One afternoon, a fox named Finley was strolling through the forest, his tail held high like a fluffy question mark. He was feeling rather parched after a vigorous game of hide-and-seek with a particularly mischievous squirrel (Finley always lost, but he insisted it was a strategic retreat). Then, he spotted them: a magnificent bunch of grapes, plump and juicy, hanging from a branch so high it practically kissed the clouds.
“Just the thing to quench my thirst!” Finley exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with avarice. He took a few steps back, the picture of athletic grace (or at least, he tried to look that way). He leaped. He failed. He landed with a soft *thump* on the forest floor, dusting himself off with a dignified air.
He tried again, this time with a more impressive (and slightly louder) grunt. He launched himself into the air like a furry projectile, aiming for the succulent prize. This attempt, too, ended in a rather undignified tumble.
Undeterred (or perhaps just stubborn), Finley tried a third time. This time, he employed a complex series of acrobatic maneuvers he’d seen a particularly flexible badger perform once. He twisted, he turned, he almost, *almost* reached the grapes. Then, he crashed into a low-hanging branch, landing in a pile of leaves with a dramatic sigh.
Finally, defeated but not broken, Finley sat beneath the grapevine, contemplating his situation. He was still very thirsty. The grapes remained tantalizingly out of reach. Suddenly, he had an epiphany. He looked up at the grapes and declared, with a dramatic sniff, “Well, they’re probably sour anyway. I’ve heard things. Terrible things. About the acidity levels in these *particular* grapes. I wouldn’t want to ruin my delicate palate. No sir, not these grapes.” With that, he sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune and completely ignoring the delicious-looking berries, muttering something about “superior taste buds.” He was quite thirsty, but pride, it seemed, was a more potent thirst quencher.
