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Member
Join Date: Jan 2004
Posts: 1
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An Attempt To Sell A Goat
An Attempt To Sell A Goat
Gwiddo thought of his wife Pip as he trudged along the cobbled streets. The old girl wasn't too bad, he thought. And he did love her, of that there was no doubt. It was just that sometimes she could be so demanding. That very morning, had she not come out and thrown a bucket of dirty water over him, shouting about getting a job, making himself useful, and remembering her birthday? And she hadn't cared, had she, that at the time he'd been almost asleep, his back nestled into the bend of the crooked apple tree behind the house. Oh no, as soon as she'd been done washing the little one after another smelly accident, she'd been outside and in his ear.
So here he was, leading his goat Mog-Mog along, trying to sniff out an opportunity. Not an ounce of luck, though, he thought. It was already late afternoon and the streets of the town were as crowded as ever. His feet were aching, and his stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, but there wasn't a penny in his pockets. He stopped outside a baker's store.
“You stay here, Mog-Mog,” Gwiddo said, patting the shaggy goat's neck. “I'll be back in a pinch.”
He strolled into the small bakery and eyed the fat man behind the counter for a moment before glancing around the room. The air smelled delicious.
“Well, well, my good man,” Gwiddo said. “I have been to six other bakers today, and I must say that yours is indeed the cleanest and most appealing to me.”
The fat baker stood a little straighter but said nothing. He appeared to be looking Gwiddo up and down, taking in the bare feet, the unwashed shirt and unkempt hair.
“You see, my master is a very rich man. Wealthy. And he's having a banquet, you see. A big one. He has sent me, his honest servant, to find the best bread in all the town.”
The baker shuffled his feet. “Well,” he said, in a deep, thick voice. “I am sure that he'll have no complaints with my wares. Who would your master be, then?”
Gwiddo twitched his nose and sniffed the air. “I can tell,” he said, ignoring the baker's question, “that your bread is of a superior quality just by its smell.” He sniffed again. “I have a very fine nose, you see. Very fine. And that would be enough proof for me, my good man. If it were my banquet, then I would have no problems whatsoever in ordering one hundred loaves from you. But my master, well, he won't go putting his trust in no noses, no. 'Gwiddo!' he says to me. 'You make sure you taste the bread before ordering!' So just as a formality, you see, nothing more, I ask if I could just have a sample of your fine bread. Just to keep the master happy, eh?” Gwiddo grinned. The baker's face remained unchanged.
“For a penny, you can sample the bread.”
Gwiddo pulled a face. “Oh no, that won't do. I don't have no money with me at the moment. My job is just to find the very best baker, and then will my master give me the money, enough for two hundred loaves!”
The baker looked at Gwiddo long and hard. “Do you take me for some kind of fool?”
“A fool? Indeed not! On the contrary, you appear to be a man of fine breeding and intelligence! Now about that bread...”
The baker rolled his eyes. “Look, there's half a stale crust there in the corner. Grab it before I sweep the floor up,” he said, reaching for his broom.
Gwiddo paused and considered arguing back, but the baker had stepped out from behind the counter and had started sweeping the floor, so instead he made a hurried dash for the bread.
He wiped the dirt off it and took a nibble. Then another. He nodded his head. “Mmmm, yes. Very good,” he said, and shoved the rest of it into his mouth. “Two hundred loaves it is, then! I will be calling on you again in the morning. Good day!” And with that he spun around and sauntered out.
The goat was still standing on the dusty cobblestones, patient as a statue.
“Well done to me, Mog-Mog!” Gwiddo said with a smile. “That fairly hits the spot.” He took the goat's rope in his hand and began walking again.
“Now,” he said, “we still haven't found anything for sweet Pip's birthday, have we? Not for want of trying, though. No-one here's been giving me even the time of day.” He shook his head. “But I'm not done yet, Mog-Mog.”
He led the goat down a narrow alley and stopped in front of a plain wooden door. Gwiddo stepped up and knocked. He winked at Mog-Mog.
A moment later the door opened to reveal a middle age man with a beard on his face and a wooden cup in his hand.
“Yes?” the man said.
“Good afternoon to you, my good man. Just come for your taxes. Five gold pieces from your household this year, and I'll be on my way.”
The bearded man stared at him. “Who are you?”
“Me? I'm the tax collector, aren't I? For the King. You got your five gold pieces handy?” He held out his hand, palm up.
“A tax collector? You? They normally come wearing proper clothes... and shoes! What game are you playing at?”
“No game, I assure you, although I do quite enjoy my work! Just five gold pieces, do your part for the kingdom.”
“I should call the guards on you!”
“No no, no need for the guards! They've already paid their taxes, haven't they? How about-”
But he was cut off by the door slamming in his face. He shook his head and stepped back to the goat. “Not giving me the time of day, Mog-Mog! Let's go home.”
They returned to the main street and headed back to the town gates. Gwiddo lived about a half-hour's walk away, and he did not fancy the thought of returning empty-handed to Pip.
“She'll be cross, Mog-Mog!” he said as they left the town behind them. “She's as pretty as a bird, but she'll be a fright tonight!”
They had only been walking a few minutes when, after rounding a bend in the road, Gwiddo saw a young man sitting by the side of the road. He was seated in the shade of an overhanging tree and reading a book.
“Hello, Mog-Mog, what's this?” he said softly, before steering the animal over to the side of the road. The young man stood up at their approach.
“Everything okay here?” Gwiddo asked.
The young man nodded. He had blonde hair, no hat and about three day's growth on his chin. Despite this, he looked like he may be wealthy, wearing expensive-looking trousers, a clean shirt and a gold chain around his neck.
“Just getting some peace and quiet,” he said. “It's so noisy in town.”
“It is, isn't it? What's that you're reading there?”
“This? Oh, it's wonderful! It's about the amazing things in far away lands. Huge grey animals called elephants, many-coloured birds, and strange people!”
Gwiddo rubbed his chin. “Indeed?”
“I was just thinking to myself how grand it would be to have one of these creatures!”
“It is, it is grand to have a wonderful creature. I have one myself!”
The young man looked surprised. “You do? What, you mean an elephant or something?”
Gwiddo shook his head. “No elephants for me. Something even better.” He reached over to Mog-Mog and patted his neck. “I've got me this one here.”
The man frowned. “What do you mean? That's just a goat! And a flea-ridden one at that!”
“Oh no,” Gwiddo said. “This here is a very special goat. In fact, this is the most amazing goat you will ever see!”
“I don't believe you.”
Gwiddo looked down at Mog-Mog, who had stretched his neck down to chew on the roadside grass. “Tell you what,” he said, looking back at the man. “I'll sell him to you. I can tell you'd appreciate him. Twenty gold pieces and he's yours.”
The young man's jaw dropped. “Twenty gold pieces! For a goat! I could buy a house for twenty gold pieces!”
Gwiddo rubbed his chin again. “That you could. But everyone has a house. It's nothing special. Not everyone, however, has a talking goat!”
The man stared at Mog-Mog. “That's ridiculous. You're making fun of me.”
“Oh no! It's the absolute truth. This here is a special talking goat.”
The man put his hands on his hips. “That is the craziest thing I have ever heard. Make him say something then!”
Gwiddo rubbed Mog-Mog between the eyes with his thumb. “Come on, boy. Tell us what's on your mind.”
The goat munched silently.
“See? It's a plain old dumb goat.”
“It's a talking goat, I say. He just doesn't feel like it right now. He's shy, isn't he?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Horses cannot talk. Cows cannot talk. Sheep cannot talk. And most of all, goats cannot talk!”
“This one can.”
“He can not! He is a goat and you are an idiot!”
“Now, now,” Gwiddo said, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. “I'm just being friendly is all. You were the one who brought up the strange animals. What else was I to do but tell you about my talking goat here, hey?”
The young man huffed. “You've wasted enough of my time. Now good day to you!” And he pushed past Gwiddo and returned down the road toward the town.
Gwiddo shrugged and led Mog-Mog out onto the road again. Overhead a few crows cried out as the sun began to set. As they crossed a small bridge over a gully, Mog-Mog the goat looked up at his master.
“You weren't really going to sell me, were you?” he asked.
Gwiddo smiled and patted his neck again. “Of course not, Mog-Mog. I was just distracting him so I could slip off his gold necklace! I'm sure Pip'll like it.” He grinned widely as he dangled the chain before Mog-Mog's eyes. It glinted in the dying rays of the sun.
(c) 2004
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), I'd love to know a little more about the town, the townspeople, etc., etc., etc. Otherwise, good job!
