Story
A Stag, drinking from a clear stream on a hot afternoon, observed his reflection in the water and gazed upon his magnificent antlers with great satisfaction. These horns, branching and spreading in elaborate grace, were admired by all creatures in the forest, and the Stag was justly proud of them.
Yet as he admired his horns, his eyes fell upon his legs, thin and spindly, and he began to lament their appearance. "How unfortunate," he said to his own reflection, "that such noble and beautiful horns should be attached to legs so thin and weak. I would prefer by far to have weaker horns and stronger legs."
At that very moment, the baying of hunting dogs was heard in the distance. The Stag realized immediately that hunters were approaching with their hounds. In great haste, he fled through the forest, his thin legs carrying him swiftly over the ground, leaping over streams and bounding through the underbrush.
Though the dogs pursued him with determination, the Stag's legs—those very legs he had lamented—provided such speed that he gradually outdistanced his pursuers and eventually escaped into a deep thicket where the dogs could not follow.
However, as he plunged into the thicket, his magnificent antlers, those very horns he had been so proud of, became entangled in the branches. The horns caught and held him fast, nearly trapping him entirely. Had the hunters come at that moment, he would surely have been captured. Yet he managed to wrench himself free by leaving behind tufts of hair and momentarily struggled.
Having escaped, the Stag paused to reflect upon his fortune. He understood then that his thin legs, despised but essential, had saved his life through their swiftness. His magnificent horns, objects of his pride, had nearly brought about his doom.
The Stag felt profound gratitude, then, not merely for his horns, but for his legs as well—for every part of himself that had contributed to his survival.