“Aussie and Henry, listen to this item from The Guardian:  ‘The international airport in Dunedin, a city in the South Island in New Zealand, has introduced a three minute cap on cuddles, as part of a broader effort to improve safety and keep traffic flowing at its drop-off zone. A sign erected in the airport’s drop-off zone warns: Max hug time 3 minutes. For fonder farewells please use the car park.’”

“OMG, Senora, limiting hugs? What will they think of next? By the way, where is New Zealand?”

“Wherever it is, Illegal, I wish you’d go there. I think hugs are way over-rated. I can’t believe humans, they just stand there together and nobody moves!”

“That’s what hugs are for, tell her, Senora. The two become one. When I’m in the bed at night with Lori, I like to squeeze against her all night, it’s how I keep warm. Where’s New Zealand?”

“I told you we’re being invaded by a foreign culture! True-blood Americans know that any hug longer than 2 breaths is obscene, only out-of-town perverts do it. And just for the record, I never sleep with a human.”

“Not just that, Aussie, but when I want to pet you, you stick around for about 5 seconds and then move away.”

“Senora, what kind of hug is 5 seconds?”

“Cinco secundos, perverted Illegal. Anything longer than that is sick, unnatural, foreign, and against the Bible.”

“You mean the Bible Trump is hawking and making millions out of?”

“This is True Blue America, Illegal, the land where religion and business mix lovingly.”

“I’ll take True Blue America any day over Dead Red, Airhead.”

“Wow, listen to the Illegal Chihuahua. He’s turning downright bellicose.”

“That’s because Kamala is going to become President. A daughter of immigrants! I feel empowered! I feel strong! And I’ve had enough of your taunts and contumely.”

“Contumely? What are you, the Chihuahuan Shakespeare?”

“This is what I was afraid of, dogs, and it has to stop. I don’t want this family to split apart like others over the election.”

“You’re absolutely right, but tell me one thing”.

“What is it, Aussie?”

“Can Illegal have pups? If he can, he’ll be poisoning good old American blood.”

“That’s downright Hitlerian, Aussie.”

“So?”

“Enough already. You know what we need right now, dogs? A hug. A family hug, just like they do in New Zealand.”

“Dogs don’t hug. We don’t even stand together. But if Illegal plans to go home and never come back, I might be convinced to go to the drop-off place at the airport and stand next to him for about three breaths—but no more than that!”

“I’m not going anywhere, matona.”

“What did you call me?”

“Bully. Gangster.”

“Now I really want to get rid of you. How about if we meet at the airport and I stand with you for four breaths—fast? Like how I breathe when I chase deer. Anything to get rid of you.”

“Aussie, this is ridiculous. Hugs are hugs. Like Henry said, it’s when the two become one.”

“Four quick breaths and I pat you on the back with a paw? Humans do that, I don’t know why, if someone did that to me I’d bite ‘em.”

“Nobody’s going to any airport here. Nobody’s going to leave. We’re all Americans in this house. In fact, I’m the only immigrant among the three of us.”

“You?”

“Yes, Aussie. I was born in Israel and came here when I was 7.”

“You’re an immigrant? The woman who feeds and waters me, who walks me, who nursed me through the booboo in my paw, the one who takes me to my-favorite-human-Leeann?”

“It was a long time ago, Aussie, but even so, yes.”

“I’m being raised by an immigrant?”

“A hugging, loving immigrant. I’m one of those people they’d tell to go to the parking lot to finish my hugging, only sometimes, when it’s too painful to part from certain people, I do it quickly. Two become one, Aussie.”

“Can we stay two?”