HEY, LET'S BUILD A SHIELD AGAINST ANOTHER INCOMING THREAT

Controversy is already raging around the Bush administration's bold new
initiative to halt the flow of illegal substances into the United States
for good. Details are secret and security tight, but the "Drug Wars"
concept closely resembles its sibling, the newest incarnation of the "Star
Wars" dream of an anti-missile defense system to protect the entire
continental United States.

Unlike the new land-based missile defense shield, the Drug Wars shield will
consist of thousands of specially trained "astrodogs" circling in space
aboard high-tech kennels. Their mission: to sniff out incoming drug
shipments from as far as 2,000 miles away in the ultra-clear, ultra-clean
atmosphere of space, where smells can travel undiminished for thousands of
light-years, and start barking.

Allegedly, every such bark will be picked up by sensitive listening devices
at Drug Enforcement Administration headquarters in Washington;the precise
location of the law-breaking invader -- by air, sea or land -- will be
electronically pinpointed, and a response instantly triggered. Within
seconds, a shower of water bombs released from hovering "space barrels"
will hit their target with the estimated force of six tsunamis.

Administration backers acclaim the Drug Wars concept as a foolproof and
impregnable barrier against drug trafficking from abroad. Skeptics
pooh-pooh the very idea of astrodogs as the linchpin of a deterrent system.
"It's badly flawed," scoffs one. "Some defense system, when dogs spend more
than half their lives asleep!"

Other critics point to the system's "exorbitant" $300 billion estimated
cost. "And that doesn't even include all the freeze-dried kibble those
mutts will require," snorts one Capitol Hill doubting Thomas. "A bonanza
for Big Dogfood, a burden for the hard-working American taxpayer."

A research-and-development budget is the administration's initial priority
in getting the Drug Wars project underway. "A hundred million or so should
get things off the ground," forecasts one budgetary planner. "We buy up all
the German shepherd breeders in America, do some preliminary testing of
kennels -- incidentally, saving tons of money by snapping up used Russian
space stations at bargain prices -- and subcontract with conventioneering
Shriners to practice dropping water bombs out hotel windows. That's another
big plus about the Drug Wars idea. It may seem straight out of Buck Rogers,
but, hey, it's not exactly rocket science. A lot of it's real low-tech, in
fact."

Opponents' other concerns -- that Drug Wars could lead to the contamination
of outer space with fleas, for example, and the threat of a nationwide "pet
drain" as all the smart dogs are drafted into the program -- are dismissed
by its advocates. "Every daring new idea is bad-mouthed by the timid types,
the nervous Nellies," remarks one. "I'll bet my Rottweiler that these guys
all have Yorkies and Chihuahuas."

President Bush is reportedly set to volunteer his own dog, Spot, to be the
first astrodog, as a symbol of his personal commitment to the Drug Wars
program, and in a coming speech at the Texas Kennel Club's annual Bow-Wow
is expected to stir widespread public involvement by calling for a
schoolchildren's drive to collect rubber bones and other playthings for the
nation's thousands of space-based canine sentinels. Anti-Drug Wars forces,
meanwhile, are about to recommend that dog owners hang "Hell No, I Won't
Go!" placards around their pets' necks, and will soon introduce legislation
tightening America's dog-napping laws.

But the Drug Wars debate is only in its early stages. More strident
arguments, pro and con, are sure to mark public discourse as both sides dig
in. Is the antagonism of the Drug Wars foes more bark than bite? Are its
proponents barking up the wrong tree? "There hasn't been a subject this
emotional in dog's years," one observer comments. "The fur is really going
to fly."