When I was about 7, we had a visiting missionary staying in our house. After church on Sunday, my father looked out the front of our house, through a vacant lot, to the back porch of a neighbor's home, and observed a skunk standing on the porch. He ran to the phone and warned them not to go out their back door, and then, because it was a weekend and we didn't have 24/7 police in our little town, began brainstorming about who he knew who had a gun and could come over and and dispatch the skunk.
The missionary began following him around saying, 'But it's one of God's little creatures! Why would you want to harm it?' I remember Dad giving Mom a look like, 'Keep this fool away from me,'; it was the moment in my life that I realized that even highly esteemed adults could be complete idiots about other things. While it was indeed one of God's little creatures, it was most likely one of God's little rabid creatures, because skunks just don't walk that far into town in broad daylight. At any rate, Dad wasn't about to take a chance on a child getting bitten, and he'd lived most of his life on a ranch where you dealt with issues yourself.
Which reminds me of the limerick:
There once was a man from the city,
Who met what he thought was a kitty
He said 'Nice little cat!
And gave it a pat,
They buried his clothes out of pity.