“Aussie, what are all these BOOMs?”

“Hunters, Illegal. They’re shooting lots of wild animals. Pheasants—”

“Peasants? Like me?”

“I wish. Pheasants, dumdum. Also quail and wild turkeys.”

“I thought we don’t eat turkeys till Thanksgiving.”

“These are wild, Henry. You have to kill them in order to eat them. In Thanksgiving we eat the ones raised on farms. That’ll teach the dummies to be domesticated.”

“Aussie, aren’t we dummies who’ve been domesticated?”

“But the big deal is black bears. You know, Henry, I can go after a lot of things, but not bears, they’re too big. That’s when you need a gun, not a dog.”

“Does the Senora have a gun?”

“She does not, Illegal, and you know why. Because she’s woke, progressive, Buddhist, and an all-around idiot. She doesn’t know how dangerous life can be. She started hanging up the birdfeeders for the winter, which means we’re going to get nightly visits from bears, which wakes me up. If I didn’t bark and snarl, she wouldn’t even know they came till the morning when she finds all the birdfeeders smashed on the ground.”

“Aussie, aren’t guns dangerous?”

“Guns are not dangerous, humans are dangerous. In fact, a few of us dogs have shot humans.”

“That’s terrible, Aussie.”

“Depends on the human. Some dogs get their paws stuck in the trigger and make BOOM! End of human.”

“I’m scared of BOOMS, Aussie.”

“Me, too, Illegal, don’t tell anyone. If my paw ever got stuck in a trigger and I made BOOM, I’d pee in my pants.”

“You don’t wear pants, Aussie.”

“I wish your Senora would get a gun. I tell her that we live in the woods among wild animals, not civilized dogs like me, but she never listens.”

“What other animals can you kill with a gun, Aussie?”

“It depends on the season. Humans actually have seasons when it’s okay to kill lots of animals. For instance, you can shoot crows now.”

“Crows?”

“I hate the sons-of-bitches because they’re always laughing at me, but I can’t get to them on top of the trees. Also coyotes and raccoons.”

“What else is in season, Aussie?”

“Rabbits, hares, and squirrels. Preferably with mayo and a little lime.”

“Lori once saved a rabbit. She had it in her office in a box she built for it and when it was healthy again, she let it go. She wouldn’t let me go into her office that entire time.”

“Don’t worry, Illegal, I’m sure it’s dead by now.”

“Why do humans need guns to kill them, Aussie? Can’t they get them without guns, like us?”

“We can, they can’t. And you know what I say: If you need a gun to kill rabbits, hares, and squirrels, you’re a minor species.”

“What about possums, Aussie?”

“You can now kill possums, too. Deer not till after Thanksgiving; I can hardly wait. Illegal, do you know what they call possum children?”

“Possum Jr.?”

“Joeys. Can you imagine having a dozen children all called Joey? You call out “Joey!” and a dozen tiny possums come running.”

“Joey’s a nice name.”

“It’s like you, Illegal. I call out “Illegal!” and a few million Illegals show up.”

“We all have different names, Aussie. Mine is Henry. Somebody else is Antonio. And Catarina and Lupe. Call us by our true names, Aussie.”

“I do, I do. Illegal, and Illegal, and Illegal, and Illegal, and Illegal.”