Moishe was walking across an open field, when suddenly a pack of wolves appeared and began to give chase. Moishe ran as fast as he could, but the wolves were closing in. As he approached a cliff at the edge of the field, Moishe grabbed a vine and jumped over the cliff. Holding on as tight as he could, he looked up and saw the wolves prowling above him, angry to have lost their supper. He looked down. In the gully below, there was another pack of wolves also prowling for their supper. Moishe would have to wait it out. He looked up again and saw that two mice, one white, the other black, had come out of the bushes and had begun gnawing on the vine, his lifeline. As they chewed the vine thinner and thinner, he knew that he could fall at any time. Then, he saw a single strawberry growing, just an arm’s length away. “Vergehaget, you stupid mice! What the hell is wrong with you, eating the vine instead of this plump, delicious strawberry?” Holding the vine with one hand, he reached out and smacked the mice. They fell to the ground and were quickly eaten by the wolves. After several hours, the wolves got bored and left. His arms by now cramping, Moishe let go of the vine and fell. He broke his leg. As he lay in agony, calling for help, Moishe wished he’d had something to eat. Strawberries, maybe. With blintzes.
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