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Mad dogs and sharpshooters

I had to do something that every moral fiber in me screamed not to do. It all started when Cal called me at work today, something that is not a regular occurrence. She started raving about, a “mad dog up the road apiece”. I became immediately alarmed. I left my office, collected Heck Tate, and drove to the house. I looked up the street and saw the dog, half lumbering along, coming closer every second. I told Cal to keep the kids inside, and Heck surveyed the situation. What he did next shocked me; he handed me the rifle! I asked him what he was doing, and he told me he couldn’t make the shot. I admit, i was quite the shot a while ago, but no more. Then Jem said, “Aw, Atticus can’t shoot!” I then took the rifle, aimed, and shot the dog clear in the head from 50 feet away. I was off by a little though. Jem was very impressed. I still hate that heck didn’t do it; the dog wouldn’t have hurt anybody. I told the kids not to touch him and left for work again. All that afternoon, I just couldn’t really focus. Poor Tim Johnson, getting so sick that a bullet’s the only cure.