(Ellen says: The dog has been fidgety lately, so I decided to let him post.)
Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Mac the dog. Technically, I am McDonnell the dog (nee), but now that my cohort Douglas is gone the furless ones just call me Mac.
I need a forum to express my concern that some of you might be considering a Presidential candidate who would do this to a dog. I realize the article explains the dog liked being up on the car roof, but I doubt anyone from the Times interviewed the dog. As for the contention the dog liked being up on the roof because he "scrambled up there every time [they] went on trips," well -- not to sound breedist, but he's an Irish Setter. They aren't that bright.
Things here in the house have been interesting. The furless ones have been squabbling more than is usual. The smaller one, the one with the grotesquely swollen teats and the huge ankles, has been reading marriage counseling books for some work project she has. This has provoked absurd conversations between them about their "love languages." No one has asked me, but here is my take on these love languages.
Acts of Service (or as Dogs call them, Acts of Carrion)
I know some dogs (ahem - Irish Setters) chase and kill mice, deer, and such, but that doesn't appeal to me. So, I don't show love in that way. I also don't accept love when it is granted as an act of service.The larger furless one at times will try to wipe off my bottom, but I don't feel loved afterward. I feel slightly violated.
The Furless ones and I have worked past this. For a while, they tried to show their love by giving me squeak toys. They would throw them and look at me expectantly. As if I were (and I'm sorry, but it's true) an Irish Setter. Of course, when I realized the importance they placed on gifts I tried to give them some gifts in my own way, but they just scream and throws my gifts in the trash dumpster. Hmph. So sorry I can't produce gold jewelry from my butt.
I'm a dog. They are not. We can't talk to each other. Someone, explain that to them.
The Furless ones seem to think they need to spend every minute together. Usually they are just watching the noisy box, and the noisy box bores me. Especially when that Chris Matthews guy is on. As long as they check in before for dinner, we might spend all evening in separate rooms.
That's my love language. Oh, yeah, baby. I love the touch. Big Ankles has fingernails on her right hand, and sometimes she will scratch the base of my tail, or my teats. Mmmmm. Strangely, they don't like it when I do this to them. I'll make a special trip over their teats up to their heads and claw them violently, and they don't like it! They scream things like, "You are going to gouge my eye out!" and "I think he drew blood!" and "WHAT DO YOU WANT DOG IT'S FOUR A.M."
It's so hard, sometimes. Maybe I should try giving them some more of my special homemade butt gifts.