That's Politics

The expressive eyes of a dog reveal little about their thoughts. You can tell about their state of mind, but not about their thoughts. I watched closely. She licked her nose, and approached me.

“So....what do you think?” she querried.

I didn't know where to go with this. It could be she wanted to talks about the debate, or about Hillary's testimony. I didn't know. She simply had not spoken for a while, so I had no clue. Intrigued, I ventured a comment designed to elicit more information.

“A disgraceful display of partisanship with a shameless disregard for the truth, don't you think?” I parried.

“Yes!”, she screamed! “And the panel was asking such asinine questions! Can you imagine anyone else being disrespected to that degree?”

Now that I knew that conversation was about the Hillary's testimony, I ventured in. I knew I needed to be cautious because Dixie...excuse me Svatchime, has a pretty impressive set of incisors, but still the rogue in me spurred me on. I took some bacon from the fridge and started heating a cast iron skillet.

“So help me understand something. Hillary told her daughter the night of the attack that the Benghazi attack was an attack by terrorists, and she told the Egyptian president that it was an attack by terrorists and that it was not about a movie, so why did she tell you and me it was a demonstration about a movie gone bad?”, I said as I put bacon in the skillet. It sizzled.

“You really are a simple creature, aren't you?”, Svatchime said smiling as only a chocolate lab can. Adopting that all too familiar condescending tone, “To say otherwise would contradict the president's election mantra that 'Ben Laden is dead, AlQueda is on the run'. Clearly it could not be a terrorist attack. By definition, it had to be something else, and the movie was what was decided upon.”, she said sniffing the air.

“What?”, I said, not even bothering to mention that the man's name was 'Bin Laden' while turning the bacon. “You take an event you know is a terrorist attack, and characterize it as a demonstration gone awry because it contradicts the president's re-election campaign message? What the hell is wrong with you? You can't mislead people like that! She stood beside the coffins of the dead diplomats and operators and lied to their parents. She lied to the American people, and now you think she needs to be president of the United States?”

Svatchime sniffed the air as I removed the first slice of bacon from the pan.

“What difference does it make? Do you think it would bring them back if she said 'Yep..it's those pesky terrorists again!'? The diplomats are dead! Get over it. The only thing it would have done is to embarrass the president. It would not have mattered because everyone who cared about that voted against him any way”, she said as I held a piece of perfectly cooked bacon in my hand.

I maneuvered the bacon to the left, and then to the right. Svatchime's eyes followed as if controlled by a string.

“So, a lie is ok with you?”, I asked.

“An innocuous white lie isn't a problem.”, Svatchime assured me.

“And you are ok with giving up bacon?”, I asked as I ate the piece of bacon.

“What?”

“Are you ok with giving up bacon? Hillary accepted a lot of money from the Saudis and they hate bacon. The Saudi's gave her far more money than the Anti-gun folks , so she'll outlaw bacon before she outlaws guns.” I said reaching for my second piece of bacon.

“REALLY?” Svatchime screamed, eyes wide and drooling. “Do you think she'd actually outlaw bacon?”

“Yep”, I said tossing her a piece of bacon. “You know it's all about the money, and there ain't no such thing as Halal bacon.”

I could see the wheels turning in Svatchime's mind as she savored the bacon. She knew I was right. Even a dog can figure out that with Hillary, it is all about the money. I was still reasoning with a dog which means anything could happen. I had to kick it up a notch.

I tossed Svatchime another piece of bacon. She caught it mid-air. As she devoured it, I looked at her and said “You know, she say's it's OK to kill puppies almost up until they leave the Vet's office, and she want's to give 1/3 of your food to another dog.”

She was clearly shocked. Svatchime licked her nose and gave her ears a good shake. She looked at me with those innocent Lab eyes, and I saw raw anger in them, real anger. For a minute, I feared she was about to attack me, but I tossed her another piece of bacon. “Outlaw bacon? That's just crazy talk. She'll never get away with it.”, she growled.

I tossed her another. She savored each morsel with a love that only a dog can have for bacon. An innocent soul immersed in a simple joy. A peace came over me, and I had to repent. I just couldn't lie to her. “She's not going to outlaw bacon, she doesn't kill puppies, and she doesn't care about how much you eat”, I said. “I was trying to make a point with you about lying to manipulate people.”

“You evil lying bastard!”,she snarled with the hair standing up on her neck! “How could you lie to me about killing puppies, stealing my lunch and outlawing bacon!!! You were saying that so I wouldn't like Hillary! There, sir, is a special place in hell for you! I will never trust you again”, she said as I gave her another piece of bacon.

“But Svatchime,” I said, “You know that Hillary has lied to you about everything from cattle futures to the Rose Law Firm's billing records to Bill's girlfriends, to voting for the Iraqi War, to voting against the troop surge, to the Benghazi massacre , to the illegal email server! What about that?”

“That's different. That's politics.”

A Dog's Take on Minimum Wage

I knew something was up. She sat down right in front of me and just stared at me, not blinking, not wavering, just staring. I knew she was there, but I refused to look up and acknowledge her presence. Finally, with haughty disdain dripping from her voice, she said “Why on earth are you against raising the minimum wage to $15?”

Still not looking up, I said “I am opposed to raising the minimum wage because I don't want to order my McDonald's hamburger from a kiosk or terminal. I want to order it from a person.”

“What, prey tell, does that have to do with paying a living wage?” Dixie said cocking her head to the side as if that would help her understand.

“Raising the minimum wage will force employers to either raise prices or to hire few workers, and invest in automation. There is a limit to what the market is willing to pay for a hamburger, so in the end, a few people will make a little more money, but there will be fewer jobs available, and service will go down. You will wait longer for your burger..” I patiently explained.

“Bullcrap! McDonald's makes a gazillion dollars a year, and they can afford to pay their workers a living wage.!”

“Dixie,” I began, “McDonald's has a business model that allows for a certain percent of their sales dollar to go for labor costs and a certain percentage goes to profit. This business model is why the entire chain has been so incredibly successful and has created so many jobs. Changing the minimum wage isn't going to change that business model. It simply means that McDonald's will find ways to increase sales with the same head count or maintain sales with a reduced head count so they can stay within their business model and remain profitable.”

“That profit is obscene! They make a gazillion dollars! They should take that profit and distribute it to the workers.”, Dixie growled. “Shame on McDonald's!

“Dixie, McDonald's is in business to make a profit. That's why we start businesses...to make a profit.”

“That's the problem!”, she exclaimed,” If it weren't for the blind pursuit of profit, the workers could enjoy a much high wage!! Don't you understand? Profit is the problem!”

“Without profit, a business must inevitably fail, and when it fails everyone loses their job.”, I said trying to contain my growing irritation.

“Not true! Not true at all”, Dixie smugly said as she sat scratching behind her ear.

“Name one business that exists without turning a profit.”, I challenged her.

“General Motors”

I hate my dog.

The Dog may be a Democrat

My dog, Dixie…excuse me..Svatchime is rapidly becoming a nuisance. This morning, even before I had coffee, she pounced on me with a political discussion.

“Donald Trump must leave the race”, she solemnly intoned as she executed a very aggressive crotch sniff.

“What?”, I asked.

 “Donald Trump simply must get out of the primary race. He insulted a war hero, and frankly, I am offended” She said as she raised her head a little, and sniffed the air a bit. “I smell bacon”, she added.

“You’re going to jump off the Trump bandwagon because he talked disrespected Senator McCain?” I asked incredulously.

“I have never supported Donald Trump, and what in the hell does Senior McCain have to do with it? Is it the Mexican thing again?” she hissed. Again she sniffed the air, “Someone is cooking bacon.”

I didn’t even know dogs could hiss. “What do you mean you never supported him? If you didn’t like him in the first place, why are you saying that he must drop out? Why do you care?” I asked, somewhat stunned.

“Trump is a money grubbing capitalist real estate mogul. He represents everything that is wrong with this country. He glorifies and personifies greed. He offends me on so many levels. He is a duopolistic liar. He has made millions on dirty little backroom deals with foreign despots all across the world. He is an privileged autocratic monster with absolutely no empathy for the common man. He seems to be politically tone deaf, and has zero in the way of political accomplishments” , Svatchime explained just before she began attending to a urgent personal hygienic matter.

No one can sound quite as smug and condescending as a chocolate Labrador who has recently acquired the gift of speech.

“So, just so I understand….You say Donald Trump is a man you have never supported, and whom you say personifies everything you are against. You say he must withdraw from the primary race because he said something that offended you? Have I got that right?, I asked.

“Yes. Do I smell bacon?”, came the reply.

“So, your position is that any politician with whom you have disagreements should not be running for office”

“Finally, you get it! We simply cannot have a cold, soulless, ego-maniacal power freak running the country.” Svatchime said.

“So”, I asked, “Who are you supporting?”

“Hillary”

Attacked By My Own Dog

I am distraught.

My chocolate lab, Dixie whom we have raised from a pup, came to me this morning and informed me that due to the racist connotations of her name, she will no longer answer to that name, preferring to be addressed as “Svatchime”.

“What?  Why are you offended?  Did someone mistreat you?”  I asked as I scratched her behind her ear.

“Someone told me that I was named after a horrible racist song that glorifies slavery and oppression and that I have always been horribly oppressed my entire life by the man, you bigot”, she growled.

“Who told you that?  Was it Isadore?”, I asked as I offered her a piece of bacon.  Isadore is a mean little terrior/poodle mix who lives behind us.  She doesn’t like me and barks a lot.

Dixie nodded as she devoured the bacon, and paused just for a second to ask "What's a song?"

Of course, I was shocked, and not just because my dog speaking with me, or because she was offended by her own name, but also because of her new name.  “Svatchime” is what conservative radio host Bud Grant used to call Mario Cumuo when he was governor of New York…it’s Greek for “The Impotent one”.

“Do you know what “Svatchime” means?” I asked

“No, but I like it and Isador says that it can mean whatever I want it to mean”, came the reply.

While trying to wrap my brain around all this, I heard a loud ruckus erupt outside the house.  I looked out the window, and small but loud band of feral cats were in the front yard singing ‘Dixie’, and waving dead mice and Confederate flags.

“Who are they?”,  I asked.

“They are your allies, you hateful bigot.  Can I have some more bacon?”, came the reply.

“No more bacon for you.  Why are they here?”

“Isadore invited them”, Dixie replied. “She said that you racists should hang out together.  I really want some more bacon, fascist pig.”

“They are feral cats, you stupid dog, and I’m not a racist!  No bacon for you.” I reminded her.

“You’re a mean spirited, white supremacist racist zionist because you won't give me more bacon, Look at your friends and look what you named me, you race baiting skunk!” said Dixie angerly.

Using my Airsoft rifle, I persuaded each cat to leave.

I knew Dixie was angry, but I was too.  I pointed my Airsoft gun at Dixie and said softly “They are not my friends, Dixie is your name, and …”

“SQUIRREL!”, Dixie screamed as she leaped at the sliding glass door and began to bark madly.

Insanity isn't about a talking to a mad dog.  It's about trying to reason with one.