He could see them coming up the sidewalk through the living room window, white button down to a black tie and black pants, bland, a little black book in hand. His dog sat at his feet unaware of the impending danger of the men coming to save their souls. At the bell it was a ready-set-go a race to the door, the dog always won, blocking it with slobbery snarls. Snarls against their pitches that their god is best. Soliciting their beliefs like in person telemarketers: congrats! You just won a trip to Heaven, all you have to do is sign here and repent your modern day sins. The man looked down at the dog, up to the door, and back to the dog, and yelled “down Satan!” His crow’s feet would have given him away, but by the time he looked up, they were gone.