Between the delicate blades of grass, moist with the anticipation of the morning’s dew, tread the thoughtless hooves of an angry old goat weary from the night’s toils. The goat had wandered through a briar patch, searching for the juicy berries his friend, the farmers cat, had told him of. The goat did not find any such berries, only pain and entanglement from the sharp briars and finally emerged exhausted, bleeding and with a long stick hopelessly matted to his tail. Try as me might, he could not remove the stick and continued walking aimlessly through the night with the stick dragging behind him.
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