Death & Taxes: Tales of three-legged dogs and a goat in the boudoir

In the 1920s, my hometown of Hampton County inflicted a controversial Pet Tax. A smart-ass taxpayer wrote to the county treasurer asking why a wormy, three-legged dog would be taxed the same as a healthy, four-legged pet. That letter inspired this story.

Welcome to Swampton County, S.C., home of The Swampton Slinger newspaper, where we publish your obituary for free. Offer valid only once.

Spring Weather Report

It’s warming up and the sign at the Swampton First Baptist Church of the One True God reads: “Today’s Forecast: 100-percent chance of seeing your neighbor’s wife in a skimpy top and yoga pants. Remember, you can look but thou shalt not covet.”

Local News

The Swampton Slinger just learned that County Council has approved a new Pet Tax. That’s right, taxpayers, in an ill-advised effort to both balance the budget and deal with the growing stray animal problem, your county is demanding $25 per head for every dog, $10 per cat, and $5 per goldfish, reptile, bird, raccoon, possum, etc. You will also be charged $50 for every head of livestock found inside your home, and $10 for every chicken in your house, even if they are just passing through.

Service dogs are excluded, of course.

Obituary

Momma Shakes of Speed Limit Road, Swampton, passed away suddenly at the age of 48 when she read about the new Pet Tax. Mrs. Shakes leaves behind a husband, Jimmy, two children, a yearling cow, ten goats, 27 dogs that just come and go when they are hungry or some female is “in heat,” 22 cats, two potbellied pigs, an aquarium filled with hermit crabs, a turtle named Myrtle...

Ever since Swampton County passed the controversial new Pet Tax, clever citizens have been searching for new ways to practice the old art of tax evasion. The county has been holding tax exemption hearings all week.

“State your name for the record,” said County Commission Richard B. Randy.

“Pee Wee Palmer.”

“The nature of your exemption?”

“These dogs aren’t pets, they are ‘seeing eye’ dogs.”

Commissioner Randy looked down at the mongrels. They didn’t appear to be trained service dogs – the beagle was getting to second base with the court reporter’s leg, and the blue tick hound was dragging its rear end along the county seal painted on the floor. He looked back at Pee Wee, who did not appear to be visually challenged.

“What exactly is the nature of your vision problem? Cataracts? Astigmatism?”

“I believe the doctor called it alcoholism,” Pee Wee said. “When I’m blind drunk they help me find my way home.”

“Name?”

“Corky Shakes.”

“Mr. Shakes, why do you feel this goat should be exempt from both the Pet and  Livestock Tax?”

“For starters, her name is Nettie. And she isn’t just some pet goat or livestock, thank you very much. She’s a family member. My wife, to be exact.”

Councilwoman Annette Turtlebaum gasped. Miss Turtlebaum, who taught Sunday School for 32 years, had never married.

“Your wife?” Commissioner Randy scoffed. “This is pretty hard to believe, sir. Do you have any documentation? A marriage license?”

“Naw, she’s my common law wife. Every time I try to load her up and take her down to the courthouse for a proper wedding, she runs off and hides behind the feed shed.”

Miss Turtlebaum was turning a shade of green. Beads of sweat were causing dark rivers of mascara to streak down her face.

“Sir, you need to provide some type of evidence to support your case, otherwise you will have to pay the $50 Livestock Tax.”

Corky produced a thick manila envelope. Randy pulled a photograph from it, which made Miss Turtlebaum gasp even louder. She suddenly got red-faced and covered her mouth with one trembling hand.

“There’s me and Nettie on our first date,” Corky continued. “Just a playful romp in the pasture, and then a picnic. Don’t you just love her cute little tank top? There’s another one of her in a yellow sundress.”

With his mouth agape, Randy pulled out another photo.

“What the…!” he exclaimed, dropping the picture as if it were on fire. “Did you take risqué boudoir photos with a goat?”

“Doesn’t that lingerie just bring out the green in her eyes?” Corky asked proudly. “Did you notice the matching collar and ear tag?”

Sammy Sluice had been practicing his best Hollywood-actor-style Southern lawyer accent all week. He even bought a seersucker suit and tie.

“Why you feel your horse is exempt from the tax?” Randy enquired. “Clearly a horse is both a pet, and livestock.”

“Your Honor,” Sammy drawled in his best Matlock impersonation. “I present to the court Exhibit A.”

“This looks like a police report,” Randy said after examination. “It says here you were passed out drunk across the saddle on Speed Limit Road. Tell me, how does a person get a Driving Under the Influence charge while riding a horse? And what exactly does this have to do with the Pet Tax?”

“Well, if it pleases The Court, it is my legal argument that the horse in question is neither pet, nor livestock, but a mode of transportation. If the Swampton County Sheriff’s Office can charge me with DUI on this animal, then I argue it must be a vehicle and not a pet. Therefore, I am exempt,” he added with a cocky grin. “I rest my case, Your Honor.”

For once, Randy was stumped. He had been outsmarted by a drunkard and a common crook. “Well, sir, I suppose we can’t argue with that. I guess you are free to go.”

Victorious, Sammy had strutted almost completely out of the room when the Commissioner called him back.

“By the way, sir, we will be sending you a vehicle property tax notice for that horse,” Randy smirked. “Also, you will now be required to pay the county DMV for a license tag for the rear end of that ‘vehicle,’ and you’ll need full coverage insurance as well. I’ll tell the Sheriff to keep an eye out for you.”

Here in Swampton County, you can fight city hall, but the government will get you one way or another. Come back and see us, but leave your pets at home.