A couple people sent me this pic, so I had to do another Sheepdog Fan Fiction.

“They don’t want this smoke!” Charles muttered as he strutted on the deck, vaguely motioning to the outside world while looking over at Irene, his wife of 65 years. “Isn’t that what our grandson DeShawn says?” he asked. Irene entirely missed what he said, but looked up.. shook her head yes.. smiled.. then looked back down at her Reader’s Digest. “I’ll tell you whUT, if the sound of me putting one in the chamber doesn’t scare them away, or the birdshot doesn’t kill em, then the 1911 will finish the job.” he said as he removed the no-frills GI series Rock Island Armory .45 from the Uncle Mike’s nylon holster his left hip. He proceeded to press check it 5 or 6 times, not because he was old and forgetful, but rather since recently getting a desktop computer he noticed that on “website tv” all the young kids were doing that. “Your tea is getting cold” Irene warned, to which he rolled his eyes and gingerly placed the 1911 back in its holster before going to join her on the patio set. As he sat down pain jolted through his right side, specifically his leg “AHagggggggghhhhgHHGHG Irene my leg! Call 911 I think I’m having a.. a stroke!”. Irene frantically put down the Reader’s Digest and rose from her seat to get the phone from inside the house. She looked over at Charles to make sure he was at least good enough to be alone for the few seconds he would be out of her sight. She noticed something… the shotgun holster straps… “Hey Charley…” she said barely able to contain her laughter. “Get that sorted out with your tight holster straps and you’ll be fine… idiot.” she said as she went to sit back down. “Tip of the spear… isn’t that what you and Clarence call each other from back in the day?” she said said chuckling as he fiddled with the leather straps looking relieved but unamused.

👴👴👴 📷blackacestactical via @these_dying_lights @deishell09

Thoughts?