The One-Legged Goose

One day Nasreddin Hodja's wife roasted a fine goose. "Let me take this to Timur as a gift. Maybe he'll lighten our village's taxes," said the Hodja. He put the roast goose on a tray, covered it and set off for the palace.

The road was long and the sun was hot. The smell of the goose kept wafting up to the Hodja's nose. While resting in the shade of a tree, the Hodja lifted the cover a little. "What harm can one little taste do?" he said. He tasted it and liked it very much. One more little taste, and one more, and before he knew it he had eaten one whole leg of the goose.

When he reached the palace, he set the tray before Timur. When Timur lifted the cover, he saw that the goose had only one leg. He frowned: "Hodja, where is this goose's other leg?"

Without the slightest embarrassment, the Hodja pointed out of the window at the palace pool. By the edge of the pool the geese were sunning themselves, every one of them standing on one leg with the other tucked up under its wing. "Look, sir, the geese of this land have only one leg," he said.

Timur got up, went to the pool and clapped his hands. The geese were startled, stood up on both legs and began to run. "You see, Hodja? They all have two legs!"

The Hodja smiled: "Sir, if you had clapped your hands for our goose too, it would have shown you its second leg. But you sat down without clapping, so the goose stayed on one leg."

Timur burst out laughing. "Hodja, you ate the goose's leg, but you told such a good story that I can't be angry with you," he said. He and the Hodja ate the rest of the goose together. But on the way home the Hodja made himself a promise: "Next time I'll eat the goose at the table, not on the road."

This story teaches us a lesson while making us laugh: we must not touch something we are carrying for someone else. And also: admitting a mistake is always easier than hiding it.