We fired.

The village and the mountains echoed; fowls clucked, dogs barked; we even fancied that we heard the cries of men.

We expected the whole commune to rise up against us; but after a short time of waiting all was still again.
Rashid, out in the shadows, whispered: 'He is nice and fat,' as if he thought that we were going to eat the dog.
'And is he dead ?' I asked.
'Completely dead,' was the reply.
'Then get a cord and hang him to the balcony,' said my companion.

'His odour will perhaps attract the foxes.' Another minute and the corpse was hanging from the balcony, while we lay out and waited, talking in low tones.
The bark of foxes came from vineyards near at hand, where there were unripe grapes.

'Our vines have tender grapes,' our host repeated; making me think of the fable of the fox and the grapes, which I related to Rashid in Arabic as best I could.