“I’m the fastest!” bleated Pipkin, the eldest of the kid goats, his tiny hooves a blur as he zipped around and over his siblings.
“Quiet! I’m the strongest!” retorted Poppy, her little horns catching the sunlight as she playfully head-butted her mischievous brother.
“You’re both weaklings!” chimed in Percy, the loudest of the bunch. “I can jump the highest!” He launched himself off a rock, landing with a wobbly thud.
Buttercup, the youngest, mimicked his siblings clumsily, bleating unintelligible sounds with equal enthusiasm.
Their boisterous argument continued, each kid goat claiming to be the most impressive. Their bleating and bickering echoed across the meadow, finally attracting the attention of old Billy Goat, who was dozing peacefully under the shade of a sequoia tree.
“Now, now, my little ones,” he chuckled, his long beard swaying gently as he rose to his feet. “What’s all this commotion about?”
The kids eagerly explained their disagreement, each vying for Billy Goat’s approval. He listened patiently, a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, my dears,” he said, “it seems you’re all quite remarkable in your own way. But if you want to hear a tale about true strength, gather round and I’ll tell you about the time Bolt Sir, the Shire horse, challenged Jack and Jennet, the donkeys, to a race.”
Intrigued, the kids settled down around Billy Goat, their eyes wide with anticipation.
“Listen closely, my little friends,” he began, “and I’ll tell you a story of pride, humility, and a most unusual race”.
“It all began with Bolt Sir, a Shire horse of impressive stature, but even greater arrogance. He strutted around the farm like he owned the place, boasting about his size and strength.
“‘Praise me, for I am the biggest, strongest horse in the county!’ he’d declare, his deep voice booming across the fields.”
“But Bolt Sir wasn’t the only resident on the farm. There were other horses, goats, chickens, and also two donkeys, Jack and Jennet, a sensible pair who valued wit and perseverance over brute strength. They were the only ones who dared to roll their eyes at Bolt Sir’s bragging, knowing that true strength came in many forms. The other horses either wished to be him, or, in the case of most of the mares, wished to be with him.”
“One fine morning, as the sun warmed the rolling hills, a heated debate broke out between Bolt Sir and the donkeys. Bolt, full of himself, insisted that size and strength were all that mattered and that Jack and Jennet should respect him for that. Jack and Jennet argued that intelligence and careful planning were just as important, if not more so, and that Bolt Sir had yet to prove himself in that department.”
“Farmer Gedaliah, a wise old fellow with a beard as white as a sheep’s fleece, overheard their squabble. He decided to settle the matter with a challenge. ‘I propose a race to the town’s market,’ he announced. ‘Each of you will carry a load of your choice, and the first to arrive with the most cargo intact will be declared the winner.’”
“Bolt Sir, eager to prove his superiority, puffed out his chest and chose the heaviest load of all: a mountain of salt. Jack and Jennet, after careful consideration, selected a bale of wool and a sack of feathers, respectively.”
“At the crack of dawn the next day, the race began! Bolt Sir, with his powerful strides, thundered across the fields, leaving the donkeys in his dust. He charged through the wooded grove, his massive hooves pounding the earth. But when he reached the river, his heavy cargo became a hindrance. The swift current and the increasing weight of the waterlogged salt pulled him off balance, and the slippery bedrock made for treacherous footing. He fell several times, and with each stumble, more of his precious cargo dissolved into the rushing water.”
“‘No matter,’ he thought, snorting. ‘My cargo will still be heavier than wool or feathers!’”
“Meanwhile, Jack and Jennet, with their lighter loads, navigated the challenging terrain with ease. When they reached the river, they crossed cautiously, their hooves finding steady footing on the slippery rocks. Their cargo absorbed some water, but they never fell or lost any of it.”
“Emerging from the river, the open fields stretched before them, and the sun beat down with increasing intensity, drying their cargo and making it even lighter.”
“Bolt Sir, exhausted from his earlier efforts, was now much slower. The donkeys, however, maintained their steady pace, their endurance proving superior. They were slowly gaining on him.”
“By sunset, they all reached the bustling market town. Bolt Sir, weary from his struggles, had lost much of his salt. Jack and Jennet, however, had preserved all their cargo.”
“Farmer Gedaliah, stroking his beard thoughtfully, inspected the contestants’ cargo. Bolt Sir’s cargo, as it turned out, had decreased by more than half. He was disqualified.”
“The donkeys were declared winners by default. ‘True strength,’ the old man proclaimed, ‘lies not in size or speed, but in wisdom and foresight.’”
“Bolt Sir, crushed by his defeat, hung his mighty head. He had learned a valuable lesson that day, a lesson taught not by a wise old horse, but by two humble donkeys. We never saw him again. It is said that he exiled himself out of shame. And as for me, Billy Goat, I watched it all unfold, and I’ll continue to share this tale, reminding everyone that brains can often triumph over brawn.”
The kids, initially stumped, stared at Billy Goat with wide eyes. Then, Percy, ever the first to speak, burst out, “I’m going to be smart like a donkey!” The others, caught up in the moment, joined in with their own cries: “Not before me!” “No, you won’t!” “I’m the smartest!” “Me!”
Bleating and bickering resumed just as before, their competitive spirit only revived.
Billy Goat rolled his eyes and sighed. “Ah, kids…totally missed the point!”
If only Billy Goat knew: humans behave the same way, even deep into adulthood, when they should know better.
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