I was watching primary election returns this past Tuesday. Keep in mind that these contests, which pit Republicans against Republicans and Democrats against Democrats for the right to run in a general election, were mere precursors to the main event in November. Yet, regardless of political affiliation, in contest after contest, what stood out was the hyperbole, venom, and sheer vitriol spewed by wannabe leaders and statesmen.
I had to remind myself that politics is a rough-and-tumble, often dirty, business. I mention this because, shockingly, my own Lola the pup, a/k/a Lola the Wonder Dog, would soon become another political victim! This is her sad story.
***
Now, as some might recall from previous posts, Lola is sometimes referred to as the Queen due to her regal bearing. Most days, protected from an adoring public by a wrought-iron fence, she happily greets her subjects as they pass by our home on their way to their jobs, schools, and shops.
However, a few weeks back, I heard from Michael, one of our young friends from the hood. It was he who informed me that a dog festival would be held in the Square on August 8th. Naturally, I told Michael I would never subject Lola to the indignity of the doggy costume contest. However, Michael had implored Lola to run for the honorary title of “Mayor,” and, grudgingly, I agreed.
Not surprisingly, in the ensuing days, there was a groundswell of grassroots support for Lola’s candidacy.
***
Election day was hot and muggy, yet a sizeable human crowd had gathered in the Square when Robyn and I arrived. Lola sported a new collar chosen specially for this occasion.
We observed that numerous other candidate dogs were already present, though in my eyes none was as beautiful, smart, or friendly as Lola. After all, unlike most other competitors, Lola is a pedigreed black English Labrador.
At the registration desk, seeing no ballots, voting machines, poll watchers, or any indicia of free and fair elections, I inquired how today’s popular election would be conducted. Only then did I learn that the “election” would be decided by a panel of three virtually anonymous “celebrity” judges, consisting of a local politician, a snooty rich lady, and a community activist. They would secretly deliberate among themselves and by fiat declare the winner.
I felt stirrings of panic in my stomach. A question raced through my mind: have we become communists?
One by one, the candidates and their proud owners paraded before the enthusiastic crowd. One tiny dog was so unnerved that she peed. Meanwhile, Lola, carrying a large stick in her mouth, hardly seemed to take notice.
I should have been brimming with confidence about the inevitable outcome, yet as we passed by the judges’ table, my mind screamed, “rigged election, rigged election.” I could see the rich lady intentionally avoiding Lola’s irresistible puppy eyes. Instead, she pretended to fidget with her cell phone. In that single moment, my heart sank. What has become of our hallowed democracy?
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