It was ended by the judgment of George.

For a while he had been seeking to catch, not the dog but the remaining pig, the one still capable of activity.

Cornering it at last, he persuaded it to cease running round and round the room, and instead to take a spin outside.

It shot through the door with one long wail.
We always desire the thing we have not.

One pig, a chicken, nine people, and a cat, were as nothing in that dog's opinion compared with the quarry that was disappearing.