In one enormous dense forest, in a large old house made of pine logs, lived a grey wolf called George Greyside. He was called this because one of his sides was grey. He was the most important figure in the forest, and all the animals respected him and listened to his advice.
When any mishaps occurred in the forest, George Greyside always found the right solution, so many came to him for counsel. Sometimes Mother Squirrel would hop over to complain about her wayward son, or Mrs Grass Snake would slither in to tell him that her neighbour was bothering her.
Or the telephone would ring:
George Greyside, I need your advice! I want to build myself a new house—could you suggest where I might get some good branches?
Wild Boar bellowed from the other end of the line.
And Greyside had no choice but to set Squirrel's son on the right path, have lengthy conversations with Mrs Grass Snake's neighbour, and ring round all the shops where one could buy sturdy branches for Wild Boar's house.
But one fine morning, when the sun was shining brightly and the birds were singing cheerfully, such melancholy came over the Wolf that he switched off his telephone, firmly closed the doors of his house, took out his old travelling pipe and lit it. And he began to remember his younger years, when he was healthy, strong and young.
Greyside had a bosom friend—Wolf Brownside. They had lived in the same forest since childhood and were inseparable friends. Many interesting stories had happened to them, they had been everywhere and seen everything.
And how many funny incidents had occurred—too many to tell. Wolf Greyside sits there, smoking his pipe, and remembers one of these funny stories. Funny to some, perhaps sad to others.
The two friends decided to pinch some nuts from Squirrel's hollow. Brownside climbed up the tree, reached the very top, filled his pockets full of nuts, but couldn't climb back down. He sat in the tree all night, whilst Greyside sat beneath the tree, afraid to tell their mothers, because they would both have got a proper thrashing. Their mothers were stern she-wolves.
They were helped by Beaver—an old fireman. He tore his shirt and ripped his trousers getting Brownside down from the tree. As a token of gratitude, the friends decided to help Beaver plant his vegetable garden. They came in the morning and dug the beds whilst the fireman went to fetch seeds. They saw some roots lying on a bench along the garden.
Well, the old fireman must have forgotten about these seeds! We'll do him a good turn—we'll plant them all around the garden, let them grow and bear fruit.
Brownside and Greyside decided to help Beaver.
But a fortnight later, the fireman came running to them, shouting:
I got you down from the tree, saved your lives, and you've filled my garden with weeds, such weeds that no hoe can clear them and no axe can cut them down! Now nothing grows there except this useless grass! I toiled away planting vegetables for nothing, all wasted because of your 'help'!
There was another funny incident when the bosom friends Greyside and Brownside were guarding the forest from loggers. There were several detachments of defenders at the border. And Greyside was the cook there. Once he cooked a whole cauldron of porridge and instead of sugar put salt in it, and not a pinch, but a whole five spoonfuls. He got them mixed up.
And everyone ate in silence, pretending it was delicious. All because Brownside—his bosom friend—ordered everyone to keep quiet and praise the porridge, so that Greyside wouldn't be punished and thrown in the guardhouse.
George Greyside was so lost in his daydreams, sprawled in his armchair, that a knock at the door startled him.
Here we go! Who's come to me for advice now!
Greyside opened the door and saw on the threshold—you'll never guess who—George Brownside! He too had been terribly missing his friend and had decided to visit him.
