No cause for panic. Part 1

“Freddie”, said Mom with that ring of alarm in her voice, “you still need milk if you want to get such firm and handsome horns as our family has always boasted of”.
I looked long at her trying to impose and bring home my meaning.
At last I said - deliberately slowly:
“I’m too old for milk, mother. Drop that talking if you don’t want to make a laughing-stock out of me - in the eyes of my comrades. If you need a milk-liker you have Belinda”.
Belinda is my sister. Being my sister, she is a rather smart little she-goat, but still she is sheepish enough (no pun intended) and keen on milk and other such sentimentalities.
“But, Freddie...”
“No buts, mother. We, brave goats, suffer no buts. Once bleated, once done - that is our saying. Or our bleating if we want to go into subtleties”.
Mom shook her head.
“A kid that’s too wise makes follies of big size”.
“Is it a poem?” I asked. “Judging by the rhyme it is. But in all other respects it’s nonsense. You have not done much in the poetry field, so you try to make me into a poet”.
Mom tossed up her head and her eyes flashed.
“Your grandfather, Freddie! The author of the immortal “Oratorio for thirty two bleatings and one well-tempered meee-ing”! Our family has its traditions...”
“And it’s a good time to break with them. I don’t want to be a poet or composer or any other kind of the art goat. I want to be a traveller!”
“A traveller? Where do you want to travel to?”
“Have you heard about Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and other those guys that have reached the moon?”
“Freddy, it’s only fairy tales, spun by the humans to emphasize their alleged superiority over us...”
“Fairy tales or not, I mean to beat Armstrong, Aldrin and others. I mean to reach THIS!”
I pointed with my not yet so bushy beard at an immensely distant haystack.