The worth of Stale Bread
Not too far from my house in South Africa, there was a play park with swings, roundabouts, and a stream that ran through it, feeding a duck pond.
I used to take the foster kids there at the weekend to let off steam and during the week, I collected stale bread for the smaller ones to feed the ducks.
So, one Saturday, I trotted down the the park with a 7 year-old. He looked at the ducks and swans with interest. I threw a piece of stale bread amongst them and the little boy laughed like a drain as the birds scrabbled about for it.
“Good,” I thought and handed the boy the bag of stale bread.
He promptly sat on the bank and ate it.