Vulture was fastidious. He had to have his feathers groomed and kempt in a certain way. He only drank from the cleanest waterhole, which he had to fly an hour to reach each day. He never squawked off key. He kept his nest compulsively ordered. In short, he was an oddity among carrion.

His family learned to accept his ways. Vulture was what he was, and he wouldn’t change. Once he left the house, they were all happier, since life was so much easier. They began to drag home bits of whatever they found laying around, just to express their freedom.

Buzzard was Vulture’s only friend. They made an interesting pair, too, since Buzzard was arguably the sloppiest creature on the planet. His apathy toward order and cleanliness at home spilled over to his appearance. It was possible that he’d never groomed his feathers.

When Vulture would come back from his water hole each day, he’d wake Buzzard.

“Finally finished your bathing and watering ceremonies, Vulture?”

“Yes. You finally finished being a lazy slob?”

“Nah. But I am ready to go get a bite to eat.”

With that they would fly off into the air, circling and scouting for something tasty. Buzzard could care less what it was. As long as it was dead, he was satisfied. But Vulture was a lot more picky, which goes without saying.

One morning they stumbled across a dead hyena.

“Great, a feast prepared for us, Vulture!” Buzzard exclaimed.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll pass. Hyena’s give me gas,” Vulture declined.

“Well, maybe we’ll find something else,” Buzzard said wistfully. He regretted passing the Hyena up, since that meant that he would have to go looking some more. But, a friend’s a friend, and they should stick together.

Pretty soon, they found the carcasses of flattened opossums.

“Look, Vulture, Possum. They’s good eatin’.”

As Buzzard began to dive down, Vulture called after him, “But I had those yesterday.”

Buzzard groaned, his stomach calling to him. But he followed along after Vulture. Soon, they found the remains of a snake.

“This is it, Vulture. I can’t take it any more. I’ve got to get something to eat.”

“Okay, you go ahead. I think that it’s been dead for a couple of days. The meat’s probably no good. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Buzzard went down and feasted on the snake. He convinced himself that it tasted like the hyena and possum that he’d passed up. Buzzard finished and returned to his nest to sleep.

But Vulture never found anything suitable for his delicate palate. It’s not easy being a connoisseur when you’re a vulture. His search for what lay beyond what he could find brought him to the desert. By the afternoon, he was weak, hungry, and thirsty. Exhausted, he collapsed to the earth.

When Buzzard woke up that afternoon, Vulture was nowhere to be seen. So he set out to find him. Along the way he found dead bodies and snacked. He grew more and more worried as he couldn’t find his friend. He was determined to find him though, since that’s what friends are for. As night fell, he found Vulture lying in the desert.

“Vulture, are you okay?” Buzzard asked as he descended from the skies. He was worried because his friend wasn’t moving. He landed beside Vulture and nudged him with his beak. When Vulture didn’t respond, Buzzard realized that his friend was dead.

He leaned over solemnly and gave his last respects. Then, he took a big beakfull of Vulture.

“Delicious!” He exclaimed, “I’m glad he spent all that time eating and drinking all the finest things!”

Then, Buzzard took another bite. But after all, that’s what friends are for.

Moral: Never let a perfectly good carcass go to waste.