Two Dogs, One Bone

Rocky was a large, self-assured Staffordshire mix who considered the back garden his personal territory, his project, and his life's work. He had been digging systematically along the fence line since mid-morning, following some ancient instinct or private geological theory. His owner had given up trying to fill in the holes. There was a small mound of displaced earth near the rose bed that had been there since October.

On the other side of the wooden fence lived Diesel, a similarly substantial German Shepherd cross, who had independently arrived at the same activity on the same morning for reasons known only to him. Diesel's owner had also long since made peace with the state of his lawn.

At approximately two in the afternoon, Rocky's paw hit something hard and smooth in the soil roughly thirty centimetres from the fence. He froze. He sniffed. It was a bone — a large, old, magnificent specimen that had clearly been buried some time ago and entirely forgotten. He gripped one end between his teeth and began to pull.

At exactly the same moment, two things happened: Rocky pulled from his side of the fence, and Diesel, digging along his own fence line, closed his teeth around the other end from his side. The fence had a gap near the bottom — enough for a bone to pass through, it turned out, but not enough for either dog.

Both dogs froze and stared at each other through the gap in the fence planks. Rocky had one end. Diesel had the other. Neither had anticipated this development.

The standoff lasted nearly a minute. Then Rocky pulled. Diesel pulled back. The bone did not move. They groaned with effort simultaneously, which is a sound that once heard cannot easily be forgotten.

Mr. Webb, who was retired and spent considerable time in his garden, witnessed the whole thing from his porch chair. He had been reading a novel, but the novel was now face-down on the armrest. He was laughing steadily and making no attempt to stop.

The pulling continued for the better part of twenty minutes, with brief pauses during which both dogs apparently regrouped. Rocky tried yanking sideways. Diesel tried twisting. The bone held.

Eventually, with a crack that echoed across both gardens, it snapped cleanly in two. Rocky stumbled backwards with his half, recovered immediately, and trotted across his garden with great purpose, tail high. On the other side of the fence, Diesel did exactly the same thing.

Mr. Webb told the story at every barbecue that summer and the summer after. He had taken a photograph on his phone — slightly blurred but recognisably both dogs, faces level with the fence gap, each gripping an end. It was his phone's lock screen for three years.

Rocky buried his half near the garden shed. Diesel buried his half under the apple tree. Neither dug them up again. Some victories are complete simply in the winning.