It was a cold winter's night a top the mountain. My thick fur flapped in the wind, tickling my milky white udder. I am a goat, the unappriciated cousin of the cow. I stood there, majestically, upon the mountain, feeling the brisk winter wind whip around my fluffy, horned body. My pink nose smelled a light, distinctive scent. "Grass." I thought to myself.
I ventured towords the grass, hoping to find it. A fresh patch of grass is rare in winter, after all. I staggered across the snow. I stumbled out upon the delightful chunk of earthy heaven. I chewed it slowly as the bright day's sky passed me by slowly, and was soon replaced by the rich night sky. I returned to my cave. My long day was over, and so I retired to bed.
THE END
