Translated from “dog” By W. H. Lamb

This is Boomer back with you again. I’ve been a little “down” the past few weeks. First off, my back legs are starting to give me a little pain from time to time. Nothing too bad, and dog medicine seems to help, but it does bother me some. One of the humans I take care of, named Grampa, has also been having pain in his back and legs for the past few months, and I know it bothers him. I’ve offered to share my medicine with him, but he told me that he preferred to take his own. He reminds me constantly that I am fortunate to walk on four legs instead of walking upright, and developing back trouble. Frankly, I’d never want to walk upright because I can run much faster on my four legs than any human I’ve yet met. Just another way that we dog people are the superior species (but I don’t brag about it).


Secondly you all know, I assume, that I was running for “Dog-In-Chief’ for our territory and I’m sorry to announce that I lost my election. I tried real hard to win, but I still lost. My two humans that I care for—Grampa and Gramma--- said that they were disappointed also because this Obama fellow that I’ve mentioned before, and whom they were strongly against, won his election for the Human-In-Chief. Since my humans were supporting someone else, they’ve been “down” even more than I have been. My Grampa told my Gramma that “you can’t win them all,” but I was confident that I would win. I sure was wrong. It would appear that the NotObama fellow that my humans supported was wrong, also. Really wrong!

One of the things I do every night before my humans and I go to sleep is to take a final walk around the yard with my Grampa. I get a chance to do what I have to do (if you know what I mean), and to make certain that there are no cats lurking around, threatening to disturb our peace. I really like to do my dark walks when the wet part of the sky is falling down, or especially just after it has stopped falling down. I’ve learned that I can sniff out some real delicacies under the grass at this time. When I first discovered them, and how tasty they were, my Grampa tried to stop me from digging them up, and told me that he didn’t want holes in his grass. He told me that dogs don’t eat those “big grubs” (his name for my delicacy). Now I’ve seen him eat something he calls ‘shrimp,’ and they look just like a larger version of my ‘grubs’ that I find quite tasty. So if he can eat his shrimp grubs, then I should be allowed to eat my lawn grubs. That only seems fair to me.

Anyway, we were out in the yard late at night recently when I sniffed out what I knew was a tasty grub. I dug it up as fast as I could, expecting the usual complaints from my Grampa about the really small hole I left in his grass, but he didn’t even seem to be paying attention as I enjoyed my treat. Instead I heard him speaking with his grown puppy son who lives in Texas, using his mysterious talking hand next to his ear that many humans seem to use. For some reason we dogs don’t seem to have that ability to talk into our paws and communicate with others of our kind. Apparently when we were being made, our Creator overlooked that feature, and instead made us communicate with each other by sniffing and barking. But, I digress.

I heard my Grampa telling his hand that our country was in for a very bad time now that this Obama fellow had been re-elected as our leader. I know that if I had been elected as Dog-In-Chief my humans would have been pleased, and that if the person they voted for to replace Obama had been elected as Human-In-Chief then both of them would have been very happy, for their Dog Person, me, would have been in charge of all the dog people, and this NotObama fellow would have become the new President in charge of all the Human People. But it was not meant to be. This really bothers me, because we are both good people, and a bad thing happened to us--- we weren’t elected. Why do these bad things happen to good dog or human people? Can somebody tell me?

As I was saying, I heard my Grampa telling his puppy son in Texas that half of the people in our country of America must be stupid, or brain dead, to have voted for an incompetent pack leader like this Obama. His son in Texas was somehow able to talk to my Grampa’s hand and communicate with him. It sounded to me as though he was agreeing with my Grampa, and didn’t care for this Obama either. Then my Grampa said that it seemed as if this Obama fellow wanted to be the King of America, and was unfit to rule over us, for he was guilty of the same complaints against him that the people who started America charged against some King named George, long ago. I really don’t know much about that, of course, for it all must have happened just after the world began, in 2003, when I was just a pup.

I also heard my Grampa tell his hand that this Obama fellow acts as if it is “his way or the highway.” Now I do understand about these ‘highways’ my Grampa was talking about. When I go for rides in his car, with my head out the window and the wind blowing my ears, I know we drive on a ‘highway.’ At least I think that’s what they are called. Cars are such mysterious devices anyway, and move much faster than even I can run, and they do it without any legs! I once went with my Grampa to a noisy and scary place where I heard him talking to another human about something called a “tire.” He was pointing to one of those round things that spin around under the car, and telling this human that he needed a new one. Now the way I see it, these ‘tire’ things are like my legs—which point down toward the ground. Those round tire legs must be what makes Grampa’s car run so fast. They don’t look like my legs, but.... Sorry, I’m digressing again. I have a habit of doing that.

I also heard my Grampa tell his son that this Obama fellow who claims to be a good leader is actually doing his best to split apart all of the American people-just like those Democrat dogs do—especially the Dobermans and the Chihuahuas at the pet park where my voting took place. They really riled up as many of the other dogs as possible to vote against me, and I guess they did. They said all kinds of bad things against me because I’m half Pit Bull. They said I was unfit to rule over them as ‘Dog-In-Chief’ because of my personality, which is actually quite pleasant according to my Grampa--- unless you’re a cat, and then ... Sorry, I lost my scent trail of thought again and got distracted. It’s so easy to lose my trail. I must be getting old.

Before we went back into the house I heard my Grampa tell his puppy son that this Obama fellow has done his best to divide the humans, for he has tried to turn black people against white people; female people against the males (just exactly what is the difference? No one will tell me); young people against older people like my Grampa; people with lots of bones to spend against those who don’t have many bones. Now I don’t pretend to understand everything my Grampa said, but I could tell that he was very disturbed. I was too, because I know I disappointed him by losing my election. Well, it was my fault, I know (even if most of those other dogs were stupid).

I don’t know when my humans will have another chance to get rid of this Obama fellow who has so divided them. Perhaps it will be soon-perhaps not. I hear lots of humans speaking on the radio in the den I share with my humans. I don’t understand everything they say, but it seems to center around the fact that this Obama fellow, who has ruled over the American humans for the past four years (whatever that means) is a big failure. He has caused America to get so far into debt that people would have to work for a million years in order to earn enough bones to pay off that debt (I may have heard this wrong, of course). My humans tell others that in the next four years, this Obama fellow will push us into more bone debt than all of the other Humans-In-Chief ever. And that’s a lot!

Well, a new year is about to begin, and my humans want to wish everyone a very Happy New Year of 2013. I have no idea what a year is, but I gather that it must be a long time. My concept of ‘time’ is different than yours’; my ‘days’ are measured from the time I get up when the bright thing appears in the sky, to when it disappears and everything turns black again. I concern myself with one day at a time, and I think that I’m happier than you humans, who seem to get all concerned about months and years, as though you could do something to slow them down. You can’t, you know. Say a prayer to our Creator for a good “new year” where we think more of Him, and less of ourselves. And pray for me, a little dog who loves his Grampa and Gramma. But don’t ever expect me to love cats!

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Mike Scruggs