A crocodile floats through Farmer Huang’s bamboo field, becoming news when he informs the fire brigade. Lacking reptile expertise, they refer him to the agriculture minister, who advises, condescendingly, “Crocodiles aren’t native. It’s probably a green iguana.”
Past nightfall, Farmer Huang wades waist-deep through duckweed, cooing, “You’re just a petite swamp kitty, crocodile.” Folding down bamboo leaves for the fearsome visitor to rest its improbable jaw, he affirms, “Just stay where you are and feel spiritual.”
Farmer Huang is not spiritual and doubts crocodiles incline towards superstitious consolations, but reckons such a line on the morning news might sell some bamboo.