A JUG OF WATER It was certainly not Caesar's fault.

Caesar was as well-meaning a Dalmatian as ever scampered in the wake of a cantering horse.

And if Mike in his headlong Irish fashion chose to regard the scamper as a gross personal insult, that was surely not a matter for which he could reasonably be held responsible.

And yet it was upon the luckless Caesar that the wrath of the gods descended as a consequence of Mike's wrong-headed deductions.
It began with a rush and a snarl from the Vicarage gate and it had developed into a set and deadly battle almost before either of the combatants had fully realized the other.
The rider drew rein, yelling furiously; but his yells were about as effectual as the wail of an infant.

Neither animal was so much as aware of his existence in those moments of delirious warfare.