(I made it so that Barney never left Mayberry. I know it's not true to the plot of the later show, but it was never quite the same without him.)
"Howdy, Barn," Andy greeted his deputy as he came through the door. Andy resumed typing away on his typewriter, taking another small sip of coffee.
"Ange," Barney greeted. "You all ready to give your speech for Mayberry Days?"
"I've been workin' on it here, yes," Andy replied between plinks of the keys, "for the Under the Stars picnic."
"Any news or odd-jobs for me? Crooks to chase down?"
"None as of yet," Andy smiled as he humored Barney.
"Yyyyeah..." Barney sat and slunk low in the rolly chair beside Andy's desk, putting his feet up next to Andy's typewriter and closing his eyes. Andy looked at Barney's semi-dirty boots. He cleared his throat, hoping Barney would get the clue to remove his shoes from the desk which were an inch away from his coffee.
"Ahem."
Barney looked up, saw that his feet were close to Andy's drink, and moved his feet about 5 inches farther away from his cup. Andy looked at Barney, and cleared his throat again. Barney blinked his eyes open again, had a look on his face as if Andy's request was a tall one, but moved his feet a few more inches anyway. The two did this until Barney's feet were barely hanging on the corner of the desk. Andy smiled and rolled his eyes, and continued plunking away at his speech on the typewriter. Barney relaxed a little as he was about to drift off into a light nap, when his feet ka-flunked to the ground, causing Andy much amusement.
"Andy, what in tarnation is s' funny about a man bein' forced from his sleep, on account of his friend shooin' him from his comfortable place?"
"Well, didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to put your feet on an eating surface?" Andy said this with a sincere face but with a familiar, joking twinkle in his eye.
"Eating surface-? Eating- you call this an-?" Just then a man came through the door.
"Sherr'f!"
"Well, howdy there, Mr. Rawlings, what can I do ya for?" Andy smiled at the farmer walking up to his desk.
"Somebody has been nabbin' my chickens! On Saturday I had 42, but come Sunday mornin' I counted up again and I only had 37," the farmer hushed in godly reverence as he said the next bit, "An' on account'a it bein' the Sabbath, I didn't bother you none about it. Then yesterday I counted ag'in and I had 35, and today, I only have 29! Now I've been thinkin' on't, and I know you've heard of the Chicken-Snatcher from Raleigh, who comes and takes your chickens to perform strange exper'ments-"
"Now, hold on, Mr. Rawlings. Before we get our feathers ruffled, let's just rule out some liklier situations. We know we have raccoons in this area-"
"It ain't no raccoon, my chicken coops are closed tight at night-"
"Let me finish. Maybe 'tain't raccoons, but we have bobcat, and have had even a mountain lion. Now cats are smart, and they make a clean and cunnin' kill. Now, you're sure it couldn't'a been any one of those things?" The farmer sheepishly pursed his lips.
"I guess it could be."
"Now you go and make sure your coops are completely patched up and nothing's been diggin' into 'em."
"Yessir."
"But come back to me if you think anything is amiss. G'day, Mr. Rawlings!"
"Good day, Sherr'f." Andy smiled as the old farmer walked back out. He was sad he had to disappoint him, but was nevertheless happy to help in any way.
"Y'know I've heard of that chicken-snatcher. Yep. They call 'im the Plight of Poultry," said Barney in a hushed tone, with a horrified look on his face. He had apparently perked right up and out of his chair when he heard Mr. Rawlings talk of his poor chickens.
"Oh, Barney you don't seriously believe-?"
"Well, Andy, you can's rule out all the possible suspects! We gotta keep alert and ready for any possible situation."
"Barney! 'The Plight of Poultry?!' Land sakes, and I thought I'd heard them all..." Andy exited the room, Barney trailing right behind him, still trying to convince him that they really, really needed to keep a look-out for this... chicken-snatcher.