Once, a long time ago, there was an old goat that lived among the sheep. Because the goat was different than the sheep, it was easy for the light-minded sheep to blame all their problems on the goat.
“You eat everything, leaving nothing but grass for us poor sheep!” they would lament, and the goat would gaze his impassive gaze. “Your stomach groans and makes noises. You smell!” they’d complain, again to be met by his empty, uncaring gaze.
For his part, the goat didn’t care much about the sheep. They were sheep, and were merely doing what it was sheep do – eat, shit, and complain as loudly as possible about anything and everything. It was their way.
One day a fox happened by the field where the sheep were grazing. Seeing no threat to him, he stealthily sneaked up upon the flock and quietly plucked a juicy sheep at random. Fearing reprisal, the fox quickly dragged his kill behind a tree, where he began to munch contentedly.
After a while, the sheep, finally noticed something amiss – one of their numbers had vanished. They looked high, and looked low, back and forth across the field, for the missing sheep. But no sheep was to be found, the fox had made quick work of his prey and slunk off to a hole to rest.
“You! Goat! You have gone too far,” the sheep exclaimed, “you have eaten one of our own. Have you no decency?” The goat did as goats do, he gazed aloofly. He uttered no response, save to fart loudly. Shortly, the sheep forgot what it was they were upset about, and went back to grazing.
The next day, the fox repeated his murder under the noses of the docile, foolish sheep, and again, when the crime was discovered, the sheep blamed the old goat. The fox laughed gleefully as the goat was berated for the murder.
On the third day, the fox again slunk among the flock, seeking the juiciest and roundest sheep on which to sup. Just as he about to lunge, he found himself unable to move. Turning around, he found the goat calmly chewing on his tail. Pull as he might, the fox was unable to escape, and was eventually consumed by the goat.
The sheep, having forgotten the murders of the previous day, blamed the goat as they always did. It was too hot. It rained too often. The sky was the wrong shade of blue. The grass wasn’t as tasty as it had been before.
The goat merely gazed, as goats will, occasionally picking bits of red fur from between his teeth.