Luckily my dogs don't live in China

I had just fallen asleep when the barking began.
“Shut up!” I hollered out the window.
But Spot and Jem continued the racket.
“Woof, woof, woof.”
“SHUT UP,” I shouted again and this time got their attention.
“It’s a good thing for you we don’t live in China,” I told them.
“Why?” Spot asked. “Don’t you know how to say “shut up” in Mandarin?”
Ignoring her wisecrack, I told the spaniels how the Chinese had slaughtered 50,000 dogs in a single county in Yunnan province after three people there died of rabies. Only military guard dogs and police canine units were spared.
According to an Associated Press story, killing teams entered villages at night creating noise to make the dogs bark, then beat the animals to death. Dogs being walked by their owners were also seized and beaten to death on the spot.
“Spot beat someone to death?” Jem asked.
He had stopped licking himself and was paying rapt attention.
“Not our Spot, on the spot,” I told him.
“Huh?” he muttered.
“Never mind,” I said. But Jem had already lost interest. He closed his eyes and started scratching himself.
“And they’re limiting pet owners to a single dog in much of the country, too,” I told them.
“Well we know who’d have to go,” Spot whispered and gave me a wink.
“Oh, yeah?” I replied. “I believe you were the one who started barking first.”
“I thought we were being robbed,” she said. “I was being protective.”
“Baloney,” I told her. “You just like to bark.”
Jem snapped to attention.
“Baloney!” he growled. “Where?”
“In China, apparently,” Spot said. “Made out of dog lips.”
“You may be right,” I told the bitch. “They eat dogs in China. Chinese men believe dog meat makes them more virile.”
“What’s virile?” Jem asked.
“What you’re not anymore,” Spot told him, but he’d stopped listening again and was sniffing himself.
“I could make some money off you two if we lived in China,” I said. “Dog owners were offered 63 cents per animal to kill their dogs.”
“Wow,” Spot said sarcastically. “You could buy some new clothes, maybe get a haircut, too.”
“I’m going back to bed,” I told them. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”
Spot lay down and closed her eyes.
“Whatever you say, Chairman Mao” she said.
“Who’s Chairman Mao?” Jem asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “Just be glad we don’t live in China.”
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net

The dog needs to quit reading the newspaper

The commotion in the kitchen caught my attention.
One of the dogs was in the garbage.
But before I could get to my feet, Jem wandered back into the living room licking his chops.
“Don’t do it,” he mouthed as I raised my arm to give him a smack.
Spot awoke from her slumber at my feet. “Better listen to him,” she said. “He’s been reading the newspaper again.”
Spot was referring to a story out of Great Falls concerning the arrest of an illegal immigrant from Mexico on drug charges. Sheriff’s deputies responding to a report of dog abuse found a pit bull lying atop $30,000 cash along with 20 pounds of marijuana.
Two Cascade County deputies had gone to the house to check out a report that a man was beating a dog there.
“So what’s that got to do with me,” I asked Spot.
“Jem says he knows where your stash is,” the bitch responded.
“My stash? What are you talking about?
“The money and the drugs,” Jem blurted out, ham fat glistening on his lips. “On the nightstand next to your bed.”
“You mean the coin jar and the Extra-strength Tylenol?” I asked him.
“If that’s what you want to call it,” he answered defiantly. “Smack me and we’ll let the sheriff decide what it is.”
Spot closed her eyes again. “Go ahead and hit him,” she said. “Nobody’s going to call the cops.”
According to the Great Falls Tribune, Salvador Orodnez-Maldonado faces up to 20 years in prison and a $50,000 fine. His bond was set at $100,000. The pit bull was taken to an animal shelter.
“So you think you’d be happier in a shelter?” I asked Jem.
“No, just safer,” he told me.
“I doubt they’d let you run loose and get into the garbage,” I told him.
“Yeah, and they’d fix you for sure,” Spot chimed in.
“Huh?” Jem queried.
“Snip, snip,” Spot replied.
“Snip what?” Jem asked her.
“You figure it out,” she told him.
Jem turned and looked back into the kitchen.
“Don’t think about it,” I cautioned.
“Snip, snip,” Spot whispered.
“Tylenol, eh?” Jem asked. “And a coin jar?”
“Uh huh,” I told him. “Go ahead and turn me in.”
Jem licked the last of the ham fat off his lips and sat down.
I rolled up the newspaper and slapped it against my palm.
“You’re no pit bull,” I told him. “I’m not an illegal alien. So just stay out of the garbage, OK?
”And quit reading the newspaper.”
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net