Rufus the Tone Deaf (and Happy) Badger.
In the clearing beyond the great Northern Lake, among ancient trees and blackberry bushes, lived Rufus, a badger with a soft belly and a kind heart.
He was known by everyone for bringing blackberries to anyone who was hungry and for singing. Always. Everywhere. And terribly.
Every morning, Rufus woke up happy, stretched like a sloth on vacation, and... opened his beak. Yes, he did it on purpose, even though he didn't have a beak. He said it made his voice sound better. And he sang his very own song, which he proudly called "The Great Song of the Woods."
But that song—let's face it—was a real disaster. It sounded like the sound of a broken umbrella in a storm, mixed with the sound of a stumbling deer, and the background of a saucepan falling down the stairs.
"Mmm-HMMMM! LAAAAaaaaAAaaa-la-la-LAAAAH!"
As soon as it began, squirrels fell from the oak trees. Deer put on moss caps. Hedgehogs curled up (literally). Bears… feigned hibernation, even in August.
But no one said anything. Because Rufus was good. Always ready to help. And then, you know… some truths are scarier than a wolf's roar.
One day, while Rufus was singing as if he were making flowers bloom with his voice (which, however, withered), Shem and his dragon happened to pass by.
Sem stopped. She listened, curious. The dragon, however, stiffened, flared his nostrils, and flexed his ears. Then he looked at Sem and murmured with his eyes: "Is that a sonic attack?"
Rufus saw them and lit up. He bowed, tripped on a root, got up, and said: "Welcome! I'm Rufus, the Singing Badger! Want a serenade? I even have a winter version!
Sem smiled. "Only if... the forest agrees."
The dragon coughed. A robin fainted in flight.
Sem approached and, in the calm voice of someone who can speak even to stones, said: "Rufus... you know your voice is... very special, right?"
Rufus puffed out his chest. "I know! It's unique! Unrepeatable! A melody of nature!"
"Oh, there's no doubt about that," said Sem, hiding a chuckle. "But... have you ever thought about using it for something else? To make people laugh, for example? Or to tell funny stories?"
Rufus scratched his head. "Hmm. I've never thought about that. But I LOVE making people laugh. I like seeing their bellies shake with laughter!"
Sem nodded. "Then why don't you try? Maybe... instead of singing normal songs... you could sing funny songs! Or put on shows! Or tell stories that are all crooked but beautiful!"
The dragon, who until then had kept his distance, nodded too. Then he approached Rufus, placed his muzzle on his forehead, and said in his deep, gentle voice: "Being special doesn't mean being perfect. It means doing things with your heart. And you, Rufus, have a lot of it."
From that day on, Rufus stopped singing at dawn (much to everyone's delight), but began telling stories, inventing funny skits, and putting on theatrical performances with wonderfully off-key endings.
And guess what? The animals came back to listen to him. They laughed, applauded, hugged each other.
And in the end, Rufus sang anyway. Just one note, long and completely out of tune. But now, everyone was laughing. Because that off-key note was a gift. It was intentional, it was happy, it was true.
Moral:
Sometimes we're out of tune, awkward, or a little strange. But if we learn to laugh at ourselves, to use our flaws with love, no one will ever be able to silence our melody... not even if it's all wrong.
He was known by everyone for bringing blackberries to anyone who was hungry and for singing. Always. Everywhere. And terribly.
Every morning, Rufus woke up happy, stretched like a sloth on vacation, and... opened his beak. Yes, he did it on purpose, even though he didn't have a beak. He said it made his voice sound better. And he sang his very own song, which he proudly called "The Great Song of the Woods."
But that song—let's face it—was a real disaster. It sounded like the sound of a broken umbrella in a storm, mixed with the sound of a stumbling deer, and the background of a saucepan falling down the stairs.
"Mmm-HMMMM! LAAAAaaaaAAaaa-la-la-LAAAAH!"
As soon as it began, squirrels fell from the oak trees. Deer put on moss caps. Hedgehogs curled up (literally). Bears… feigned hibernation, even in August.
But no one said anything. Because Rufus was good. Always ready to help. And then, you know… some truths are scarier than a wolf's roar.
One day, while Rufus was singing as if he were making flowers bloom with his voice (which, however, withered), Shem and his dragon happened to pass by.
Sem stopped. She listened, curious. The dragon, however, stiffened, flared his nostrils, and flexed his ears. Then he looked at Sem and murmured with his eyes: "Is that a sonic attack?"
Rufus saw them and lit up. He bowed, tripped on a root, got up, and said: "Welcome! I'm Rufus, the Singing Badger! Want a serenade? I even have a winter version!
Sem smiled. "Only if... the forest agrees."
The dragon coughed. A robin fainted in flight.
Sem approached and, in the calm voice of someone who can speak even to stones, said: "Rufus... you know your voice is... very special, right?"
Rufus puffed out his chest. "I know! It's unique! Unrepeatable! A melody of nature!"
"Oh, there's no doubt about that," said Sem, hiding a chuckle. "But... have you ever thought about using it for something else? To make people laugh, for example? Or to tell funny stories?"
Rufus scratched his head. "Hmm. I've never thought about that. But I LOVE making people laugh. I like seeing their bellies shake with laughter!"
Sem nodded. "Then why don't you try? Maybe... instead of singing normal songs... you could sing funny songs! Or put on shows! Or tell stories that are all crooked but beautiful!"
The dragon, who until then had kept his distance, nodded too. Then he approached Rufus, placed his muzzle on his forehead, and said in his deep, gentle voice: "Being special doesn't mean being perfect. It means doing things with your heart. And you, Rufus, have a lot of it."
From that day on, Rufus stopped singing at dawn (much to everyone's delight), but began telling stories, inventing funny skits, and putting on theatrical performances with wonderfully off-key endings.
And guess what? The animals came back to listen to him. They laughed, applauded, hugged each other.
And in the end, Rufus sang anyway. Just one note, long and completely out of tune. But now, everyone was laughing. Because that off-key note was a gift. It was intentional, it was happy, it was true.
Moral:
Sometimes we're out of tune, awkward, or a little strange. But if we learn to laugh at ourselves, to use our flaws with love, no one will ever be able to silence our melody... not even if it's all wrong.
