Our neighbors down the road had a black chow dog named “Bear”. It looked just like a bear. One day, bear got into our chickens and killed one. I knew the routine well. All dogs who kill chickens earn a death sentence.
I waited until our neighbors’ car went by, signifying their absence from their home. I took my trusty shotgun/rife over and under, loaded it with a 22 shell and a 410 bird shot, and walked down the dead end gravel road to the neighbors.
They were gone, but Bear was home. He was tied by a rope to a post next to the separate concrete block garage. Bear was under a fiberglass corrugated roof overhang and was standing on concrete.
He looked at me suspiciously, a low growl in his throat. I raised the gun barrel and took aim at Bear’s head. I pulled the trigger. BAM! Bear was on the ground instantly, blood draining from his head.
I cut the rope, not caring how it looked, and dragged the Bear’s bloody body off into the nearby woods. I took some water and cleaned off the blood from the concrete and headed home now that the mission was accomplished.
The neighbor’s never asked me who killed Bear and I never bothered to tell them.
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