“The pitiless Ox bellowed with rage. The Dog, taking me aside, said in a soothing tone, ‘It makes little odds in the end how one dies; and between us two, I don’t half like this Cock. Believe me, I heartily wish you success. Were I a sporting Dog, you might doubt my sincerity, but I have settled down to a country life, that would be quiet were it not for the early crowing of your foe, who permits no one in the village to sleep after daybreak.’
“ ‘I shall never be able to get through it,’ I replied, half dead.
“ ‘You have the choice of weapons. Choose pistols, and I will load them.’
“ ‘In the name of all that is canine and good,’ I said, ‘try and arrange this affair.’
“ ‘Come, make haste,’ cried the Cock. ‘Enter this copse! One of us will never leave it!’ he added.
“At these words I felt a cold chill run through me. As a last resource, I reminded the Ox and Dog of the law against duelling.
“ ‘Those laws are made by cowards,’ they replied.
“I endeavoured to work upon the tenderest feelings of my adversary’s nature by inquiring what would become of his poor hens should he fall. All was in vain. Twenty-five paces were marked off; the pistols were loaded, and we took our places.
“ ‘Are you used to this arm?’ said the Dog.