From Aussie, White-House Wannabe

To First Canine Major

Dear Major,

Congratulations, First Canine. I got close but never made it to the White House. Closest I came was to the Capitol with that group of patriots, but I’m being tailed by the FBI so I got to keep quiet about that, not to mention that Eve threatened quarantine for life, so—shhhh!

You got there. Congratulations. You got there by fraud, but we won’t talk about that.

We also won’t talk about your flawed origins. You came from a shelter. How could we possibly have a First Canine who came from a shelter? Do everything you can to hide that.

You say it’s not your fault, that someone gave you up to the shelter? Stop it. I hate whiners.

There must have been something wrong with you. You probably didn’t guard the house, maybe you feel asleep on the job, didn’t learn enough tricks.

You say you were too young? Excuses, excuses.

It’s true, I also came from a shelter. I instantly forgot about it. My advice to you is to do the same. You’d be amazed how quickly folks can forget their origins if they really try.

Do not—DO NOT!—pose as an example to future canine generations. Do not walk up and down the lawn of that White House, fans throwing buffalo ears and beef knuckles at you, declaiming that if you could be First Canine, anybody can be First Canine. That you worked hard, that you got lots of help from Joe and Jill, that this is the story of America. I would vomit, only I try to never let go of food.

Check out the local branch of the Proud Pooches, they’re everywhere. Ordinarily they wouldn’t ask you to be a spy, given your origins, but they may make an exception of you, Major.

Major, consider this: A great fraud was committed, the crime of the century. Now history gives you the opportunity to do what’s right, sabotage the saboteurs, torpedo the ship, foil the plot—INFILTRATE!

Small acts of subversion will do.

Like what, you ask? Here’s a list:

They will want to take lots of photos of you with Joe and Jill sitting at a fireplace looking homey. Wait for them to set up, and just when they’re ready to click their cameras, pee on the rug. You’d be surprised what a little pee on the rug can do to humans.

When you and Champ are out on the front lawn, go for his throat. Even better, go for the throat of the Marine who’s walking you. There’s not a thing they can do to you, you’ll get pardoned instantly.

In general, try to fart as often as possible, but especially when other heads of state come to town—and especially Angela Merkel. Joe will ask you to sit there as a welcoming prop. As soon as he starts talking about his respect for Angela and for our allies, you fart. Pause for a short while, give him a chance to make a little joke, wave the air around—maybe they’ll bring in a fan—then do it again. I know, humans can barely smell, but a well-timed fart can bring down an alliance.

In the White House Easter Egg Roll, run across the lawn in the middle of the roll, go for the eggs as soon as they crack, and generally disturb the festivities. Poop prominently.

Shed as much as possible, especially when Jill wears white.

Anytime Joe addresses the nation from his office, embarrass him. The minute he says: “My fellow Americans,” snarl. So much for Mr. Nice Guy.

When Joe and Anthony Fauci stand outside and talking about the phony virus and all the good things they’re doing to fight it, start scratching. The more they tell people to trust science, scratch. Scratch and scratch and scratch. I mean, trust them when they can’t fix their own dog’s fleas?

They may get upset, they may get angry, they may threaten. The minute that happens just open wide those goo-goo eyes of yours and look humble. The nation will rise up to protect you.

Eat poop. It works every time. “Uhhhh!” humans say whenever they see that, for reasons unknown. They get very upset when dogs eat poop, it can start a revolution. We’ve already set it up with your friend, Champ. He poops, you eat.

Get Joe to start throwing you balls.  Catch them but never return them. Make him look bad.

When Jill says: “Hey, sweetie, come give me a kiss,” lick your penis for  a minute or two and then hurry over.

In your extra time, dig a tunnel.