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Last week, President Joe Biden’s younger dog, Major, bit someone while out on a walk. It was Major’s second biting incident in a month, which prompted MSNBC host Joe Scarborough to joke, “That dog might better get his affairs in order and prepare to meet Doggy Jesus.” While that consequence might be too severe let’s give the 3-year-old rescue at least three strikes; it is baseball season, after all it would not be the first time a world leader put down his dog for embarrassing him.
The Major incident reminded me of the terrifically ludicrous story of how King Henry VII, the first of the Tudor monarchs, supposedly had his own dogs hung for treason. As the legend goes, the English king was fond of breeding large mastiffs, which he used for hunting, bearbaiting, and other such recreational endeavors. As historian and writer Christine Tran recounted: “For kingly reasons, he sent his canines into a lion cage, fully expecting the mighty cat to defeat
After four long years, we finally have a new president and, more importantly, new presidential pets. Usually the thrill of pets arriving at the White House is tempered by the sting of old presidential pets leaving the White House, but this year is different: Donald Trump is the first president in more than 100 years not to have a pet of any kind, so we can say goodbye to his rotten administration without stray sympathy for any blameless dogs, cats, or possums getting evicted alongside their captors.
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This also means that the incoming presidential pets the Bidens have two German shepherds and a cat, the former two of which arrived to the White House this week to great fanfare won’t be able to rely on the outgoing presidential pets for advice or support during the transfer of power. So to help the new national mascots find their footing, Slate has decided to break what many regard as the most important commandment in journalism (“all presidential pets are equally goo