The Zebra and the Stubborn Mountain Goat

There was once a zebra who longed for colourful stripes.
Different from the herd.
The elder zebras, concerned,
sent it to the stubborn mountain goat,
knowing the goat would hand out ridiculously dim advice.

So off it went, up the mountain.

The old goat, confused to see a zebra, asked,
“What brings you here?”

“I want colourful stripes,” said the zebra.
“But my elders forbid it. Too dangerous for the herd, they say.”

“Well,” said the goat, “why not roll in dirt?
Look like a donkey.
Maybe then they’ll accept you.”

So the zebra rolled in dirt for hours,
until its stripes were gone.

The elders weren’t impressed.
They asked what the goat had advised.

“It said be a donkey.
Maybe then you’ll give in and let me have my colours.”

“What a stubborn old goat,” the elders muttered.
“Go again. Tell it the advice failed.”

So the zebra climbed the mountain once more.
“What the heck,” it said, “it didn’t work.”

“Try lime,” said the goat. “Roll in white dust.
Look like a pale horse.
Perhaps the absence of stripes will soften them.”

The zebra did.
Of course, the elders weren’t fooled.

“Try black,” said the goat.
It did. No use.
“Try brown.”
No luck.
“Try grey.”
Still nothing. The elders rolled their eyes.

Eventually, the zebra had enough.
Both sides were unkind.

So it sought out the most colourful peacock it could find.
“How do I do it?” the zebra asked.

The peacock ruffled its feathers, screeched,
then whispered,
“Don’t tell anyone, but those of us who aren’t too colourful…
we find where the rainbow hits the ground.
That’s where the colours live.”

So the zebra set off.
Searched for the rainbow’s beginning.
Never found it.
Until one last time, it returned to the old goat.

“I bet you’ve never seen where the rainbow begins.”

“Of course I have,” the goat lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, many times.”

“Then tell me how you get there.”

“Errrm…” The goat stalled.
“Just before the rain,
stand where the sun and drops meet.”

And for some strange reason,
the zebra’s wish to be colourful was stronger than anything else.
And so its stripes turned colourful,
where the rainbow touched the ground.

At first the elder zebras were furious.
But soon they softened.
For the sake of one zebra,
they led the whole herd to the rainbow’s end,
one by one.

What other animals don’t know,
zebras never let one of their own stand alone.
They went, one by one,
until the herd was bright like a rainbow.

When the old mountain goat saw them,
it sulked on the mountain top,
stamping hooves, muttering nonsense,
grey as the dust it always loved,
and very, very cross that colour had won.

I sometimes write short stories because they let me speak sideways, without needing to explain everything. We all know how it feels when advice piles up, often stubborn, often unhelpful. Most of the time, people mean well. Still, the turning point comes when we follow the pull of our own colours. And zebras, after all, rarely leave one of their own behind.

In the wild this means:

• Community: zebras are herd animals, staying close for safety.
• Protection: when threatened, they form a circle around the young or injured.
• Care: mares often remain near foals, and stallions sometimes defend weaker members.
• Survival: when danger overwhelms, the herd may move on without those who cannot keep up.

And maybe we humans are not so different. We gather, we protect, we care when it matters. And when survival takes over, zebras and humans are not so different. At least now we know not to ask a stubborn old mountain goat for advice.