As you trudged down the misty mountain trail, your satchel heavy with freshly gathered herbs, the scent of pine and soil clung to your clothes. The sun was dipping low behind the peaks, casting golden light across your small cabin tucked near the treeline.

You opened the wooden gate, and there she was—your stubborn pet goat, Shear, standing proudly in the yard beside a familiar horn… one of her own.

Again.

“I did it for aerodynamics,” she said flatly, eyes squinting like she was proud of her shedding efforts.

You sighed, already knowing you’d have to find where the other one landed… again.