I have yet to find my rhythm after the election.

Tuesday night through Wednesday I was very upset about how many people voted for four more years of what we’ve had till now (at least 70 million). Treaded water on Thursday and Friday, and Saturday let myself celebrate Biden’s victory. Sunday, I had to stop thinking about it, let everything in but put it aside for later. There’s a lot to reflect on, a lot to understand about what is happening in this country, and I thought I’d start that process today, Monday.

But it still doesn’t take; more time has to pass. So, I passed the time in conversation with Aussie.

“Aussie, did you hear that the Bidens are bringing two dogs into the White House?”

“Don’t tell me, I’m ready to off myself.”

“You still have about 2-1/2 months to get to the White House before the current resident departs.”

“He ain’t departing, so I have four more years to get over there and make the place dog-friendly. Four more years! Four more years!”

“One of the Bidens’ dogs, Major, came from a shelter, Aussie, just like you.”

“Please don’t remind me of my roots.”

“Stop being ashamed of where you come from, Auss.”

“I’m not ashamed, I come from Texas. Nobody from Texas is ever ashamed.”

“You came from the pound, Aussie. You were probably born in Texas but Texas didn’t want you. Tell you what, why don’t you ask the Bidens to take you in as a third dog in the White House?”

“I don’t share.”

“The Bidens are good people, Aussie. Look at Jill.”

“Oh please, Jill looks like one of those humans who loves everybody with a passion. I hate people like that.”

“Did Melania ever look like a dog-lover to you, Auss?”

“I guess not, but I’d have changed her mind for her. Of course, she could put on me one of those designer vests.”

“You mean the ones that say I don’t care?”

“But I can’t figure why Donald didn’t have a dog on which he could lavish all his compassion.”

“Aussie, hear me out. He didn’t want you. He didn’t want any dog. I told you before, you seem to get attracted to people and dogs who don’t want anything to do with you, like the Trumps. Whenever we’re at the dog park you try to play with the one dog who won’t play. He growls and snarls at you, and you don’t give up.”

“Anybody who wants to play with me isn’t worth playing with. Wanna hear a joke, Boss? Henry the Chihuahua walks into a bar—”

“Not those kinds of jokes, Aussie.”

“A Chihuahua walks into a bar. He’s about to order when the bartender gives a slight cough in his direction. ‘Watcha doing?’ asks the Chihuahua. Says the bartender: ‘Aren’t you going to order a Corona Lite?’ Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee!”

“That’s not funny, Aussie! Making fun of people or dogs because of their religion, ethnicity, culture, or breed is not funny. Neither is the coronavirus.”

“It’s hysterical. A  Corona Lite—Hee! Hee! Hee!”

“You’re mean, Aussie.”

“And you’re so politically correct I want to vomit, only I never let go of food. That’s the trouble with you Libs, you have no sense of humor!”

“Bernie liked this one, Auss. A man walks into a bar with a Chihuahua. The bartender says: ‘I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to take your dog out of here.’ The man says: ‘It’s my seeing-eye dog!’ The bartender says: ‘That chihuahua is no seeing-eye dog!’ The man says: ‘They gave me a chihuahua?!’”

“That’s funny? What’s funny about it?”

“If I have to explain it to you, Aussie, it’s no good.”

“Does it make fun of Chihuahuas?”

“Not too much.”

“Does it make fun of where they come from?”


“Does it at least make fun of blind people or seeing-eye dogs?”

“Of course not, Aussie.”

“Then what’s funny about it?”