Emmy, Queen of Niskayuna
I'm sitting at the computer reading my morning weblogs when the dog comes up to me.
"Hey!" she says, pushing her nose into my leg. "We need to go for a walk!"
"We just got back from a walk. Why do we need to go for another?"
"Wolves endorsed Kerry! We need to connect with voters!"
"What?"
"I need votes! I'm the best! Vote for me!"
"What?"
"Fafnir was going to endorse me, but he went for a gila monster instead. I need votes!"
"Fafnir was going to vote for a big ol' dog. A mean dog, like Maverick up the street."
"Oh. We don't like him."
"No, we don't. Anyway, your canvassing technique needs work. Waiting until the last minute, and then suddenly rushing up at voters doesn't work. It just scares them."
"Stupid voters. They probably like cats. Squeaky cats. I'm the best!"
"You are the best, but you can't be President. You're a dog. And 'Best Dog in the Capital Region' isn't an elective office."
"Oh. Can we go for a walk anyway?"
"No, but I will let you outside to chase squirrels."
"Ohboy! Outside! Squeaky squirrels!"
"Remember they're in the back right..." I call after her, as she charges into the wrong corner of the yard. Again.
No more blogs for her.
Posted at 9:40 AM | link | follow-ups |