Little Goat Wants to Be First Asleep
At the top of a hill there was a farm, and on the farm there was one big barn. Every animal slept in it: the cows, the pig, the sheep, the hens, and Little Goat.
Little Goat was always bouncing. He bounced when he ate. He bounced when he listened. Even when he stood quite still, his knees went boing.
Every night the barn played a game called First Asleep. Whoever fell asleep first got to start dreaming first, while everybody else was still yawning.
And every night, Mother Dot won.
Mother Dot was an old brown hen. She never hurried, and she never seemed to try. On the barn door there was a chalk mark for every night she had won. Her line of marks was so long it went round the corner.
Little Goat had never won. Not once. He was always the last one awake, still bouncing in his straw while everyone else snored. By the time he got to his dreams, the pig was already halfway through a dream about apples.
“Just one night,” said Little Goat, “I want to be first asleep. I want to dream first.”
On the first night, Little Goat had a plan.
“I will tire myself out,” he said.
He ran round the pond. He ran round the woodpile. He ran round the cart and round the pond again, up the hill and down the hill, until his legs were wobbly.
Then he came back into the barn. Boing, boing, boing. He was bouncier than ever.
He landed right next to the pig.
“Hronk?” said the pig. “Is it breakfast?”
“No,” said Little Goat. “Sorry.”
The pig went back to sleep. Little Goat lay down and bounced, and bounced, and bounced. He was the last one awake again.
In the morning there was a new chalk mark for Mother Dot.
On the second night, Little Goat had a new plan.
“I will count sheep,” he said. “Everybody says that works.”
There were real sheep in the stall next door. Little Goat counted them as fast as he could.
“One, two, three, four…”
The sheep with the black ear shuffled to the back. The sheep at the back shuffled to the front.
“Was that one already?” said Little Goat. “I’ll start again. One, two.”
Two sheep swapped places.
“Please hold still,” said Little Goat.
“We are holding still,” said a sheep, very sleepily. Then the sheep swapped places again.
Little Goat started again, and again, and again. Soon he was cross. Soon he was wider awake than he had ever been in his whole life. The sheep fell asleep. Little Goat did not.
In the morning there was a new chalk mark for Mother Dot.
On the third night, Little Goat did not have a plan.
“I give up,” he said. He lay down with his chin on his hooves. “I’ll just watch.”
So he watched Mother Dot get ready for bed.
First she fluffed her straw, slowly, this way and that. Then she turned round once. Only once, never twice. Then she tucked her head under her wing. Then she took one big, slow breath.
Fluff. Turn. Tuck. Breathe.
“That looks nice,” said Little Goat. “That looks easy.”
So he fluffed his straw, slowly, this way and that. He turned round once. He almost turned round twice, but he stopped. He tucked his nose in by his tummy. And he took one big, slow breath.
Fluff. Turn. Tuck. Breathe.
From under her wing, Mother Dot opened one eye. She kept it open, just a little, to see.
Little Goat’s knees did not go boing. His ears did not twitch. He was fast asleep before he even knew he had won.
“Cluck,” said Mother Dot. Then she went to sleep too.
In the morning, Mother Dot found Little Goat by the barn door.
“You were first asleep,” she said. “Even before me. I stayed awake to see it.”
Little Goat bounced so high he nearly bumped the roof.
“What did you dream?” said Mother Dot.
“I dreamt I was on the moon,” said Little Goat. “I bounced very high, and very slow.”
Mother Dot picked up the chalk in her beak. Right at the top of the door, she started a brand-new line. She made one mark. It was a bit wobbly. It was Little Goat’s.
“How do you do it?” said Little Goat. “Every single night?”
“Sleep is like a hen,” said Mother Dot. “Chase it and it runs away. Sit still and it comes and sits by you.”
Little Goat thought about that.
“I chased a hen once,” he said.
“I know,” said Mother Dot. “It was me.”
That night the barn was full of soft, sleepy sounds. The cows sighed. The pig went hronk and dreamt about apples. The sheep, for once, held still.
Little Goat fluffed his straw. He turned round once. He tucked his nose in. He took one big, slow breath.
Fluff.
Turn.
Tuck.
Breathe.
Nobody stayed awake long enough to see who was first asleep that night. Not Mother Dot, not the pig, not Little Goat. Nobody minded one bit. They were all too busy dreaming.