SNEAK PREVIEW: THE BISHOP’S DOG

        As a youngster I had plugged a few hairy mutts with my Daisy Red Rider. They had been out roaming the neighborhood, up to no good, squatting and lifting their hind legs, then laughing as they worked their way down the street looking for the next nicely kept yard. So, I felt no guilt using my BB gun to encourage them on their way. After being stung they would turn, look back smugly with a dog-lipped smirk as if to say, “Ha. That didn’t hurt a bit!”     
       

        Years later I was a little surprised at how the “Bishop’s Dog” events unfolded. Our small rental home sat adjacent to our bishop’s nice but modest home. No fences, no problem, so I thought. At the time our city had not invested in deluxe plastic garbage containers. So we fared the best we could with the old aluminum trash cans, much to the delight of the local canine population. Our two young kids, Chaunine and Mike still in diapers, were pooping up a storm. By garbage day the aluminum cans out back were filled to the brim with disposables and their ghastly contents.

Classic old metal garbage can.

        One morning while getting ready for work, I spotted white objects scattered over our back yard. On closer investigation I found one of our aluminum trash cans turned over and gross garbage spread across the entire back lawn. The beast that had done this had really enjoyed himself. Each stinking diaper had been ripped open leaving its soggy remains everywhere. What a mess! Picking up the foul crap made my insides boil. I swore this would not happen again! But it did.

        We tightened the lids and even weigh them down with cement blocks. Weeks went by with no problem, but then – surprise, surprise. The phantom mutt had taken up the challenge. The disgusting mess was back, worse than ever. This needed to come to an abrupt halt. A good sting in the butt might just discourage the perpetrator. I went shopping for a BB gun. A handsome Daisy pistol caught my eye. A plan was taking shape. I removed the screen from the bathroom window above the tub. From that vantage point I could survey the entire back yard. Locked and loaded, I placed the BB pistol behind the curtain on the window sill. I was ready for action. Of course nothing happened. The creature must have been on to me.

        Weeks went by and then, early one morning while shaving, I heard the garbage can fall over. The beast was back. As quietly as possible I crept to the tub, straddled it, and picked up the pistol. In the dim light of early morning, there it was, caught in the act of ripping. Suddenly it stopped, lifted its head and began sniffing the air. Finding my scent it turned towards me and for the briefest moment our eyes met. Then it was off, sprinting across the yard, making its getaway. “Not this time,” I thought. With BB pistol in hand, sights lined up, the barrel followed the bounding intruder. Ping! The shot was off. 

        “YEOWWW!” The dog released a painful howl and leaped high, pawing at the air. Then in a flash it was gone, scrambling around the corner. Mission accomplished! Maybe our yard would no longer be on its hit list.

        That evening I was relaxing comfortably in my easy chair when my wife returned from Relief Society in tears. “Someone shot the Bishop’s dog! They think it might be paralyzed,” she cried with concern. “Who would do a thing like that!” Needless to say I lovingly consoled her and then ditched the incriminating evidence. 

        Time passed and the Bishop’s dog miraculously recovered from what turned out to be a minor flesh wound. And to our joy our garbage can was never molested again. But from that point on each time I met with the Bishop he would pause during our conversation and look deep into my eyes with his penetrating gaze. I had to wonder, “Does he know? Does he really know who shot his dog? Is he expecting me to ‘fess up?” Not a chance! After all, it was HIS dog that had terrorized the neighborhood.

Victory!