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And so it was that we arrived at Town Hall, where a local captain of industry was being awarded some kind of medal in recognition of his contributions to the economy. And much to my surprise, it was in fact Cotton Karat who was the recipient of this award as doled out by Mayor Butterwick.

The award ceremony was a boring and long-winded affair, with plenty of speeches by the Mayor as well as several council members. Politicians may be chosen for their eloquence as well as their managerial qualities, but that obviously didnÆt apply to the can of council members theyÆd opened today, as the only purpose their particular oratorial set of skills served was a soporific one. I only woke up to watch Cotton Karat, who was a handsome man in his early forties, being offered his medal and accepting it gratefully.

The man was dressed in a snazzy suit, his hair was neatly coiffed and his face bronzed, but when it finally came time for him to launch into a speech of his own, a man with thick, heavy brows stepped in, and said that Mr. KaratÆs time was precious, and unfortunately he had a prior engagement that needed his urgent attention.

And so the playboy businessman was whisked off before he could entertain us with his words of wisdom and his business acumen.

Once outside, we watched as he descended the stairs en route to his limo, but as he reached that safe haven of luxury, suddenly a woman tore herself away from a pack of spectators and approached the business leader. She was holding a can of some substance in her arms, and before anyone could stop her, she was hoisting it in the direction of Mr. Karat, dousing him with some sticky red liquid that looked a lot like blood!

ôMurderer!ö the woman was screaming. ôAnimal slaughterer! Nazi butcher!ö

And suddenly out from the crowd, more people sprang forward, hoisting banners scribbled with slogans that echoed the blood-throwing womanÆs incendiary cries. They were like a flash mob from hell.

æMeat is murder,Æ read one, and æDucks are people, too,Æ another, while a third announced that æFoie gras is a crime against humanity.Æ

It all seemed very staged, somehow, as if it wasnÆt real. But then suddenly two familiar figures popped onto the scene, also hoisting a banner. They were Gran and her best friend Scarlett Canyon! And the banner they held aloft read, æCotton Karat is a mass murderer!Æ

ôIsnÆt that Gran?ö asked Dooley.

ôYeah, it is,ö I said, much surprised.

ôWhat is she saying?ö

ôSomething about ducks,ö I said, though it was hard to make out exactly what it was she was shouting, since a lot of people were shouting a lot of stuff, not least of whom were the two bodyguards Cotton had brought along with him, and who were now ushering their charge into the waiting limo. But before they could whisk the man away to safety, he held up his hand to wave at his attacker for some reason, and give her a kindly smile.

Not exactly a hard-boiled business shark, I thought as I watched the scene unfold. More like Santa Claus giving the children whoÆve come out to greet him a friendly wave.

While the limo drove off, the two bodyguards shouting something into their wrist mics, and jogging alongside the limo, not unlike the Secret Service when the President comes to town, Gran and her cronies kept screaming abuse at the departing tycoon.

ôItÆs going to be very difficult to clean that upholstery,ö Dooley remarked.

ôYeah, especially since I have the impression that it was paint, not blood.ö

ôYou think?ö

ôOh, absolutely.ö

Plenty of the fake blood had ended up on the sidewalk, which now looked as if a minor massacre had taken place there. We approached and took a sniff and indeed determined that it was paint.ôOdd,ö said Dooley. ôWhy would they pour paint on that poor man?ö

ôI think itÆs a symbolic thing,ö I said.

ôSymbolic, how?ö

ôThey seem to think eating meat is tantamount to murder, and to emphasize the fact, they canÆt think of anything better to do than to pour a few gallons of fake blood on the person they deem guilty of this murder.ö

ôMurder!ö my friend cried.

ôIt is a fact that the chickens, turkeys, cows and other animals killed to provide nourishment to a large cross section of the population, are killed without their written approval. So in a sense you might consider this a crime against the animal kingdom.ö

This gave my friend food for thought, for I didnÆt hear from him for the next ten minutes.