He snarled something like a dog, and I remember that his eye-teeth were large, like fangs, and that they impressed me tremendously.
His conduct served only the more to infuriate the pigs.

He broke off twigs and small branches and flung them down upon our enemies.

He even hung by one hand, tantalizingly just beyond reach, and mocked them as they gnashed their tusks with impotent rage.

Not content with this, he broke off a stout branch, and, holding on with one hand and foot, jabbed the infuriated beasts in the sides and whacked them across their noses.
Needless to state, my mother and I enjoyed the sport.
But one tires of all good things, and in the end, my father, chuckling maliciously the while, led the way across the trees.

Now it was that my ambitions ebbed away, and I became timid, holding tightly to my mother as she climbed and swung through space.