Recently, while walking my granddog, Henry, I decided there’s something about walking a dog that brings out nice things in people. You get waves and greetings and people want to know its name. Other dog walkers give nods of understanding as yet another squirrel is sent scrambling up a tree.
That got me thinking. We regularly see our politicians out there on the world’s stage all puffed-up and smiling, handshakes at the ready as they plot to gain world dominance here or cheaper oil prices there. The posturing and self-righteousness are quite unseemly. Really, they look so lonely in their demagoguery, so friendless in their puffery. They need …
… therapy dogs!
We see such dogs regularly in hospitals and retirement homes as they offer comfort to those in need. Tails wagging, muzzles offering big, sloppy kisses, they pop the bubble of pain by offering nothing more than a moment’s friendship.
Something, I think, our politicos sorely need.
Nothing can un-stuff a stuffed-shirt like a pocket full of Milk Bones, or take the steam out of some tirade like a goofy canine jumping up on a lap. Just imagine one of those giant conference tables surrounded by blustering, table-pounding folks trying to maintain that bluster in the face of doggy drool on a sleeve or pant leg.
Finally, the impulse to shatter some long-established geopolitical principle has got to be diminished by a muzzle on a knee and a big-eyed Fido looking up as if to say, “Please, Oh Great One, I have to pee.”
We often say our politicians have gone to the dogs. Maybe it’s time for the dogs to go to them.
I’m G. K. Wuori and that’s my perspective.