“Quack, quack,” said Mrs. Duck, “these warm days do make me feel like swimming.”
“They don’t make me feel like swimming, grunt, grunt,” said Grandfather Porky Pig. “They make me feel like lying down in the mud and resting and dreaming sweet pig dreams.”
“What in the world are sweet pig dreams?” asked Mrs. Duck. “Yes, quack, quack, what in the world are they? I’ve never heard of sweet pig dreams though I have heard of sweet dreams.”
“Sweet pig dreams and sweet dreams are the same,” said Grandfather Porky Pig, “except that sweet pig dreams are the sweet dreams which a pig has. Do you see? I dream of being given too much to eat for I’m never given enough to satisfy my pig heart, and so I always pick up some more myself.”
“I wouldn’t speak of my pig heart, if I were you, quack, quack,” said Mrs. Duck. “I’d speak of my pig tummy.”
“Oh, very well,” said Grandfather Porky, “I do not object. But I must be off for my rest as I want to feel fit for my next meal.”
“Don’t you always feel fit for your meals?” asked Mrs. Duck.
“Always,” said Grandfather Porky, “but I like to talk that way. It amuses me,” he ended with a laughing squeal and a twist to his tail.