"I hear you're having that sheep dog put to sleep."

"Oh, hi, Jake! No, it's not me, really. The dog belongs to Zeke. He's having it put to sleep."

"Beg pardon, Hank. Zeke, eh? And he's your hired hand, right? The guy whose entire livelihood depends on you?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"So, why's Zeke destroying the dog, Hank?"

"It's been killing sheep," replied Hank severely. "Dog's gotta die for that. Can't allow that in a sheep dog."

"Well, I should say not," agreed Jake. "Um ... didn't you train that dog?"

"Ma-a-aybe," said Hank, a touch defensively. "But I never trained it to rip out sheeps' throats the way it's been doing."

"So, which way did you teach it to rip out sheeps' throats?"

"At night. And when no one's watching," blurted Hank. "A little. Maybe I taught it to rip throats a little."

"A little?" Jake replied. "How would you do that a little?"

"Only bad sheep," explained Hank. "It's all right to kill bad sheep, but you gotta destroy a dog that kills good sheep. Can't put up with that in a sheep dog."

"Bad sheep?" asked Jake. "I've been a sheep farming for 30 years, and I don't know what a bad sheep is. How would the dog identify a bad sheep?"

"Oh, that's simple. When I point at a sheep and say, 'Cujo! Kill!' ... that's a bad sheep."

"Yeah, but you know, Hank, ol' Cujo doesn't always have you to point out the bad sheep," Jake pointed out. "Especially, if he's Zeke's dog now."

"Well, maybe," Hank admitted. "It's ok to kill sheep, but some people know that I trained him."

"So, ... Cujo has to die because he's an embarrassment?" asked Jake.

"Yeah, that's it. Can't allow that in a sheep dog."