It all began on a quiet afternoon in the small rural village nestled between two green hills. The sun was high, casting golden rays over the fields, and birds chirped in the trees. Everything seemed peaceful—until a loud, desperate bleating echoed across the valley.
Ten-year-old Dara was walking home from school, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. He stopped in his tracks, head tilting slightly, his ears sharpening toward the sound. It wasn’t a usual bleat. It was frantic, full of fear. Dara’s heart quickened.
“That doesn’t sound right,” he mumbled, dropping his bag under a tree and sprinting toward the noise.
As he reached the edge of a dry riverbed, overgrown with tangled shrubs and slippery rocks, Dara spotted a small shape wedged awkwardly between two large boulders. It was a baby goat—no bigger than a house cat—its tiny legs flailing as it cried out.
“Oh no,” Dara gasped, carefully climbing down.
The goat must have fallen while trying to leap across the rocks. Its back leg was stuck between the stones, and the more it struggled, the worse it seemed to get.
“Don’t worry, little one,” Dara whispered, kneeling beside it. “I’ll get you out.”
But it wasn’t so easy. The rocks were heavy and rough, and the goat, although scared, kept moving every time Dara reached for it. He paused, gently stroking its head to calm it down. The baby goat’s bleats softened slightly, as if it understood that help had finally arrived.
Dara studied the rocks. If he could find a stick or a long branch, maybe he could pry them apart just enough to pull the leg free.
He ran back up the hill, scanning the ground. Within minutes, he found a sturdy stick—just the right length—and hurried back. Carefully, he wedged the stick between the rocks and pushed. At first, nothing happened. He pushed harder, sweat running down his forehead, his arms shaking with effort.
Then—crack! One of the rocks shifted slightly.
The baby goat gave a startled bleat as its leg came loose. Dara quickly scooped it into his arms before it could run off in panic. He checked the leg—thankfully, it wasn’t broken, just a bit bruised.
“You’re okay now,” Dara smiled, his voice filled with relief. “You’re free!”
The goat looked up at him with wide brown eyes and let out a soft bleat, as if to say thank you.
Just then, Dara heard someone calling his name.
“Dara! Dara, where are you?”
It was his older sister, Sreyleak. She came running, her eyes full of worry—until she saw Dara standing there with the rescued baby goat in his arms.
“Where did you find it?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
“It was trapped between those rocks. I think it got separated from the herd.”
Sreyleak gently took the goat, examining it. “We need to find its mother. She’s probably nearby, worried sick.”
Together, the two siblings made their way back toward the village, taking care to avoid thorns and slippery paths. Along the way, they passed a few farmers and explained what had happened. Everyone agreed that the goat probably belonged to Uncle Chenda, whose goats often grazed in that area.
Sure enough, when they reached Uncle Chenda’s farm, a large female goat ran toward them, bleating loudly. The baby goat squirmed in Sreyleak’s arms and leapt down to reunite with its mother. The two goats nuzzled each other, tails wagging.
Uncle Chenda appeared moments later, astonished. “I thought I lost that one for good! Thank you, Dara. You’re a real hero.”
Dara blushed. “I just heard it crying and couldn’t ignore it.”
Uncle Chenda patted his shoulder. “Most kids your age would’ve kept walking. You listened. That’s what makes you special.”
As a thank-you, Uncle Chenda offered Dara a fresh mango and a bottle of cool tamarind juice. Dara and Sreyleak sat under a shady tree, enjoying the treat while watching the reunited goat family.
The story of Dara’s rescue spread quickly through the village. At school the next day, his teacher praised his bravery in front of the whole class.
Even more surprising, a few days later, Dara was asked to speak during the village’s community gathering. He stood nervously in front of the villagers, holding a small drawing he had made of the goat stuck between rocks and a stick beside it.
“I didn’t rescue the goat to be a hero,” he said honestly. “I just did what I hoped someone would do for me if I were trapped. We don’t always need superpowers to save someone—sometimes, we just need to care enough to help.”
The crowd clapped, and several parents nodded, clearly moved by his words.
From that day on, Dara became a little local legend. People started calling him “Goat Boy,” a nickname he accepted with a shy smile. But what mattered most to him was that the baby goat was safe—and that he had learned the power of listening, acting, and having a kind heart.
The Ending
A week later, Dara returned to the same rocky riverbed. This time, he wasn’t alone. A group of neighborhood kids followed him, all curious about the rescue.
“Show us where you found it!” one of them shouted.
Dara pointed to the rocks. “Right there. But be careful—it’s easy to slip.”
The children gathered around, some pretending to rescue invisible animals, others listening to Dara explain what he did. One little girl, holding her pet puppy, asked, “What if we find another animal in trouble?”
“We help,” Dara said simply. “Just like I did.”
That evening, the village elder visited Dara’s house with a handmade medal crafted from bamboo and ribbon.
“For your courage and your heart,” she said with a smile.
Dara accepted it, but not for the glory. Deep inside, he knew he had done something that mattered.
And somewhere nearby, under the watchful eye of her mother, the baby goat bleated softly as the sun set behind the hills—safe, happy, and forever grateful to the boy who had saved her life.
