Tis the season–the election season, that is–and the airwaves are full of the Question of the Day: “Whom shall we pick?”
Most media outlets focus on the human contest. We in the Magic Doghouse believe that the real choice, the only choice that matters, is the canine contest. Who will be the presidential dog?
The decision is less clear-cut than it might seem, so in the interest of full disclosure and fairness we present “Rowf 2012: The Race for the Rose Garden.”
Seamus’ story tugs at the heartstrings. Born with a silver chew toy in his mouth, Seamus faced a lifelong battle against the “beautiful but dumb” stereotype. Nor was the rest of his life all Kibbles and Bits. One of the best-known episodes in his life–his brief but fraught tenure on the Romney family’s station wagon roof, and his unfortunate accident–gives new meaning to the phrase “Gravy Train.” A phrase, by the way, that seems to have little meaning for Seamus as a whole–there are dark rumors that Seamus was a Canine Runaway, though possibly he simply wandered away and got lost (see “Beautiful but Dumb” stereotype). If anybody deserves the sympathy vote, Seamus does.
Unlike Seamus Romney, Bo Obama seems to lead a largely angst-free life. This might simply be an image issue, since he has the sort of curly, springy hairdo that just seems to howl “I’m a fun guy,” while Seamus’ flowing russet mane seems to whisper, “I use too much conditioner.” In the same way that happy families tend to be less interesting than unhappy ones, Bo suffers from press ennui. To all appearances, he hasn’t had the sort of challenges that Seamus has faced–and that make his life such a gripping narrative. This has, perhaps, led to a certain frivolity in Bo’s nature. For a “working dog,” he spends remarkably little time retrieving dead birds from marshes, choosing instead to focus his energies on running around on the White House Lawn, wagging his tail, and panting.
In terms of experience, Seamus is clearly the wiser, more experienced candidate. The fact that he is No Longer With Us is certainly a factor against him (though possibly not in the eyes of the White House gardener charged with picking up Presidential Dog Poo). Seamus, perhaps, has had the sort of adversity in his life that would make him the more empathetic candidate, provided he can overcome the widely-rumored intellectual limitations of his heritage.
Bo, on the other hand, clearly brings the sort of stamina, vigor, and liveliness to the office of Presidential dog that the position demands, provided that liveliness can be harnessed well enough to keep him off the White House sofas. He has made a good start by educating himself to meet the demands of the position–one of the few things we know about him is that one of his first stops was obedience school. Still, though, there’s no substitute for experience, which Seamus has, in spades (or possibly neuters).
So who would be the dream presidential dog? We suggest a dog with the stability and yard sensitivity being deceased has given Seamus, the light-heartedness that is Bo’s, the protectiveness of a pit bull, and the dress sense of an ambassador. Does such a dog exist? Why yes, it does. Or did. In the spirit of the season, we nominate The Magic Dog.