Instructional parables and American politics
Recently, I took my two shaggy canines in for a needed haircut. Their coats had ceased being useful for warmth and had become reverse Swiffers. The youngest one magnetically swept up nature and, once on the heated side of the dog door, released flora onto the floors. This reverse osmosis of debris is especially distressing to someone who develops a palm rash when clutching a broom handle. Watching their behavior after coming home from the groomers reminded me of the political climate of late.
The older male is perfectly happy with how his life has always been and does not relish change. He is uncomfortable with new tricks and doesn’t like strangers coming onto his lawn. The young female is incapable of sitting still, hates the status quo, constantly insists that those about her to shower her with all of their attention and unashamedly sits in the laps of those who are not family members. The two dogs’ approaches on life directly affected the results of their grooming.
The calmer older dog sat still, accepting the haircut’s results from the beginning, and was pleased with the outcome. The younger dog wiggled, protested and fought with the groomer during the whole process. All of her machinations resulted in her getting scalped and left her dissatisfied. It has been a week since the grooming. The young female constantly complains. She runs down the hall sideways, looking accusatorily back her tail. She won’t let those about her have a moment’s peace. In the middle of the night, she feels the need to land in the middle of my back while she scratches and gnaws at her raw spots. If she thinks that there isn’t enough emphasis placed on her dissatisfaction, she will let out a loud wail and chews louder. I have honestly thought about getting her one of those cones of shame.
The old male is quite content. For once, she isn’t spending all of her energies torturing him. Using every bit of political incorrectness that he can muster, he lays on his back displaying his best man-spread and bemusedly observes the kerfuffle.
To get some respite from her household disruptions and trying to halt her scooting across the carpet, I am now reduced to ignominiously rubbing soothing salve on her self-inflicted wounds which reside mostly around the base of her tail. I hope that peace will soon resume around the domicile. I am very thankful that she does not have opposable thumbs and isn’t large enough to throw a bike rack through the window. She rewards my attempts to heal her wounds by skidding six-foot-long cedar boughs through the dog door to shred on the couch and leaves the dark, oval, solidified remnants of a moose’s digestive process on my pillow, expecting me to respect the expression of her First Amendment rights at my expense.
For those of you that have trouble with instructional parables, I have included a partial glossary of terms:
Old dog: conservative; young dog: liberal; grooming: election; me: taxpayer; cone of shame: weird pink knit hat.
HERB WIENS
Sandpoint