One day, a fox walked up to a farmer.

“Farmer,” said the fox, “there are many wolves who live in the woods around your land. When it gets dark, they will come and steal your eggs and eat your chickens. If you give me just three eggs, I will guard your henhouse for the night.”

“Hmm…” said the farmer. “That is a lot of eggs. But it’s better to lose three eggs than to lose all of my eggs and my chickens on top of that.”

So the farmer took the fox to the henhouse and gave him three fresh eggs. The fox ate the eggs and the farmer went to bed.

When the farmer woke up the next morning he went to the henhouse. The fox was gone and so were two more eggs.

Later that day, the fox returned to the farm and walked up to the farmer.

“Farmer,” said the fox, “The wolves who live in these woods came last night. I scared them away, but they will be back. Would you like me to guard your henhouse for the night?”

“And what of the missing eggs?” asked the farmer. “Did you take two more from the henhouse last night?”

“I did.” said the fox. “I brought them back to my den for my wife and my children to eat. We have been so hungry for so long that I could not help myself and ate the three eggs you gave me right away. I did not want my family to starve any longer, so I took two more. I am sorry. Tonight, I will guard your henhouse for free.”

“No thank you, Fox,” said the farmer.

“But the wolves will come,” said the fox. “They will take all of your eggs and there will be no chickens left to lay more.”

“I’d rather be robbed blind by thieves than have one more egg taken by a friend,” said farmer.

So the fox left and the farmer went to bed.

When the farmer woke up the next morning he went to check on the henhouse. It was empty, save for one egg and one chicken.

Later that day, the fox returned to the farm and walked up to the farmer.

“Farmer,” said the fox, “the wolves who live in these woods will come back tonight. They will take your last egg and eat your last chicken. Please, let me guard your henhouse.”

“No, thank you, Fox.” said the farmer. “I’d rather be robbed blind by thieves than have one more egg taken by a friend.”

“So, I make one mistake and that’s it?” asked the fox.

“Pretty much,” said the farmer.

“It was two eggs,” said the fox. “Are we really going to do all of this over two eggs.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to judge,” said the farmer.

“Please forgive me, farmer,” pleaded the fox. “Give me a second chance. Let me prove that you can trust me.”

“I have just one chicken and I have just one egg,” said the farmer. “I can’t risk having you steal any more from me.”

“But the wolves will steal from you,” said the fox. “They will come tonight and take your chicken and eat your egg and you will have nothing.”

“I’d rather be robbed blind by thieves than have one more egg taken by a friend,” said the farmer.

“You know that’s insane of you to say at this point, right?” asked the fox.

“Then I guess I’m insane,” said the farmer. “I guess I’m an insane guy.”

So the fox left and the farmer went to bed.

When the farmer woke up the next morning, he went to go look into the henhouse. There were no chickens and there were no eggs. It was completely empty.

Later that day, the fox returned to the farm and walked up to the farmer.

“Farmer,” said the fox, “Because I stole from you, I have been unable to earn any food and my family is starving again. And because you could not forgive me, you have no more chickens and no more eggs. Please, let me- Woah! What the hell is that?”

“What? This?” asked the farmer, patting the shotgun lying across his lap. “His name is Fox and for three eggs he will guard the henhouse tonight.”

“Where did you get that?” asked the fox.

The farmer did not reply to the fox, but picked up three rocks from the ground and tried to shove them down the barrel of the gun.

“Please, give that to me, Farmer.” begged the fox. “You do not need that. The wolves will not come tonight. I will hide the gun in the woods. Or I will throw it in the lake. Or better yet, I will take it to market and trade it for enough chickens to fill your henhouse again.”

“No, thank you, Fox,” said the farmer. “I’d rather be robbed blind by thieves than have one more egg taken by a friend.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked the fox. “Farmer, are you even listening to me? You have no chickens. You have no eggs. I will go to market. I will bring you back chickens. Just give me the gun…”

The fox took a small step forward. The farmer pressed the shotgun right between the fox’s eyes.

“Okay,” said the fox as he slowly backed away. “Okay.”

So the fox left and the farmer stayed up all night trying to hatch the three rocks.

The next morning, the fox returned to the farm carrying a basket with five baby chicks inside.

The fox walked to the farmhouse, but the farmer was not inside. The fox walked to the henhouse, but the farmer was not there either. The fox looked in the fields and in the barn and by the water pump, but he could not find the farmer anywhere.

“Farmer!” called the fox. “Farmer! Where are you, Farmer?”

Just as he was about to leave, the fox heard a sound from behind the farmhouse. The fox walked around the side of the house and saw the farmer standing over the body of a pig. The farmer held the shotgun in his hands and dark blood pooled in the dirt around the pig’s stomach.

“I heard something outside the house,” stammered the farmer. “I was scared. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.” The farmer began to sob.

“There there,” said the fox. “No one is saying you did anything.”

“This is all your fault,” screamed the farmer. “None of this would have ever have happened if you hadn’t stolen those eggs.”

“Woah!” said the fox. “That’s kind of a stretch, don’t you think? I mean I know I messed up, but you gotta take some responsibility here at some point.

The farmer threw the shotgun down at the fox’s paws.

“You’re not doing what I think you’re doing are you?” asked the fox.

“What? Who do you think they are going to believe?” asked the farmer. “Me? Or some lousy egg thief?”

“I refuse to let my mistakes define me as a criminal,” said the fox. “I don't know why you're so willing to let them define you as a victim.”

“You don’t get to say that,” said the farmer. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

With that, the fox ran off into the woods and the farmer cooked and ate the pig. It was his pig and he could do with it what we wanted.