Saint Peter thanked her lucky stars and wondered if that were appropriate.
She noticed her own subjunctive-for-condition-contrary-to-fact ‘were’ instead of ‘was’.
In her present and eternal job it wasn’t the stars she should be thanking. Still, looking at the large pit bull before her lectern, Saint Peter was thankful that she was a giant turtle with a thick shell.
The pit bull growled. Then he tried whining.
‘I’m afraid puppy sounds won’t help you here,’ Saint Peter told him.
‘Do I have to wait much longer?’ asked Fred. That was the pit bull’s name. ‘I’ve been told that all dogs go to Heaven.’
‘To,’ Saint Peter answered. ‘Not the same as into Heaven. Not in your case. You killed that little boy.’
‘He would have grown up.’
‘And?’
‘He might have become a Democrat.’
Saint Peter sighed. She shook her head. Fred could not see that because she had gone back into her shell.
‘He might have become a Republican?’ Fred tried.
Saint Peter extended her neck, looked down her beak at the pit bull. ‘And?’ she shouted.
Fred shrugged, attempted a tail wag. ‘I had to try,’ he said. He stepped off the cloud and disappeared.
‘Next,’ said Saint Peter.
Stars winked.