At dawn, a miller’s donkey stood beside an empty sack cart. For many long years, he had carried grain from the field to the mill, and flour from the mill to the town. But now, the miller looked at his bent back and slow step, saying, “You are not of much use to me any longer.” The donkey lowered his head, but only for a moment. Turning away from the yard, he flicked the dust from his coat with his tail and said to himself, “I still have a strong voice. I will go to Bremen and become a town musician.”
The road ran between hedges white with spring blossom. Just before noon, the donkey spotted a hunting dog lying by a ditch, breathing hard after a long run. His ears drooped low, and he made no effort to rise. “Why do you lie there so heavily?” asked the donkey. “I am old,” the dog answered, “and my legs do not fly as they once did. My master says I am no longer fit for the hunt.” “Then come with me,” said the donkey. “I am going to Bremen to be a town musician. You can make a fine deep note, and I will bray right above it.” The dog got up, shook the burrs from his fur, and walked beside him down the road.
By afternoon, they passed a farmhouse wall warmed by the sun. There sat a cat with her whiskers hanging low, her eyes narrowed into two …
6 chapters
