My dad shoots squirrels in our backyard with a .22-caliber pellet rifle. At first, my mom agreed with me, that we shouldn’t kill other living creatures just for sport. But then the squirrels started tearing up her flowers, and that was enough to change her opinion. Today, my sister got home from school while my mom and I were baking oatmeal raisin cookies. We heard the garage door open and saw her car parked in the driveway, but she didn’t come up the stairs. My mom asked, “What’s she doing?” I went out and looked through the glass door to the deck and saw a sixteen-year-old girl with pigtails, still wearing her school uniform (plaid skirt and burgundy polo), carrying a shovel with a dead squirrel on it to toss it over the back fence. I told my mom what she was doing. She said, “Well, she is her father’s daughter.” When she came up the stairs, I asked her, “How many did you get?” She said, “Two. I hit another one, but he kept running.”