When an elderly woman she knew buried her husband cheap, without even a Catholic Mass, an old aunt of mine said, "She buried that man like he was a dog."

The man remains buried. Not a "woof" out of him.

Where I live, in Massachusetts, what we used to call a "police dog" was recently killed in the line of duty. We don't call them "police dogs" anymore. Even reporters type "K-9," which shortens the word count in the reporter's story but has the virtue of sounding military, and sounding military is one of the few virtues America has left.

Ah, but American English is changing, and what we say is now much more important than what we do, and what a thing is has become much less important than what the thing is called.

The dog got shot because his handler took him to work that day.

I've owned couple of dogs in my life, and both of them would have died for me.

One of those dogs I bought for $40 cash, and the other was a dog someone gave me. Dogs don't get to pick where they live or with whom. You want a dog. You buy a dog. You love the dog. You beat the dog. You put the dog in a ring to fight. You use the dog to retrieve dead ducks. The dog will die for you, which is either nobility or incredible stupidity on the part of the dog.

Police departments buy their "K-9s." There's an item in the departmental budget that says "Dog Buying," or more likely "K-9 Procurement," and so it's like the dog is drafted.

And the dog goes to work, becomes a K-9 with a handler, and someone gives the dog a name, and it's like an inspiring book you'd read to little kids if you wanted them to grow up and be good citizens.

"K-9 Willy," the book could be called, and it would be thin, and the words in it would be small, and I don't think Willy would die at the end of the book because that'd give kids nightmares.

I've already seen at least one news photo of the dead dog being carried around under an American flag, the same way they brought your cousin home from Afghanistan.

It's not done yet, either. My guess is there will be some sort of a funeral for the dog, maybe rifles fired over the grave. If there's any kind of procession, it will probably involve motorcycles and overtime.

And the dog's partner will no doubt feel awful. I would.

And the head of the State Police praised the dog, who had an 11-year career and who won various doggie medals for bravery.

And the dog, who was as near to being a police officer as you can be without having a choice in the matter, will be mourned officially. Your wife, meanwhile, will get three days bereavement leave for your funeral, and that's if she has either a union card or an understanding employer.

A couple of things are clear.

Like the long-departed plow horse, and the pack mule, animals get bought and sold, and their destiny is their purchase price and whoever pays that price.

The other is that, in 2022, every government employee, however many legs it has, is entitled to a better funeral than you will get, and better benefits and, more than likely, a better retirement and all final medical expenses paid.

This is not how you live, and it is not how you will die, and if you die in a construction accident, down in a trench when the walls give way, tell your husband not to expect the governor at your funeral.

They'll bury you cheap is what they'll do, and they're going to need a GoFundMe account to pay for the funeral.

You should have been born a dog, and you should have worked for the government.

To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion, and read features by Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his best columns, is called "Devil's Elbow: Dancing in the Ashes of America." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle, and iBooks.

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