FRIDAY, JANUARY 4, 2002 — "Da den forhenværende presidenten skulle leke med hunden Buddy her om dagen," reported the Norwegian online magazine NRK, back in January 2001, "ble bisken litt for ivrig da far kastet ballen." Such was the global reach of Buddy, the Clintons’ mischievous chocolate lab. But no more. No more.

Buddy is dead. Killed in a road accident. You didn’t know?

It’s a sign of the times, perhaps, that the ex–First Dog’s demise has been consigned to the inside pages of the nation’s newspapers. After all, the death was not the result of a terrorist act or part of a vast right-wing conspiracy. As Lieutenant Charles Ferry of the New Castle, New York, police department remarked, "It was strictly an accident."

The tragedy occurred on Wednesday, January 2, outside the Clintons’ Chappaqua home. Neither Bill nor Hillary was there at the time. The ever-frolicsome Buddy — who at four years old was in the prime of life — had lollopped after a contractor who was leaving the house. He (the dog) ran into the road. An SUV driven by a local high-school student came by. Squish. R.I.P.

"US, Kabul Turn Up Heat on Holdouts," reported a front-page story in today’s Boston Globe. And: "Democrats Eye Quick ’04 Primary Race." The news of Buddy’s death, meanwhile, was tucked away at the bottom of page two. Why? With the possible exception of Backstreet Boy Nick Carter’s recent brush with the law, Buddy’s death is — or at least should be — the first big news story of the year. Not only is Buddy’s the first honest-to-goodness celebrity death of 2002, it is the first death since Princess Diana’s with the potential to wrench the public’s emotions to their core. So why isn’t this happening? Where are the tears? The flowers? The 60 Minutes specials?

Granted, as a nation we are distracted right now, what with the crumbling economy, Borgian political maneuverings, and the ongoing Terrorist Threat. But do we really need another top-of-the-hour news story advising us that we have no clue as to Osama bin Laden’s whereabouts? Do we really need to see full-color front-page shots of Jane Swift’s 14-year-old running mate giving the thumbs-up sign? No, we do not. We need a national day of mourning. We need a state funeral. It’s an insult to the Clintons, the dog, and the country as a whole that Buddy’s death has not received the prominence it deserves. It is also a sign that the American media, so often criticized for wallowing in the lurid minutiae of celebrity gossip, have become a little too devoted to so-called serious news.

Time was, Buddy’s every move was documented, analyzed, commented on. Indeed, in the years after the Clintons acquired him (in 1997), the dog became a true celebrity. He had his own online fan page, complete with "Buddy Sightings" and such news snippets as "Clinton frolics on beach with dog Buddy." In March 1998, the front pages advised us that "Buddy Clinton Is to Be Neutered." The same year, Hillary Clinton published an anthology of First Pets’ fan mail called Dear Socks, Dear Buddy (Simon & Schuster). Anti-Clintonites bemoaned the fact that the president had picked America’s most popular breed of dog out of political expediency ("Image seems to have been the main reason behind the choice"). The dog’s falling out with the Clintons’ cat, Socks, was, of course, top news the world over. A few years back, the online magazine Salon reported that "the New York Times has published a picture of the president’s dog’s penis."

Such news stories may seem trite given the current climate, but if America is really going to "return to normal," we may need to mangle our priorities just a little. Does anybody have the first idea what Britney Spears is up to these days? Is there any water-cooler discussion at all about how much money it would take for us to eat a rat on national TV? What about Ben Affleck’s brush with alcoholism — how’s that coming along? These, like it or not, are important questions.

A couple of days ago in China, there were riots outside a McDonald’s eatery as crowds surged to acquire promotional Snoopy dolls. America’s diplomatic and military branches can only dream about such global reach. At home, meanwhile, there is barely a glimmer of interest in the latest micro-outfit worn by J.Lo. While we wave our flags and grind our teeth over Al Qaeda, we are in danger of neglecting the one thing that makes America truly great: pop culture. So let’s get back to normal. Let’s have a little bit of meaningless crap with our daily dose of gravitas.

Buddy was only a dog, yes, but he was a famous dog — perhaps the most famous dog in America. His death — if not his penis — should be front-page news.