Priscilla polished her fork and held it at the ready as dishes were dished out.

'It smells superb, as usual, Miss Blueberry,' she said to the civet that laid out the spaghetti.

But alas, to the distress of our damsel, there was not a noodle left after the Poodles'.

'Looks like I'm a single dish short! You'll just have to share with one of these two lucky fellows,' said Miss Berry with a slick wink.

'She can have mine if she likes. I was just pretend-eating to be polite,' Lumpy suggested. The pleasures of luncheon were as lost as a sock on a sack like him.

Shhhh!

He was hushed by several others.

'Take mine, iz fine. I would starve before I see you go 'ungry,' said Poodle, pushing his pasta to Priscilla.

'I certainly hope you're not starving! How long has it been since you last ate?' she snapped and passed it back.

'I did not mean—'

Sugarcube, the snake, slid in with his plate. 'You should take some of mine. I had breakfast at half-past-nine!'

With a fast twirl of his fork, he held a tangle of pasta out toward her.

'I can feed myself. You don't need to do that,' Priscilla laughed and deflected the fork with cutlery of her own.

The hirsute hunk handled the situation by starting a flirtatious fork-fight with the femme.

'Well played, you! I'm glad to see that someone has a clue,' said Miss Blueberry.

Then Poodlepuff put his prongs in Sugarcube's plans, stealing the spaghetti from right under his nose.

The burly biscuit baker crossed prongs with the pastry maker and recaptured some pasta.

Poodlepuff fought fiercely to feed the fair lady, but with a flip of his fork, the food was flung onto his foe's forehead.

Sugarcube returned fire with a sloshing of sauce, and soon bolognese was flying from both sides of the main course.

Then too did more joyful villagers join the fray.

Custard took the front line and demonstrated what an old lady could do with a greasy glob of goodness-knows-what.

Poor lumpy was not so skilled in the battle of servings, but as a shield he found good purpose. Poodlepuff took hold of his head and blocked balls of baloney from hitting the beauty with his baggy buddy's body.

But what could they do when the sauce hit a Frou?

'POODLEPUFF! WAS THAT YOU?' howled Frou-Frou.

The guests stopped flicking food and silently sat in their seats.

'I had fun at least,' said Priscilla.

Enough spaghetti had fallen off Lumpy's face for her to finally feast.

'Well, it was no fun for me!' Frou-Frou flung his arms up and flounced, as furious as can be.

The Frous looked from one to another for who would be the Frou to calm their glum brother.

First said Frou-Ba-Lou, 'not I.'

Frou-Sha-Bou followed, 'nor I.'

'You know I'd just cry,' was Frou-Nou's reply.

Then to Frou-Ca-Chou they turned their eyes.

And that was that.