Why would you shoot a chihuahua? I mean, you kick a chihuahua, but it’s a bit much to shoot one.

Yes, they can be annoying as all hell and they seek out the bottom of your foot but I don’t see how that’s a reason to waste the bullets, said Jeb. George, bemused, peered over his newspaper and told him, Sometimes one must shoot the chihuahua, and without another word snapped his paper back, sipped his coffee, went silent. Their mother rushed to the refrigerator where she kept the quote book, a thick tome bound in leather, and opened it to a blank page. What was it you said, George? she asked, licking her pen. Jeb rolled his eyes. The book was supposed to be for anything either of them said that proved their status as future presidents, but she only ever wrote down what George said.