Sheriff Andy Taylor was at his desk, going over some legal papers. Barney, his deputy, was to the right of him, polishing his gun, once again. Andy shook his head at his deputy. "Barney, that gun is shinier than a brand new penny! You really don't need to polish it up so much."
Barney gave his gun one last wipe-down, surveyed his work with an admiring smile, then deposited it back in its holster.
"Andy, Andy," he said, shaking his own head, "Just because you don't wear a gun doesn't mean that I can't keep my looking nice and bright. Why," –here he patted the holster at his hip— "You never know when I might be needin' to use this baby!"
With one of those superior grins of his, he put his hand to his hip and drew fast. "See Andy? I'll be ready for anything."
Andy smiled. Barney was just like a little kid—always trying to impress. But, he reflected, I guess I am too. I like to tease him just as much.
Andy faked a look of worry. "Barney," he said, still pretending, "I think I hear trouble out on the street. Must be a criminal—a real one, in Mayberry! Go get 'em, Barn. You'll finally have a crook of your own."
Barney wasted no time. He reached to grab his gun from its holster, but it was stuck. He stood there tugging on it, making a spectacle of himself while Andy laughed, until all of sudden the trigger went off.
"Barney," Andy groaned. "What did I tell you about loading that gun?"
Barney ignored him. Taking his gun, he ran out into the street, but returned a few moments later. "Must've got away," he said disappointedly. "Come on, Andy, let's go trail him down!"
But when Barney looked up at Andy's grinning face, realizing what had happened, he glared instead and stalked off to dust the jail cells.