Lieutenant Terry inhaled slowly, raised the barrell of the .45 pistol to aim at a point just below the lowest branch of the oak tree fifty yards away, then stopped breathing and squeezed the trigger. There was a brief popping noise and a small body dropped from the tree. Lieutenant Terry lowered the weapon, satisfied. The Desert Storm veteran had a steady hand for killing and a sharpshooter's medal to prove it. That and the bodies of at least fifty dead squirrels who would never molest another bird feeder. At the lieutenant's side was a large yellow lab, a restless young dog with big paws. As soon as the body dropped the dog loped to the tree and scooped up the squirrel in his mouth. Trotting back, he dropped it at the lieutenant's feet and looked up expectantly. The lieutenant pulled a pig ear out of a bag lying on the ground and fed it to the dog. Bo snarfed it down and looked up again, grinning. This was fun.
"Sorry fella," said the lieutenant. "I think we scared the rest of them away. Besides, it's time to get to work."
At the prison entrance Lieutenant Terry ran into Father Priestley.
"Good morning, lieutenant!" the Anti-Chaplain bellowed, a surprisingly loud sound to come out of such a small man. "TGIF, eh? Why do we say 'thank God it's Friday', anyway? Does that mean on all other days we should say, 'curse God it's not a weekend'?"
"I don't know Father, you're the theologian."
"Well, it's six of one and half a dozen of the other. As if God gives a shit." They entered the prison together and a new day began at the Charm City Correctional Facility.