I hate to see animals killed but sometimes it's necessary. When I was about 12 years old I had large dog I named Shag that was as gentle as he could be. He never bothered anything, or so we thought. One night a man, Mr. Paul Sisk who raised sheep about a quarter mile from our house, came over. He told my father and I that there was a pack of three dogs killing his young sheep at night and he was pretty sure my dog was one of them. Mr. Sisk said he had shot one of the dogs a couple of days earlier, a big white german shepard, but he had lost two lambs the night before and was going to kill the other two dogs if he could. Given the gentle nature of Shag, and the fact that he never seemed to be gone, neither of us believe he was involved but Daddy told him that if he was to shoot him. When I went outside early in the morning two days later Shag was laying in the yard, he wasn't dead but had been shot in the butt with buckshot so I have no doubt Mr. Sisk was right that he was involved. Shag died a few hours later, it hurt but I know it was necessary.
JB