One morning the skirmishing that had been going on for several weeks between Waddles and Lumberlegs broke into open warfare, and it was the misguided interference of a would-be peacemaker that quickened the crisis.
This was Mrs. Happy Waddles who, from poking her pretty little nose where it did not belong, and relying too much upon the indulgence accorded her sex, not only very nearly made herself a widow, but caused a household commotion as well.
As we have noticed before, Lumberlegs was very poorly instructed in dog law, in spite of having grown up side by side with Waddles, who was letter perfect in it. Not only did Lumberlegs ignore the “rights of age” and “buried bones law,” but he began breaking the “fresh food law” as well.
House People should make it as easy as possible for their fourfoots to keep this law by giving each one its rations separately, for it is only in early puppy days that dogs may be trusted to feed from the same dish, and even then the timid and weak fare poorly.
Waddles had the appetite of a dog who had been reared alone, and could therefore pick and choose. He ate deliberately and never ravenously, sniffing cautiously at each morsel; for once, when he was ill, Anne had made the mistake of giving him pills concealed in his food. Of course he discovered them, spat them out with much sputtering, and never forgot the occurrence.
On the other hand, Lumberlegs and Happy were both gluttons; the first because he was so big that it seemed impossible to give him enough, while the little beagle was perhaps prompted to overeat by a haunting memory of the single daily meal of her kennel life.
In this particular case the bone of contention belonged to a ham, a dainty especially kept for Waddles. He had taken a few gnaws from it and hidden it under the flap of the cellar door, his favourite cache, while he went for his daily walk to the village with Anne; for whatever his faults he had always preferred her companionship to food, never swerving even for liver and bacon.
Along sauntered Lumberlegs, searching for something to add relish to his ample breakfast of dog bread. He tried to investigate the swill pail, but it not only had a tight zinc cover, after the fashion of all well-bred scrap pails, but for double protection there was a stone on top which he playfully knocked off with one sweep of his paw.
