The village goat had a reputation. Nobody knew exactly how it started, but everyone agreed that the goat was trouble. Not dangerous trouble. Not evil trouble. Just the kind of trouble that appears whenever things are peaceful.
One Monday morning, the goat escaped.
Again.
Nobody was surprised.
The old woman who sold vegetables looked up from her stall, saw the goat running through the market, sighed deeply, and continued arranging tomatoes. This was not an emergency. This was tradition.
The goat ran past three shops, two children, a bicycle, and one very confused dog. The dog considered getting involved, decided it was above such matters, and went back to napping.
By noon the goat had somehow acquired a crowd.
Nobody was chasing it anymore.
People were simply curious.
Where was it going?
Did it have a destination?
Did it have a plan?
The goat refused to answer these questions.
