The goat

Once there was a mountain goat who lived in New York City. The building he lived on had great views and many sturdy ledges for him to stand on high above the metropolis. Unfortunately, not much grew on the building. Not much a goat could eat. True, there was that bucket of hay that appeared on the upper ledge each morning, and there were cedars on the penthouse deck, and people put out window boxes every now and then. But the bucket was a snack, he'd eaten the cedars down to the bark, and geraniums don't go far when you're a goat. Excerpted from The Goat by Anne Fleming All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.