Like a good sheepdog who eats cheese and from the chestnut tree, and looking at the living meat under the dirty wool, he eats acorns at ground level, rivaling with blows the round and wet snouts of my good compadres when they pass through the salt and cold air, and from looking so much, his face looks like a mountain range, the grunt of slaughter, the bucket or the big jar of blood, we are going to have time to eat with great bread from an old round brick red oven. While the three dogs and a puppy lick their tongues as a lewd snack that is from time to time to eat the tongue or eat oneself.