A Marvelously Myopic Mole’s Monumental Mismanagement Mission
And the Ambitions of a Gentle Giant
The Elephant had grown up in the jungle, a place of towering trees, sparkling streams, and the hum of life in every corner. From a young age, he had dreamed of becoming a Forest Ranger—a protector of the jungle’s delicate balance. For years, he had watched as others failed to safeguard the forest, each decision chipping away at its beauty. Now, with the forest at a breaking point, he saw an opportunity to turn his dream into reality. Determined, he prepared himself for the interview that might finally give him the chance to make a difference.
Blind Authority in the Depths
The Mole, long revered as the jungle’s most dependable decision-maker, sat in his modest burrow-office. The Mole’s blind eyes gazed into the darkness, but his paws shuffled leaves with practiced confidence, each one a potential resume for the position of Forest Manager. The jungle was at a crossroads. Logging quotas were out of control, and the animals were demanding a leader who could protect their diminishing forest. Rumors of unrest buzzed through the undergrowth—if the crisis wasn't managed soon, the delicate balance of jungle life could collapse.
The Elephant arrived, his massive form casting a silent shadow over the burrow. His steady steps sent faint tremors through the ground, and many smaller animals peeked from their hiding places to watch. His heart pounded with anticipation. For years, he had prepared for this moment, learning the nuances of the jungle’s ecosystem and envisioning solutions to its problems. He bowed his head slightly to enter the burrow, careful not to disturb the Mole’s carefully ordered workspace.
“Step forward,” said the Mole. His whiskers twitched as he reached out to inspect the applicant, his authority bolstered by decades of unquestioned decisions. The Elephant obeyed, lowering one leg for inspection. The Mole’s paw touched the Elephant’s leg. Rough. Sturdy. Immovable. A tree? The Mole recoiled, suspicion mounting.
“What trickery is this?” he snapped. “A tree trying to manage the forest? You must want fewer trees harvested to protect your kind. I will not be deceived!” His words carried the weight of paranoia, sharpened by years of relying solely on touch and instinct.
The Elephant opened his mouth to respond, but the Mole interrupted. “No excuses! I need someone impartial. Someone industrious. Someone who can handle the forest’s needs without self-interest.”
The Elephant hesitated, sensing that further explanation would be futile. His dream of becoming a Forest Ranger seemed to slip through his grasp. He stood silently as the Mole shuffled through the remaining resumes.
And so, the Mole gave the job to the Beaver. Industrious. Efficient. A known builder. Surely, the perfect choice. The Beaver chattered eagerly, promising swift action and results. His reputation as a relentless worker preceded him, and the Mole nodded in satisfaction. The decision, he thought, was unassailable.
Timber Tycoon of the Tides
The Elephant, though disappointed, refused to linger in despair. He quietly moved on to his next opportunity, determined to find a way to contribute to the jungle he loved. Meanwhile, the Beaver wasted no time.
Taking full advantage of his new position, the Beaver immediately set to work—not for the jungle’s benefit, but for his own. He felled trees with abandon, building a sprawling dam-palace that soon dwarfed anything the jungle had ever seen. Animals approached him, desperate to address concerns about the rampant deforestation, but the Beaver waved them away. “I’m managing the forest,” he assured them, gnawing at a fresh log. “This is progress.”
As the weeks turned to months, his dam expanded, creating a massive reservoir that began flooding nearby burrows. The Beaver’s family moved into the palace, enjoying luxuries unimaginable to the rest of the animals, while his tail slapped the water in self-congratulation.
A Flooded Legacy of Greed
The jungle had changed dramatically. Where once there were towering trees and lush canopies, there was now a wasteland of stumps and flooded valleys. The Beaver had worked tirelessly—but not for the jungle. With an insatiable appetite for expansion, he’d cut down the forest to enrich himself and his family. His dam-palace, now a fortress of wood and water, loomed over what remained of the jungle’s heart.
“You’re homeless because you’re lazy,” the Beaver declared one day, addressing a flock of crows from atop his dam. “Look at me! I worked hard. I built this with my own teeth. You crows spend your time scavenging instead of building, and that’s why you’re starving.” The crows cawed in discontent and flew away, squawking to themselves about how they missed the days when the area was lush with fruits, berries, and nuts, and not a smelly swampland.
The Mole, now retired, remained oblivious to the devastation. From his new lakeside property, he often admired how close he was to the water, even though it flooded more frequently than he liked. "Still," he thought, "I’m blessed to have such a quiet spot now that my neighbor keeps those loud crows away." Buried deep in his burrow, he muttered to himself about how wise his decision had been. “The Beaver was the right choice. Industrious and impartial,” he said, tapping his whiskers with self-satisfaction. He spent his days reminiscing about his leadership years, unaware that his legacy had become one of ruin.
Across the jungle, animals began migrating to different regions in a desperate attempt to survive. Big fish that once thrived in the rivers were eaten downstream, where the river had narrowed to a trickle. Upstream, in the vast reservoir created by the dam, the fish grew enormous in the newfound space. Meanwhile, a family of crocodiles moved into the swampland that had formed around the lake, their presence a menacing addition to the ruined landscape. The sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves had been replaced by silence and the distant creak of the dam looming over them all. The jungle’s heart was broken, and no one knew how to fix it.
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