Tim was about fed up with delivering the mail. It paid well and wasn't the hardest job around but he was getting fed up. One of the things that did it was blaming him for every rate increase. He finally told one of his people that, "I don't charge you anything. I deliver the mail not pick it up. I don't sell you stamps. I don't care if you never use the Postal Service."

The Postmaster gave him a lecture about that one.

Dogs. Tim hated dogs. Wouldn't allow his kids to have one. When the Postal service started issuing Dog Mace Tim was the happiest deliveryman there was. Some scrawny little mutt would come running, helping and snapping at him, and Tim would give him a snootful of Dog Mace. The dog would still be yelping and snapping but not at Tim.

Tim loved it so much he'd nail a dog even if it did nothing. Tim did that for his own personal amusement. Things went along fine until the Doberman. Tim maced that Doberman a good one. The Doberman stopped, shook his head , and then really got mad. Tim barely got out of the yard and then only by distracting the dog by throwing his mail pouch at him. The Doberman ate that. Tim got suspended for losing his mail.

Tim decided to shoot the Doberman. He got a revolver and decided, no, needed more than that. He thought about a shotgun, remembered the dog, and discarded that idea. He wondered where he could get a grenade launcher.

The Postmaster suggested that Tim see a therapist. Tim agreed to go. He told the therapist all his postal woes. The therapist suggested that Tim find another line of work.

"What!? I love the Post Office! Are you nuts?!"