And such treatment called for instant penalty.
Under her fifty-pound impact, poor Lad's three-cornered balance gave way.

Down he went in an awkward heap; while Lady snarled viciously and snapped for his momentarily exposed throat.

Lad turned his head aside to guard the throat; but he made no move to resent this ungrateful onslaught; much less to fight back.

Which was old Lad's way,--with Lady.
Dislocated shoulder or not, he would have flown at any male dog that assailed him; and would have made the aggressor fight for dear life.
But his mate was sacred.

And he merely protected his throat and let her nip agonizingly at his ears and paws; until her brief flurry of wrath should be past.
A shout from the veranda,--whither the racket had drawn the Master from his study,--put a sudden stop to Lady's brainstorm.