My running buddy, neighbor, and former recon marine had a dog for years. I called her “Muppet” because that's exactly what she looked like.
He would walk her each morning about the same time; sometimes I'd stand out in the street with him and shoot the breeze in the am before work, petting Muppet.
We have been having an escalating presence of criminal activity down our little dead-end road. Sunday running buddy's $2000 professional lawnmower was stolen out of his yard – somebody had brought bolt cutters and cut the massive chain he used to secure it. They scoped it all out before they did this.
Monday night a house about 400 yards from my house was victimized by an armed home invasion. They seemed to know what the people had
And Wednesday morning, in the wee hours, somebody slipped into my buddy's back yard and shot and killed Muppet.
Once a Marine, always a Marine is completely true, but I could tell this just cut him to the bone. I told him how sorry I was to hear this and stuck my hand out to shake his, since you don't really 'hug' Marines. He crushed my hand.
I saw him this morning, walking down the road at the same time, without Muppet.
His heart is broken. He'll never say it but it is.
This is Georgia and killing a man's dog is a lowdown, inexcusably shitty thing to do.
And, thus, somebody has crossed The Line and has fucked with the wrong people at wrong end of the wrong road.