The Bremen Town Musicians

The Four Who Sang Together

Old Grumble the donkey stood at the edge of the road and listened. Behind him, the farm was quiet. His owner had said the words that morning — the ones Grumble had been dreading. "Too old. Too slow."

Grumble's ears drooped. But his legs still worked. And there was a town down the road — Bremen, they called it — where they had music. And Grumble, old as he was, had a VERY good voice for humming.

So he walked.

He hadn't gone far when he heard a whimper. A brown dog sat by a gate, chin on her paws, eyes sad.

"What's wrong?" Grumble asked.

"I'm old," said the dog, whose name was Bess. "I can't chase rabbits anymore. My family said I'm... not useful."

Grumble sat beside her. "Can you howl?"

Bess lifted her head. "Aroooooo," she sang — low and long and actually quite lovely.

"Come to Bremen," Grumble said. "We'll be musicians."

Bess stood up. Her tail wagged — just a little, but it wagged.

They found the cat next. An orange tabby named Marmalade, sitting on a wall, looking extremely offended.

"My family got a KITTEN," Marmalade said, as if this were the worst crime imaginable. "A KITTEN. With TINY paws. And apparently MY paws are 'too slow to catch mice.'"

"Can you sing?" Grumble asked.

Marmalade lifted her chin. "Mrrrrrowwww," she sang — sharp and clear and surprisingly powerful.

"Bremen?"

"Obviously."

The rooster found THEM. He landed on Grumble's back with a flutter and a loud "COCK-A-DOODLE—"

"Shh!" said Marmalade. "It's the afternoon."

The rooster — whose name was Red — ruffled his feathers. "My family says I wake them too early. TOO EARLY! The sun rises when it rises! That's not MY fault!"

"Bremen," said Grumble.

"Fine," said Red. "But I'm NOT singing quietly."

They walked until sunset. Bremen was still far away. But through the trees, they saw a warm light — a cottage with a glowing window and smoke from the chimney.

Grumble peered through the window. Inside: a table set with food. Bread. Cheese. A pot of soup. And it was WARM.

"I'm hungry," said Bess.

"I'm cold," said Marmalade.

"I'm MAGNIFICENT," said Red. "But also hungry."

Grumble had an idea.

"Climb on," he said.

Bess climbed on Grumble's back. Marmalade climbed on Bess. Red fluttered to the top. Four animals, stacked tall, swaying slightly, standing right outside the window.

"On three," Grumble said. "One. Two."

"THREE!"

Grumble hummed — HMMMMM. Bess howled — AROOOO. Marmalade yowled — MRRROWWW. Red crowed — COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOO!

The noise was TREMENDOUS. The people inside the cottage screamed, dropped their spoons, and ran out the back door into the woods without looking back.

The four musicians tumbled through the window and landed in a heap on the kitchen floor.

Bess ate the bread. Marmalade ate the cheese. Grumble ate a carrot he found in the soup pot. Red ate everything else.

"Should we keep going to Bremen?" Bess asked, licking crumbs from her paws.

Grumble looked around the warm cottage. The fire crackled. The chairs were soft. The roof didn't leak.

"I think," said Grumble, "we just found something better than Bremen."

Marmalade curled up by the fire. Bess took the rug by the door — old guard-dog habits. Red perched on the back of the tallest chair. And Grumble lay down near the hearth, his long ears drooping, his old bones warm for the first time in a long time.

"Goodnight, musicians," Bess murmured.

"Goodnight, Bess," said Marmalade.

"Goodnight, everyone," said Grumble.

"GOOD—" Red began, but Marmalade flicked her tail at him, and he settled for a quiet little "...night."

The fire crackled softly... the wind whispered outside... and four old animals who had been told they were not useful anymore slept soundly in a warm little house... together... which, when you think about it... is the only kind of music that really matters.

And outside, the road to Bremen stretched on under the moon... but nobody in the cottage needed it anymore.