“I will bring him to life again,” said Ulenspiegel; “but I must have hot water, syrup to glue the seams together, a needle and thread and sauce from the carbonadoes; and I would be alone during the operation.”
The old woman gave him what he asked for; he took up the skin of the dead dog and went off to the stable.
There he smeared the old dog’s muzzle with sauce, and the brute submitted to it with delight; he drew a great stripe of syrup under his belly, put syrup on his paws and sauce on his tail.
Then crying out loudly three times, he said: “Staet op! staet op! ik bevel ’t, vuilen hond!”
And then lightly putting the dead dog’s skin in his satchel he fetched the living dog a great kick and so pitched him into the inn chamber.
The old woman, seeing her dog alive and licking himself, was eager to embrace him; but Ulenspiegel did not permit this.
“You may not,” said he, “caress this dog until he has washed off with his tongue all the syrup with which he is anointed; only then will the seams in the skin be closed up. Count out to me now my ten florins.”
“I said one,” answered the old woman.
“One for the operation, nine for the resurrection,” replied Ulenspiegel.
She counted them out to him. Ulenspiegel went off, flinging into the inn chamber the skin of the dead dog and saying: