Lark’s Patient Little Stripes — By the oat bin, a little goat kept patting a folded neckerchief under his chin. Read the full story →
By the oat bin, a little goat kept patting a folded neckerchief under his chin. Lark wanted to give it back to Papa before milking time, but Papa was mending the far gate, and the rain tapped slow, slow, slow on the barn roof. The cloth smelled like clover and cedar rails. “I can wait,” Lark whispered, though his hooves wiggled in the straw.
The lantern beside the stall began to hum, not loudly, just a honey-colored mmm. Its light slipped through the paisley curls on the neckerchief and climbed Lark’s tiny horns in two soft rings. Lark sat very still until Papa came in, dripping and smiling. From that night on, every young goat who waits patiently in warm barn light grows little striped horns to remember the first waiting. Next time you see Lark’s bands, you may hear the rain tapping slow, slow, slow.
