It finally happened. It took long enough, and I had to deal with many contradictions, but it finally happened. That ol' dog of Harry's finally lost it. I don't know how many times I've said it, at the risk of sounding cantankerous: A dog that just moseys all over town by itself and unsupervised all day and eat whatever strange item it craves, will eventually go over the bend. I wish they would have understood. "No", they said. "That dog is smart. He knows what not to do and what not to gobble down." Well lookie here, Tim Johnson ain't lookin' so smart with a hole in the head now is he? Every day that poor animal was in peril of eating the wrong thing, or breathin' in some weird science chemicals or something. It was only a matter of time. Thank goodness when he lost it he couldn't manage a run. Apparently the dog was struggling jus' to limp slowly. Didn't even make a sound. I'm surprised they saw 'im. Tim Johnson was pretty inconspicuous. At the time I was just sittin' my rear in the sheriff's office and eatin' a small pack of crisps. Maycomb's pretty quiet so there wasn't any big activity. A person or two filing this and that. Then the phone starts to ring. I throw away the crisps and answer with a brisk, "This is the Sheriff speaking how may I help you?"
"Cut the jab and listen up. There's a mad dog loose Tate." I wasn't 100% sure but I believed it was Mr. Finch. "Atticus is that you? Tim Johnson I take it?". Atticus answered, "Yessir he's over at my home, you know the place?". I got up from my seat, "Be there in a jiff, I'll need your help, I'll meet you at your office." I hung up after Atticus agreed. There was a bead of sweat down the side of my head. I wasn't scared or nothin', I'd been anticipatin' this for a long while. It was time to gear up. I took my lumber jacket off the coat rack by the office door and put it on. I walked to and then opened up the weapons cabinet. I grabbed the rifle mounted on the left door then and shoved ten or so bullets into my belt, although I doubted I'd need half that much; that is, if Atticus was shooting. Being his contemporary, I knew about his superb marksmanship. I even used to call him Ol' One Shot like most of the kids in them days. He was a peaceful lad though, and he may not agree to it. That's why I didn't mention it on the phone. It took for all of ten seconds to get there in my Ford. I just rushed in, and floored it to Atticus' office. He was waiting outside for me. I opened the passenger side of the door and swerved in front of him. "Get in" Atticus hopped in and once again I floored it. We were at the Finch abode within the minute. I swerved once again, this time into their driveway. We jumped out and went over to where the Finch servant and kids were. Atticus went up to the servant, "Where is he, Cal?". She pointed at the street and then after some conferring and briefing we agreed to wait for Tim Johnson to show his snout. The waitin' was unbearable. That silent street, it was like one of those showdowns you see down at the West. 'Cept our opponent didn't have a gun, nor the ability to use one. And then I started to get a stuffy nose. Of all the times to get a stuffy nose, really. Out of boredom I blew my nose and then shifted the gun. I would wait 'till the last second to tell Atticus of my plan. Then the dog appeared. He was movin' slow, but he would come soon enough. I then expressed to Atticus what he had to do. "Take him, Mr. Finch" I told him, handing him the loaded rifle. As I expected he then told me to not waste time. "He won't wait ll day for you--" he told me. The rifle kept switching hands until I was ready to throw it at him. I then noticed that the mad dog had proceeded into position in front of the Radley house and then pointed this out to Atticus. I was now sweating on both sides of my face. If Atticus truly hadn't shot a gun in thirty years like he said, then he might not get Tim and miss. And if he missed, Tim would be on the alert and run. And if Tim ran, well, who knew who was waiting around the corner for him completely unaware. Suddenly Tim Johnson stopped. It was like an act of God. Within that one moment, Atticus pulled the trigger. I looked at the fallen dog. As I went closer to the now dead Tim, I knew my faith in One Shot wasn't misplaced. All in a day's work. I have a feeling it's going to get more busier down here.
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I like how you used the slang and vocabulary of the time setting and the town. I also liked how you painted a picture of the sheriff sitting in the office.
I liked how you wrote about how he thought of Atticus' marksmanship skills. I also like how you made your own story line of the sheriff in his office eating crisps before Atticus shot the dog
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