The pig once received some dog-skin writing, a letter of freedom. He guarded it like the light of his eye, carried it with him day and night; but once he had to go on a long journey, he couldn't take the letter of freedom with him.
She thought about what to do with it, and at last decided to give it to her best friend, the dog, and he would keep it while she was there. The dog kept it faithfully for a long time, but then he had to go away. What was there to do with the writing? He had no other friend than the cat, so he gave it to her to keep. The cat kept him for a while, but he got tired of it, and wanted to go next door for a chat.
He wondered where to put the writing. There was no one else he could trust; he picked himself up, took it up to the attic, hid it by the ridge beam, and, like a man with his affairs in order, went next door.
He went home in the evening, looking for the paper, but the mice had chewed it up. When the dog went home, he couldn't report back, nor the dog to the pig.
From that time on, the pig could never look kindly on the dog, nor the dog on the cat, nor the cat on the mouse.
