The fur was flying at the White House, so I felt obligated to dig into it. With my special talent to talk the language of all animals, I got a special press pass to the West Wing.
“Frank Lingo to see the First Dog,” I said to the secretary. She looked askance and said, “Sit.”
After a few minutes an aide emerged from the inner sanctum with Commander on a leash. The aide shook my hand as the German Shepherd let out a guttural growl.
“Don’t mind him,” the aide said. “He’s just been getting some bad press.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. I’d like to get Commander’s side of the story.” I turned to Commander and cautiously reached out. “How you doing, boy?”
“ROWFF!!” Commander nipped at my hand.
“Oh, no!” said the aide. “Are you alright?”
“Sure, sure, I’m fine. Luckily, he didn’t draw blood.”
“No luck about it,” said Commander in a language only I could understand. “YOU’RE lucky I’m not having a Frank finger snack.”
“Are you angry or something? What’s going on?”
“Of course, I’m angry!’ snapped Commander. “I get the blame and all this ‘bad dog’ rep just for doing my job.”
“What do you see as your job?” I asked.
“Guarding my human, dummkopf! We German Shepherds are bred to protect people.”
“OK, but aren’t those Secret Service agents you bit doing the same thing?”
“Those guys get in my way. They’re treading on my turf so I gotta keep them at bay.”
Just then another aide came running down the hall heading for the Oval Office.
“ACHTUNG! VERBOTEN!” barked Commander to the aide, who stopped in his tracks and then slowly backed away. I was going to translate but the aide got the meaning.
“See? That’s the way to get respect. You don’t get respect with the whole ‘nice doggy’ routine,” explained Commander.
“But I’ve heard a rumor that you ARE a nice doggy around the First Family,” I said.
“You print that and I’ll have your hand sandwich,” warned Commander. “But off the record, I do get kinda cuddly when Jill rubs my shoulders.”
“That’s what I mean. I’m trying to tell the story from your side so that people won’t think you’re a bad dog.”
“There are no bad dogs, Frank. You should know that. Some of us just have hard assignments. Guard dogs can’t be pussycats, you know.
“Yeah, you’ve got a point there, I suppose. Speaking of cats, what do you think of them?” I asked.
“There’s a place for cats and that place is outside.”
“Some people have said you’ll settle down, that you’re still a wild teenager and eventually you’ll get under control.”
“They misunderstand. Mein mutter was a bitch so you know what that makes me.”
“So in this case, your bite is worse than your bark, huh?”
“Just write it right, Lingo, or you’ll get your bite, alright. Auf wiedersehen, baby.”
Editor’s Note: After this was written, Commodore was sent from the White House to guard an undisclosed location.
Frank Lingo, based in Lawrence, Kansas, is a former columnist for the Kansas City Star and author of the novel “Earth Vote,” and he occasionally writes satiric columns, of which this is a sample. Email: lingofrank@gmail.com. See his website: Greenbeat.world
From The Progressive Populist, November 1, 2023
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