow ward away. I wonder how it
would seem to be a fledgling again. She snuggled down
in the old nests until he could see only her
(04:19):
forked tail and her dainty head over the edge. Her
vest was quite hidden, and the only light feathers that
showed were the reddish buff ones on throat and face.
These were not so bright as his, but still she
was beautiful to him. He loved every feather on her body.
(04:41):
I don't want you to be a fledgling again, he cried.
I want you to help me make a home under
the eaves, a lovely little nest of mud and straw,
where you can rest as you are now doing, while
I bring food to you. Will you yes, she cried, oh,
(05:02):
tittle little little ly, and she flew far up into
the blue sky, while he followed her, twittering and singing.
Where are those young people going, said an older swallow.
I should think they had flown far enough for to
day without circling around for the fun of it. Don't
you remember the days when you were young, said the
(05:25):
swallow next to him. When I was young, he answered
my dear. I am young. Now, I shall always be
young in the springtime. I shall never be old except
when I am molting. Just then, a family of doves
came pattering over the roof, swaying their heads at every step.
(05:47):
We are so glad to see you back, said the father.
We had a long cold winter, and we thought often
of you. A very cold winter. Coota's plump little wife.
Tell me a story, said a young dove. Their son. Hush, hush,
said the father dove. This is our son, he added,
(06:11):
and this is his sister. We think them quite a pair.
Are last brood, you know, tell us a story, said
the young dove. Again. Hush, dear, you mustn't tease the swallow,
said his mother. They are so fond of stories, she cooed,
And they have heard that your family are great travelers.
(06:34):
But I want him to tell us a story, said
the young dove. I think he might. This made the
swallow feel very uncomfortable, for he could see that the
children had been badly brought up, and he did not
want to tell them a story. Just then, perhaps you
would like to hear about our journey south, said he
(06:56):
Last fall, when the maples began to show red and
yellow leaves among the green. We felt like flying away.
It was quite warm weather, and the forest birds were
still here. But when we feel like flying south, we
always began to get ready. I never feel like flying south,
(07:16):
said the young dove. I don't see why you should.
That is because I am a swallow and you are
a farmyard dove. We talked about it to each other,
and one day we were ready to start. We all
had on our new feathers and felt strong and well.
We started out together, but the young birds and their
(07:39):
mothers could not keep up with the rest. So we
went on ahead ahead of foam, said the young dove,
who had been preening his feathers when he should have
been listening. Ahead of the mothers and their fledglings. We
flew over farms where there were doves like you, over
rivers where the wild ducks were feeding by the shore,
(08:02):
and over towns where crowds of boys and girls were
going into large buildings, while on top of these buildings
were large bells singing ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
I don't think that was a very pretty song, said
the young dove. Hush, said his mother you mustn't interrupt
(08:25):
the swallow. And at last we came to a great lake,
said the swallow. It was so great that when we
had flown over it for a while, we could not
see land at all, and our eyes would not tell
us which way to go. We just went on as
birds must in such places, lying as we felt we ought,
(08:48):
and not stopping to ask why or to wonder if
we were right. Of course, we swallows never stopped to eat,
for we catch our food as we fly, but we
did some time stopped to rest. Just after we had
crossed this great lake, we alighted. It was then that
a very queer thing happened. And this is really the
(09:11):
story that I started to tell. Oh, said the young
dove and his sister. How very exciting. But wait just
a minute while we peep over the edge of the
roof and see what the farmer is doing. And before
anybody could say a word, they had pattered away to look.
The birds who were there say that the swallows seemed
(09:32):
quite disgusted, and surely nobody could blame him if he did.
You must excuse them, cooed their mother. They are really
hardly more than squabs. Yet, and I can't bear to
speak severely to them. I'm sure they didn't mean to
be rude. Certainly, certainly, said the swallow. I will excuse them,
(09:56):
and you must excuse me. I wish to see a
few of my old friends before the sun goes down.
Good afternoon, And he darted away. The young doves came
pattering back, swaying their heads as they walked. Why where's
the swallow? They cried? What made him go away? Ride
(10:17):
at the best part of the story too? We don't
see why folks are so disagreeable. People never are as
nice to us as they are to other young doves. Hush,
said their mother. You mustn't talk that way. Fly off
for something to eat, and never mind about the rest
of the story. When they were gone, she said to
(10:40):
her husband, I wonder if they did hurt the swallows feelings.
But then they are so young, hardly more than squabs.
She forgot that even squabs should be thoughtful of others,
and that no dove ever amounts to anything unless he
begins in the right way as a squab. End of
(11:05):
the story, the swallow didn't tell
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark
My Favorite Murder is a true crime comedy podcast hosted by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. Each week, Karen and Georgia share compelling true crimes and hometown stories from friends and listeners. Since MFM launched in January of 2016, Karen and Georgia have shared their lifelong interest in true crime and have covered stories of infamous serial killers like the Night Stalker, mysterious cold cases, captivating cults, incredible survivor stories and important events from history like the Tulsa race massacre of 1921. My Favorite Murder is part of the Exactly Right podcast network that provides a platform for bold, creative voices to bring to life provocative, entertaining and relatable stories for audiences everywhere. The Exactly Right roster of podcasts covers a variety of topics including historic true crime, comedic interviews and news, science, pop culture and more. Podcasts on the network include Buried Bones with Kate Winkler Dawson and Paul Holes, That's Messed Up: An SVU Podcast, This Podcast Will Kill You, Bananas and more.
The Joe Rogan Experience
The official podcast of comedian Joe Rogan.