A small Ossetian parable

He lived in the village of Syrdon - a cunning old man. Nobody loved him, but he was wise and old, and therefore he was considered. Somehow he came to a Bali neighbor.

- Dear Bali, guests come to me from afar, will you lend me your big pot to cook a lot of food and treat my dear guests?

- Of course, Syrdon, take him only treat him carefully and return tomorrow morning.

In the morning Sirdon dragged a large cauldron to the house of Bali.
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- Here, Bali, your cauldron. Thank you. And more. In the morning I found another little pot. Apparently, this is your cauldron, while I was at it, I begot it. And that means it's yours. Take it too.

Bali was delighted with the old man’s stupidity and gladly accepted the little bowler.

Summer passed, and again Syrdon came to Bali at the boiler.

- Of course, Syrdon, take it, and if suddenly he gives birth again, then bring and the offspring too.

In the evening of the next day, Bali told me that he was about to wait for the foolish Syrdon and, possibly, with another offspring.

- Hello Syrdon. Nice to see you. By the way, my pot is not delivered?

Sirdon wept bitterly:

“Woe is great, Bali, your cauldron is dead, and I have buried him.”

- What are you talking nonsense, Syrdon? How can a pot die?

- And what did you think, Bali. Those who can be born may die sooner or later.

A vivid, life example that impressed me a lot and made me think.