Afterthoughts

     Several times a week a man in a wheel chair sits by the side of the road a block from my house.  He doesn't have a sign asking for money, but I feel that is why he's there. Our city officials have asked the citizens not to give money to panhandlers.  Even so, one day I stopped my car in front of him,  lowered my window and made sure he saw the money in my hand. He rolled up to the car. Without thinking I cleared my throat  and asked, "Hi, do you know where you're going when you die?" (By all accounts, that is a strange thing to ask a person looking for a handout.)       He looked startled. "I know all about the Bible and Jesus."      My next question surprised even me.  "Can't you find work?"      He thought a minute and said, "I don't have legs.  I guess I could work in an office but if I do I'll lose my disability check."      After giving him the money, I left him with these words. "See you in Heaven."  

Photo by Brett Jordan (Unsplash)      Like a cowboy in the wild, wild west, I pointed my gun at the dirty rat standing before me.  He staggered from side to side.  From his actions, I knew he had gotten into the rat poison we had placed in our out buildings.  In order to put him out of his misery, I shot at him.  Bang! Bang! Bang! I stood in amazement. Not one of the six bullets I shot hit him. As soon as I emptied my gun, he shivered and fell over dead.  Little Fellow I'm sorry little fellow. What else could I do? You were truly suffering. It was my fault it's true. They say you cause diseases And all kinds of other things. You had to go, Or so it seems.                         Patricia Westbrook