He beamed at his work of art and placed a red cap on its head as the finishing touch. He had carved the scarecrow’s head from a pumpkin and given it a scary grin. That should scare the sparrows and crows away, thought farmer Fred.
The scarecrow stood in the centre of the farmer’s field. He wore a grey coat; the sleeves of which were stuffed with straw as were his torn black trousers. He took his job very seriously and waved his arms about in the wind to scare the birds away. At first, it worked, but gradually the crows stopped taking him seriously.
They realised he could do them no harm and merely flapped about in the wind. They got bolder and started pulling out wisps of straw from under his hat to line their nests. “Stop that! Shoo!” cried the scarecrow but that didn’t stop the audacious crows. In fact, they told their friends, who came to pull out more of the scarecrow’s straw. Instead of the crows being scared of him, the scarecrow was afraid of the crows and dreaded their arrival.
Farmer Fred noticed that the scarecrow was looking quite straggly and thin and that the crows were back in his fields. “Hello Scraggy,” he greeted the scarecrow, “You’re obviously quite useless. Not much point in keeping you here!” Poor Scraggy looked forlorn. Feeling worthless, he cut a sorry figure in the green fields.
That night there was a storm. The winds howled and blew the hat off Scraggy’s head. Thunder rolled through the skies and the clouds burst open. He shivered despite his coat as he got drenched in the downpour.
Luckily, the next two days were hot and humid and he was able to dry off. On the third day, Scraggy spotted a new intruder in his field — a dirty, white pie-dog with a crooked tail and a black patch on his eye, which gave him quite a rakish look. Panting in the heat of the sweltering sun, the dog approached Scraggy and said, “Hello, I’m Patch. Who are you?” “I’m Scraggy,” replied the scarecrow. “I’ve travelled a long way and am dying for a drink of water,” said Patch. “Here, why don’t you drink the rainwater that has collected in my upturned hat”, suggested Scraggy helpfully.
Gratefully, Patch lapped up every last drop of water from the hat. “Tell me my friend, why do you look so sad?” he asked Scraggy. The scarecrow replied, “I’m supposed to scare crows, but they aren’t afraid of me anymore and peck at me. Farmer Fred thinks I’m utterly useless. How I hate those wicked crows!”
“Wow! What a coincidence,” exclaimed Patch, “I hate crows too; ever since they started stealing scraps of bread from my bowl when I was a pup. But I’m not afraid of them; I chase them away.”
Just then a crow alighted on Scraggy’s arm and started pulling out straw from his sleeve. Patch barked at it and it flew away. The impudent crow then started pecking at the crops growing in the field. “Shoo,” cried Scraggy, as Patch pounced on it and chased it away.
Patch told Scraggy how he had run away from home, as his mistress didn’t like him because he was a pie-dog; not well-bred like his mother.
“You can stay here and help scare away the crows,” suggested Scraggy who was quite lonely. Patch who had learnt to fend for himself, felt wanted for the first time in his life and decided to stay. He made up a cheery little rhyme:
‘Sure I’ll stay,
And chase the crows away.
Never fear,
While Patch is here!’
This made Scraggy laugh. He was very happy to have gained such a clever, helpful friend.
Farmer Fred was pleasantly surprised — suddenly there were no crows in his fields. Patch was doing a wonderful job of frightening them away. He remained concealed in the fields whenever farmer Fred did his rounds. The farmer was happy although he was unable to solve the mystery behind the useless scarecrow’s sudden success. That remained a well-kept secret between Scraggy and Patch.