The fall of Liberty

My house shakes with the pounding of the front door. I don’t need to use the peep hole to know who it is, there’s only one person that assaults my poor door so enthusiastically.

I open the door to see my sweet old lady neighbour Mrs. Jenkins. She at least looks the part, but we both know its a facade. Any pretence of facility goes right out the window as she grabs me by my collar, “I can’t find Mr. Pickles. Know anything about that?”

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, “Why would I know where your chihuahua is? I’ll have you know I was taking a nap.”
“A likely story. Where’s that damn pet of yours?”
“Liberty is right where I left him. Look.”