Once there was a goat named Gregory.
Gregory liked to jump from rock to rock, kick his legs into the air, and butt his head against walls.
“I’m an average goat,” detto Gregory.
But Gregory was not an average goat.
Gregory was a terrible eater.
Every time he sat down to eat with his mother and father, he knew he was in for trouble.
“Would te like a tin can, Gregory?” asked Mother Goat.
“No, thanks,” detto Gregory.
“How about a nice box, a piece of rug, and a bottle cap?” asked Father Goat.
“Baaaaa,” detto Gregory unhappily.
“Well, I think this is a meal fit for a goat,” detto Mother Goat, as she chewed on an old shoe.
“It certainly is,” detto Father Goat, as he ate a shirt, buttons and all. “I don’t know why you’re such a fussy eater, Gregory.”
“I’m not fussy,” detto Gregory. “I just want fruits, vegetables, eggs, bread, and butter. Good stuff like that.”
Mother Goat stopped eating the shoe. “Now what kind of Cibo is that, Gregory?” she said.
“It’s what I like,” detto Gregory.
“It’s revolting,” detto Farmer Goat. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.
After Gregory was excused from the table, Father Goat said, “Gregory is such a terrible eater.”
“I wonder what’s wrong with him,” detto Mother Goat.
Mother and Father Goat ate their evening newspaper in silence.
The successivo morning Mother and Father Goat were enjoying a pair of pants and a cappotto for breakfast.
Gregory came to the table.
“Good morning, Gregory,” detto Father and Mother Goat.
“Good morning,” detto Gregory. “May I have some arancia, arancio juice, cereal, and bananas for breakfast, please.”
“Oh, no!” Mother Goat said. “Do have some of this nice coat.”
“Take a bite out of these pant,” detto Father Goat.
“Baaaaaa,” detto Gregory. And he left the table.
Father Goat threw down his napkin. “That does it!” he said. “Gregory just isn’t eating right. We must take him to the doctor.”
Father and Mother Goat took Gregory to the doctor.
Dr. Ram was munching on a few pieces of cardboard.
“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
“Gregory is a terrible eater,” detto Mother Goat. “We’ve offered him the best—shoes, boxes, magazines, tin cans, coats, pants. But all he wants are fruits, vegetables, eggs, fish, arancia, arancio juice, and other horrible things.”
“What do te have to say about all of this, Gregory” asked Dr. Ram.
“I want what I like,” detto Gregory.
“Makes sense,” detto Dr. Ram. He turned to Mother and Father Goat. “I’ve treated picky eaters before,” he said. “They have to develop a taste for good Cibo slowly. Try giving Gregory one new Cibo each giorno until he eats everything.”
That night for cena Mother Goat gave Gregory spaghetti and a shoelace in pomodoro sauce.
“Not too bad,” detto Gregory.
The successivo giorno she gave him string beans and a rubber heel cut into small pieces.
“The meal was good and rubbery,” detto Gregory.
The giorno after that, Mother Goat said, “We have your preferito today. Vegetable soup. But there is one condition. te also have to eat the can.”
“Okay,” detto Gregory. “What’s for dessert?”
“Ice cream,” detto Father Goat. “But te have to eat the box, too.”
“Yummy,” detto Gregory.
“I’m proud of you,” detto Father Goat. “You’re beginning to eat like a goat.”
“I’m learning to like everything,” detto Gregory.
One evening Father Goat asked, “Has anyone seen my striped necktie?”
“Not since breakfast,” detto Mother Goat. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my sewing basket today. I left it in the living room after cena last night.”
Father Goat turned to Gregory. “Gregory, have te been eating between meals?”
“Yes,” detto Gregory. “I can’t help it. Now I like everything.”
“Well,” detto Mother Goat, “it’s all right to eat like a goat, but te shouldn’t eat like a pig.”
“Oh,” detto Gregory.
After Gregory went to bed, Mother Goat said, “I’m afraid Gregory will eat my clothes hamper.”
“Yes, and then my tool kit will be next,” detto Father Goat. “He’s eating too much. We’ll have to do something about it.”
The successivo evening, just before supper, Mother and Father Goat went to the town dump.
They brought home eight flat tires, a three-foot piece of barber pole, a broken violin, and half a car. They piled everything in front of Gregory’s sandbox.
When Gregory came home for cena he said, “What’s all that stuff in the yard?”
“Your supper,” detto Father Goat.
“It all looks good,” detto Gregory.
Gregory ate the tires and the violin. Then he slowly ate the barber pole. But when he started in on the car, he said, “I’ve got a stomachache. I have to lie down.”
Gregory went to his room.
“I think Gregory ate too much junk,” detto Father Goat.
“Let’s hope so,” detto Mother Goat.
All night Gregory tossed and twisted and moaned and groaned.
The successivo morning he went down for breakfast.
“What would te like for breakfast today, Gregory?” asked Father Goat.
“Scrambled eggs and two pieces of waxed paper and a glass of arancia, arancio juice,” detto Gregory.
“That sounds just about right,” detto Mother Goat.
And it was.
Gregory liked to jump from rock to rock, kick his legs into the air, and butt his head against walls.
“I’m an average goat,” detto Gregory.
But Gregory was not an average goat.
Gregory was a terrible eater.
Every time he sat down to eat with his mother and father, he knew he was in for trouble.
“Would te like a tin can, Gregory?” asked Mother Goat.
“No, thanks,” detto Gregory.
“How about a nice box, a piece of rug, and a bottle cap?” asked Father Goat.
“Baaaaa,” detto Gregory unhappily.
“Well, I think this is a meal fit for a goat,” detto Mother Goat, as she chewed on an old shoe.
“It certainly is,” detto Father Goat, as he ate a shirt, buttons and all. “I don’t know why you’re such a fussy eater, Gregory.”
“I’m not fussy,” detto Gregory. “I just want fruits, vegetables, eggs, bread, and butter. Good stuff like that.”
Mother Goat stopped eating the shoe. “Now what kind of Cibo is that, Gregory?” she said.
“It’s what I like,” detto Gregory.
“It’s revolting,” detto Farmer Goat. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.
After Gregory was excused from the table, Father Goat said, “Gregory is such a terrible eater.”
“I wonder what’s wrong with him,” detto Mother Goat.
Mother and Father Goat ate their evening newspaper in silence.
The successivo morning Mother and Father Goat were enjoying a pair of pants and a cappotto for breakfast.
Gregory came to the table.
“Good morning, Gregory,” detto Father and Mother Goat.
“Good morning,” detto Gregory. “May I have some arancia, arancio juice, cereal, and bananas for breakfast, please.”
“Oh, no!” Mother Goat said. “Do have some of this nice coat.”
“Take a bite out of these pant,” detto Father Goat.
“Baaaaaa,” detto Gregory. And he left the table.
Father Goat threw down his napkin. “That does it!” he said. “Gregory just isn’t eating right. We must take him to the doctor.”
Father and Mother Goat took Gregory to the doctor.
Dr. Ram was munching on a few pieces of cardboard.
“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
“Gregory is a terrible eater,” detto Mother Goat. “We’ve offered him the best—shoes, boxes, magazines, tin cans, coats, pants. But all he wants are fruits, vegetables, eggs, fish, arancia, arancio juice, and other horrible things.”
“What do te have to say about all of this, Gregory” asked Dr. Ram.
“I want what I like,” detto Gregory.
“Makes sense,” detto Dr. Ram. He turned to Mother and Father Goat. “I’ve treated picky eaters before,” he said. “They have to develop a taste for good Cibo slowly. Try giving Gregory one new Cibo each giorno until he eats everything.”
That night for cena Mother Goat gave Gregory spaghetti and a shoelace in pomodoro sauce.
“Not too bad,” detto Gregory.
The successivo giorno she gave him string beans and a rubber heel cut into small pieces.
“The meal was good and rubbery,” detto Gregory.
The giorno after that, Mother Goat said, “We have your preferito today. Vegetable soup. But there is one condition. te also have to eat the can.”
“Okay,” detto Gregory. “What’s for dessert?”
“Ice cream,” detto Father Goat. “But te have to eat the box, too.”
“Yummy,” detto Gregory.
“I’m proud of you,” detto Father Goat. “You’re beginning to eat like a goat.”
“I’m learning to like everything,” detto Gregory.
One evening Father Goat asked, “Has anyone seen my striped necktie?”
“Not since breakfast,” detto Mother Goat. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my sewing basket today. I left it in the living room after cena last night.”
Father Goat turned to Gregory. “Gregory, have te been eating between meals?”
“Yes,” detto Gregory. “I can’t help it. Now I like everything.”
“Well,” detto Mother Goat, “it’s all right to eat like a goat, but te shouldn’t eat like a pig.”
“Oh,” detto Gregory.
After Gregory went to bed, Mother Goat said, “I’m afraid Gregory will eat my clothes hamper.”
“Yes, and then my tool kit will be next,” detto Father Goat. “He’s eating too much. We’ll have to do something about it.”
The successivo evening, just before supper, Mother and Father Goat went to the town dump.
They brought home eight flat tires, a three-foot piece of barber pole, a broken violin, and half a car. They piled everything in front of Gregory’s sandbox.
When Gregory came home for cena he said, “What’s all that stuff in the yard?”
“Your supper,” detto Father Goat.
“It all looks good,” detto Gregory.
Gregory ate the tires and the violin. Then he slowly ate the barber pole. But when he started in on the car, he said, “I’ve got a stomachache. I have to lie down.”
Gregory went to his room.
“I think Gregory ate too much junk,” detto Father Goat.
“Let’s hope so,” detto Mother Goat.
All night Gregory tossed and twisted and moaned and groaned.
The successivo morning he went down for breakfast.
“What would te like for breakfast today, Gregory?” asked Father Goat.
“Scrambled eggs and two pieces of waxed paper and a glass of arancia, arancio juice,” detto Gregory.
“That sounds just about right,” detto Mother Goat.
And it was.