I took Roo for a walk in downtown Brunswick a few nights ago. We walked up one street, down another, turned on a cross street, walked up that one, over a block, and so on. It was cold and raining, so I was hoping Roo would hurry up and get down to it, but she seemed to be holding out for something.
As soon as she spotted the yard signs in the storefront window of the local Democratic Party, headquartered in a small house with a tidy garden on a side street, Roo pulled right over to poop. Right there. It was obviously premeditated. She was waiting for her chance. I’ve mentioned my suspicions of her being a Trump supporter before. By now I’m pretty sure, even if she’s never come out and said so directly.
I was reminded of the time before the 2016 election, when on the backroads of 46 states I saw a grand total of two Hillary yard signs and tens of thousands of Trump signs (especially in the darkest abyss of Trump worship, which was, and remains, Tennessee, the countryside of which was one colossal red tide of blue Trump signs), and anyone I mentioned it to said the same thing, that if you put up a Dem sign you’d get human excrement thrown at your house if you were lucky, but more likely just get your windows shot out by someone who would never face a minute in jail once he explained to the cops that it wasn’t his fault if his shotgun suddenly needed a good cleaning when he was driving past your house in his F-150 and the damn musket just happened to go off by accident. It could happen to anyone and would not qualify as a crime in any right-minded community.
Driving through the farm fields someone had decorated with 400 Trump signs, or the barns painted with that filthy word or the high-profit churches flying his banner, I could get pretty steamed up, but Roo never seemed to mind. And though I never meant to hold it against her, it’s hard to shake the idea of someone you love being a #MAGAt. If she had been human, I would have offered to drop her off at the nearest Trump rally and got lost on the way back to pick her up, but you can’t do that with a dog, because Trump hates dogs, because they hate him, and they are banned from his rallies. If he wasn’t as scared of them as he is, you can be sure he’d let them in and pen them up next to the press and lead chants against them, imprecating the crowd not just to lock them up, but to eat them for good measure, but Trump knows from long experience that most dogs are onto him and wouldn’t put up with it the way the press does. They’d charge the stage and tear him apart. That’s why you never see him risk getting anywhere near a dog. It’s also what makes Roo’s support of him as inexplicable as that of African-Americans or LGBTQ or Jews or Muslims who don the MAGA hat.
The next day, we were driving to a park to take her for her walk. There were stories about all the voter suppression going on on the radio, and those got me pretty steamed up. By contrast, Roo was in a terrific mood. She was more cheerful than she usually is at the chance she’s about to get to round up some illegal mouses. This was suspiciously like gloating. As soon as we got on the trail, she catapulted herself into a mud hole that she knows full well is strictly prohibited, because that mud you see on Roo? It’s not mud. It’s the duck equivalent of highly enriched uranium, the outflow of hundreds of ducks where it is deposited by a slow current at the shallow confluence of two small brooks. The clear water she is allowed to swim in was 50 feet away. She did this the same way all Trump supporters do things — against her own interest. She was the one who was going to have to suffer being hosed down with ice water, but she didn’t care. She did it to own the lib. It’s like voting to get yourself kicked off health insurance to make more money for the insurance companies. What’s a little cancer compared to owning the libs? What good is Social Security next to owning the libs over getting it pared down to four dollars a month?
All I can say is that if Election Day doesn’t turn the tide, she better watch out, because I just might become a lot less patient around any Trumpsters. If she doesn’t want her Social Security, maybe she’ll enjoy a little taste of what her life will be like without it once she turns 75 or 80 or whatever age they’re about to raise it to. Maybe she’ll get a little taste of what life will be like on one can of wet cat food a day, if that’s what she wants.
Elections have consequences, Bearface. See you Tuesday.