Kofi’s Three-Goat Parade
One careful boy, three opinionated goats, and the busiest market of the year—what could possibly wobble loose? A joyful market-day adventure full of unexpected hiding places and a wonderfully musical trip home.
✨ Make a Storybook FreeA MayaLili Original · ages 6-9 · free to read and print
Kofi had a rope, a plan, and exactly one hour. “I’ll mind them, Auntie,” he promised. Tuesday, the sleepy goat, leaned against his knee. Wednesday, the hungry goat, tasted his pocket. Thursday, the fussy goat, refused to stand in a puddle no bigger than a spoon. Beyond their shady corner, the year’s biggest market jingled and bustled. Kofi checked the rope joining their collars. “Nothing,” he told the goats, “will go wrong.” Wednesday sneezed.
The whole story
Kofi had a rope, a plan, and exactly one hour. “I’ll mind them, Auntie,” he promised. Tuesday, the sleepy goat, leaned against his knee. Wednesday, the hungry goat, tasted his pocket. Thursday, the fussy goat, refused to stand in a puddle no bigger than a spoon. Beyond their shady corner, the year’s biggest market jingled and bustled. Kofi checked the rope joining their collars. “Nothing,” he told the goats, “will go wrong.” Wednesday sneezed.
The sneeze startled Tuesday. Tuesday stepped backward. Thursday stepped sideways. The rope slipped through Kofi’s fingers, its loose loops sliding free of the collars. Three tails disappeared beneath three different stalls. “Oh, crumbs.” Kofi tucked the rope into his pocket and hurried after them, weaving between baskets instead of bumping them. “Excuse me! Have you seen three goats?” A tomato seller pointed in three directions. “That,” said Kofi, “is exactly the trouble.”
First came a snore. Inside a huge unfinished drum, Tuesday slept with his chin on the rim. “An excellent drum,” the maker said. “Already making noise.” Then came a crunch. Wednesday was nibbling a straw hat’s brim. The hat seller lifted it away. One side now looked like a biscuit bite. “I’m sorry,” Kofi said, gathering every fallen scrap. “I’ll help tidy your stall.” But where was Thursday? From the weaver’s stall came a blissful little bleat.
Thursday stood on a woven mat while a kind weaver brushed her back. “She asked very politely,” the weaver said. “How?” “She brought me the brush.” Kofi sat down. Getting three goats home suddenly seemed harder than carrying soup in a basket. As she brushed, the weaver hummed. Thursday stepped closer. Wednesday stopped chewing. Even Tuesday poked his head out of the drum. Kofi tried the tune. Three pairs of ears turned toward him. “Oh,” he whispered. “You like music.”
Kofi hummed past the hats. He hummed past the tomatoes. Tuesday followed slowly. Wednesday followed hopefully. Thursday followed as though the parade had been her idea. At their shady corner, Auntie opened the little pen. “All three!” she said. “How did it go?” Kofi closed the gate before answering. “My plan needed a tune.” After helping sweep the hat stall, he returned to find three noses poking between the rails. “Another song?” Wednesday sneezed. This time, nothing went wrong.