The town that legally elected a dog as mayor, three times

Some towns run on lakes or lumber. Others, it turns out, run on tourism built entirely around electing dogs to public office, and doing it with a straight face for decades.

The tradition started as a fundraiser: a dollar a vote, proceeds to local causes, a golden retriever versus a labrador versus whoever else showed up with a leash. Nobody expected it to outlast the fundraiser it was built for. It did anyway, running for enough consecutive cycles that the "mayor" has technically served longer than most human officials in towns that size.

The office comes with real, if symbolic, duties: ribbon cuttings, a seat at the parade, an actual desk in an actual town building where paperwork gets photographed next to a very patient dog. Local businesses print the mayor on merchandise. Tourists plan trips around inauguration day.

Nobody in town seems to think this is strange, which might be the most telling detail of all. Ask why a dog is mayor and the answer is always some version of: why not — the elections are honest, the ribbon cuttings are on time, and nobody has ever caught the mayor in a scandal.

Part of the deeper dive: The Collection of True Stories Too Strange to Make Up.