The villagers were up in arms with torches and pitchforks. The werewolf had been cornered in a disused moonshine hut, after biting off more than he could possibly chew. It wasn't so bad in the past, when he took off with the occasional chicken, or the stray lamb or mutton. Doing him in was not worth the trouble.
But now, he'd gone too far. He had crossed the line when he nicked the town baubles. Then he started pissing on people. "The law only applies to mere mortals and not werewolves. Let supine lupines be," said he.
One night, while the woman combed the hair on his back, the werewolf got a phone call. "Start running, mate. The dogs have got your scent and they're coming for you."
"Who is this? Who's coming for me?" said the wolf with a fangled snarl.
"Everyone, mate." says the voice. "They've had a gutsful." The line went dead.
He smelled them before he heard them. Soot and sweat and the cthonic pong of dogs. He heard their yells of disgust, their tales of woe. He turned to the woman but the woman had gone. The people banged on the the doors, smashed the windows.
"Wait," sez the wolf. "Why don't we ban violent video games? Nothing wrong with Monopoly and horse races!"
"You've bent the rules too often!" said one old pensioner waving his walking frame in anger.
"I gave you a SuperGold card!" said the wolf in disbelief.
"Why would I want 10 percent off a water taxi in the South Island, when I can't afford to feed my budgie at home in Greerton?" The walking frame bounced off the wolf's head and into the fire.
Just then, a bicycle courier turned up. "Wait! Wait! I have an important message!" He gets the wolf's paw print and hands him an envelope. The wolf tears it open with his teeth.
"The dog pound has revoked my licence, those good for nothing morons."
A cheer went up amongst the throng.
"But I will go peacefully," said the wolf.
A cheer again.
"To somewhere where my skills are appreciated. I've been made ambassador to North Korea."
A Dolphin flashlight glanced his cheek and into the fire.