I fed my yak on my spare Cadbury chocolate 21,0000ft up Everest.

Hear, O listener, the astonishing words of Brian Blessed, who declared: “I fed my yak on my spare Cadbury chocolate 21,000 feet up Everest. It was a blonde, very sweet female yak. I made it my pet after that.” Though spoken with the thunderous humor that characterizes Blessed’s voice, these words conceal a radiant truth: even in the harshest places on earth, companionship and tenderness may bloom, and the bond between man and beast may be forged with the simplest gift.

At the heart of this tale lies Everest, the roof of the world, where storms rage, air thins, and death walks beside the climber. Yet even in such a place of trial, a man may find not only endurance but delight. By offering his chocolate—a treasure of warmth and sweetness in a land of ice—Blessed created not merely nourishment, but kinship. The act was absurd, even comical, yet it reveals an ancient law: that giving of what we cherish binds us to others, whether human or animal.

The ancients too knew the power of sharing in extremity. Recall the story of Xenophon and the Ten Thousand Greeks, stranded deep in Persia. Surrounded by hardship, it was not only strategy that kept them alive, but also the sharing of scant food among brothers-in-arms. A crust of bread, a drop of wine, given freely in a time of need, became more than sustenance—it became the very cord that bound their survival. So too did Blessed’s yak become not just a beast of burden, but a companion of the climb, sanctified by the sweetness of chocolate.

And let us not overlook the humor within this tale, for laughter itself is sacred. To feed a yak chocolate on the slopes of the highest mountain may seem madness, but madness and wisdom often walk hand in hand. It is in such gestures—half-jest, half-sacrifice—that the spirit of humanity is revealed. In a place of silence and peril, Blessed chose joy, chose generosity, chose to create connection where others might see only struggle. His pet yak was less an animal and more a symbol: proof that even on Everest, where men measure themselves against death, kindness endures.

From this story flows a teaching of great weight: do not believe that bonds can only be made in times of plenty or comfort. The truest bonds are often forged in scarcity, when one gives away what little one has. A square of chocolate on Everest, a sip of water in the desert, a word of encouragement in despair—these become gifts greater than gold. Blessed’s yak teaches us that love often begins with a small act of giving, an act that transforms strangers into companions, and companions into family.

O listener, learn this: when you walk through the mountains of your own life—through hardships, trials, and barren paths—do not hoard your sweetness. Share it. Offer what you can, however small, to those beside you. A kind word, a smile, a morsel of food, or even a joke may transform despair into hope. Like Brian Blessed, you may find that what you gave returns to you multiplied, in loyalty, love, and laughter.

Thus the lesson is clear: carry always some “chocolate” within you—some gift of kindness, some act of joy—and do not be afraid to give it away, even in the most unlikely places. For even at 21,000 feet up Everest, where the air is thin and the world feels cruel, such gestures remind us that the greatest heights are not measured in mountains, but in the expanses of the human heart.