Political Charles
“More eggs or toast, Robbie?”
“No thanks. Hey, so who do you think is going to win the presidential election?” Charles is a pretty good cook, I love having him around.
“Oh, don’t even get me started. President Bush’s monetary policies are about as elegant as his public addresses. I mean, could he not foresee the potential for a surmounting debt in the trillions of dollars from delivering good old fashion democracy to Iraq?! And then there’s the tax breaks for the rich…”
“Wow, take it easy little fellow. A simple Bush or Kerry would suffice.” I have to interject; things are getting out of hand. The worst part about having a talking dog is that sometimes they…well, they talk back.
Charles digs in, “If my political bantering is above your head, perhaps you shouldn’t solicit me for my opinion. Oh, and another thing, ‘little fellow’ is a little condescending, a little too ‘K-9’; would you like a ‘Hey there big dumb white guy’?” Charles is marching around the room, arms swinging wildly, bumping head first into the door frame repeatedly. Jerk.
We adopted Charles from the local SPCA 3 years ago, and soon realized he was no average dog, with an affinity for American Politics, the BBC news channel, and “Coronation Street”. Although I’m older than Charles in man-years, he’s technically older than me if you factor in his 5 years multiplied by the universally accepted 7-year man-to-dog-year conversion ratio, and I think this plays a big factor in his confidence, intelligence, and grammatical mastery. A fairly normal dog otherwise; oh, and he can talk. I dare say that some people have found that a little unusual.
“No thanks. Hey, so who do you think is going to win the presidential election?” Charles is a pretty good cook, I love having him around.
“Oh, don’t even get me started. President Bush’s monetary policies are about as elegant as his public addresses. I mean, could he not foresee the potential for a surmounting debt in the trillions of dollars from delivering good old fashion democracy to Iraq?! And then there’s the tax breaks for the rich…”
“Wow, take it easy little fellow. A simple Bush or Kerry would suffice.” I have to interject; things are getting out of hand. The worst part about having a talking dog is that sometimes they…well, they talk back.
Charles digs in, “If my political bantering is above your head, perhaps you shouldn’t solicit me for my opinion. Oh, and another thing, ‘little fellow’ is a little condescending, a little too ‘K-9’; would you like a ‘Hey there big dumb white guy’?” Charles is marching around the room, arms swinging wildly, bumping head first into the door frame repeatedly. Jerk.
We adopted Charles from the local SPCA 3 years ago, and soon realized he was no average dog, with an affinity for American Politics, the BBC news channel, and “Coronation Street”. Although I’m older than Charles in man-years, he’s technically older than me if you factor in his 5 years multiplied by the universally accepted 7-year man-to-dog-year conversion ratio, and I think this plays a big factor in his confidence, intelligence, and grammatical mastery. A fairly normal dog otherwise; oh, and he can talk. I dare say that some people have found that a little unusual.
posted by Robbie Jackson at 4:54 PM
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