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In an unexpected maneuver that left Stag empty-handed, Mesa darted underwater. Stag paused, his ears flopping. Where did he go? Where was? He scanned the water expectantly, anxiously -- but the water was churned and dark, and he was unable to see his brother make his exit until the splatter of water at the banks announced his victory.

Stag turned with a bullish slowness, apprising his sly brother with a scowl. Mesa now had the higher ground - both literally and metaphorically. Stag lurched forward at a slow stumble, his head low and stride sluggish as he hauled through water and towards his brother. With a heave he attempted to clamber across the banks, right into Mesa's waiting jaws-- but Stag had his jaws parted and ready for any rebuke that came his way.

They fought a while longer before both tired; many times Mesa had overthrown Stag, and many times, Stag had scrabbled hard to reclaim the throne. Trotting jauntily back to their den, Stag took a long nap -- content and full of puppy bliss.