The Shepherd and the Month of March
For three years, the shepherd tended the landowner's herds. When the term ended, the landowner gave him a goat and a billy goat, a sheep and a ram.Then the shepherd said, "I won't work as a farmhand anymore. Now I have a whole flock—a goat and a billy goat, a sheep and a ram. I'll be my own master."
How he cared for his flock—it's impossible to describe! He gathered food blade by blade and carried it in the folds of his jacket—he had no basket! And he hauled water from a distant spring in his hat—he had no bucket either!
And so, a year later, the goat bore him two kids, and the sheep gave birth to two lambs.
Another year passed, and each of the three goats bore two kids, and each of the three sheep—two lambs.
And so it went: with each passing year, the flock grew and multiplied. The shepherd became a rich man. He lived in a fine new house and stopped greeting his poor neighbors. Before, the shepherd had been quick to joke and generous in helping others. But now he strutted around, puffed up like a turkey, always moving his lips—counting his profits in his head.
If anyone ever heard a kind word from him, it was only to the brothers, the months. As everyone knows, the weather outside reflects the shepherd's heart. And where does the weather come from? They say the brothers, the months, carry it in their knapsacks.
So the shepherd tried to win over the brothers. He went out to meet each of them, bowed low, and showered them with praise. He would praise and praise, then ask for what he needed. Sometimes he asked May to grow the grass thicker and taller, other times he begged July to ease the heat so the sheep wouldn't grow thin, or January to hold back the frost so the goats wouldn't shiver. He would make his request, then praise them again.
And the strangest thing—perhaps the months believed he truly loved them—but they always favored him. Whatever he asked for, they granted.
But the shepherd feared the unpredictable month of March most of all. March was an unlucky month for livestock: it could pour rain, scatter hail, or even send a plague upon the herds. So the shepherd flattered March more than any other.
And so, in the year this tale tells of, when March arrived, the shepherd began his usual routine:
"You, March, are strong and handsome. And so long—February can't compare!"
From morning till evening, the shepherd praised March, and March listened eagerly. If a hailstorm broke out, the hail would pass by his neighbors, crippling half their sheep, while the shepherd's entire flock remained unharmed. If March unleashed a storm, it would scatter his neighbors' herds across the mountains—good luck rounding them up! But the same storm would gather the shepherd's sheep and goats into a tight huddle, keeping them warm, not a single one lost.
And so March passed, with only one last day remaining—the thirty-first.
March decided to have one last fling. He whistled, howled in every tone, and whipped up snow whirlwinds.
The shepherd woke up, glanced out the window, and even shook with anger. But when he stepped onto the porch, he smiled sweetly.
"Oh, what a joker you are, March! People get upset with you. But I always tell them: you're foolish—how can such a mighty hero not have his fun, not play freely?"
March liked these words. He played even more wildly.
The day ended, evening came. Midnight approached, but March wouldn't calm down. Finally, the shepherd couldn't take it anymore.
"Why are you raging like this! You're almost over. Oh, how you've annoyed me this March, March! I'll tell you straight: you're the worst month of all. You're mean and nasty. I wish you'd just disappear!"
When March heard this, he was so enraged he could hardly breathe. The blizzard suddenly quieted, the wind died down. And when March came to his senses, it really was time for him to leave! He gathered his belongings—winds and blizzards, dampness and ice—packed them into his knapsack, and set off home.
But on the way, he met April. The brothers crossed paths exactly at midnight. Then March said:
"April, my younger brother, give me three of your days. You have a gentle nature—you can still give out your spring gifts in twenty-seven days."
April was indeed kind, and he spared nothing for his older brother. He deeply respected March for his strong character.
March received three days from April as a gift and got to work. What he had in his knapsack wasn't enough for him. In an instant, he flew across the earth. He woke the storms resting on the mountain peaks, weary from their winter labors, and drove clouds of hail and rain ahead of him. And as he flew over the rotten swamps, he grabbed a fever. And everything he gathered, he unleashed upon the shepherd's herds.
On the first day, he drenched them with rain and pelted them with hail. A third of the flock perished.
On the second day, March sent the storms to work. The winds whistled—scattering the sheep and goats across cliffs and ravines. Another third of the flock was lost.
Finally, March unleashed the fever.
By the end of the last borrowed day, the spring month April arrived. He warmed the earth, grew the grass, and blew a warm breeze. But what good was any of it to the shepherd? All he had left was a goat and a billy goat, a ram and a sheep.
The shepherd ended up right where he started.
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