A longtime presence in the federal government, Biden took the famous line literally: If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog. Now, his two German shepherds, Champ and Major, are expected to join the president-elect and Jill Biden at the White House following his inauguration in January.
At 12 years old, Champ is the elder of the pair, while 2-year-old Major, who will become the first shelter dog to live at the White House, was adopted a few months before Biden announced his latest run for the presidency. The German shepherds will fill an empty role at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.: President Trump was the first occupant in more than a century not to own a pet of some kind.
From The New Yorker:
From The Daily Kos, by Hunter:
“The minor question of whether or not Donald Trump flatly lied about his private conversation with a foreign leader aside, the whole event was, naturally, capped off by the only remaining duty of our great national press corps: An afternoon discussion of whether or not Trump “looked presidential” in the venue. The bar on this one continues to drop lower as the campaign goes on; Trump either dodged the core dispute between himself and his host country or lied about the results, but also did not pull his counterpart’s hair or insult the Mexican citizenry to their faces, so it was considered afterwards to be a good day.
As I mentioned on Twitter at the time, I don’t agree that Donald Trump is being graded by the press as if he were a grade-school child, because even schoolchildren giving oral reports (What I Learned In Mexico, by Donny J Trump) are expected to know things. The measure being forever taken of Trump is specifically whether he “looks” or “sounds” presidential. Can he control his temper? Can he keep from insulting his audience? How is his coat today?
So Donald Trump is not being graded as if he were a child. Donald Trump is being graded as if he is a Golden Retriever in the ring at the Westminster Dog Show. Does he look the part? His stride—is it confident?
Glossy coat, good teeth. Bit handler, but missed artery; overall a good showing.”
Tired of xenophobia and batshit crazy proposals from a Republican candidate who shrugs off comparisons with Der Fuehrer as mere compliments? Here’s a post from The Daily Kos by Bill in Maine that should lift your spirits:
“CHEERS to our little bundle of furry joy. More proof of how tempus fugits no matter how hard we fire our retro-fugit boosters: C&J’s lab-mix rescue woozle Haley is three years old today. We’re not sure what she’s mixed with, exactly, but we are sure of one thing: she had a rough start in life, beginning with the parvovirus that she fought off, the stressful journey from Macon, Georgia to Maine, a sinus infection that relentlessly clogged her nostrils, and some other disease that I’ve forgotten the name of but she beat that, too. Here she is (the white one getting squished at lower right) after the “Fab 14” was dropped off at the shelter in January, 2013:
Her troubles didn’t end there, though. A year ago the vet diagnosed Haley with a seriously- damaged ligament, requiring surgery that literally sawed through her lower leg bone and re-jiggered it at a slightly-different angle to compensate (a Tibial Plateau-Leveling Osteotomy, or TPLO, is what they call it). I don’t know who’s happier about her full recovery—her or us. But she’s back to being obsessed with tennis balls, running like a racehorse, swimming, jumping, and mostly able to avoid getting whapped by the cat. Our one concern: she’s a Donald Trump supporter…
We hope it’s just a phase. Happy birthday, Haley, and many blessings on your squeaky camel toys.”
People have been adding to the general hilarity of Donald Trump’s epic campaign for the presidency by “Trumping their cat.” What’s that you say? Well sir, I’ll tell you. You comb the excess hair from your cat’s coat and then make a little toupee out of it and place it on the adorable pet’s head. Then, take a photo.
As they say in France, “Viola!” You’ve trumped your cat.
I made my toupee out of some of the hair I’d just vacuumed up from my area rugs. My cat, Culvey, really wasn’t having any of this nonsense at first. It wasn’t until after I’d taken a pic of his buddy, Kelso the Chihuahua, rocking the toupee that he decided it was THE thing to do. So he let me take a quickie shot of him before he flung it from his skull faster than Kim Kardashian sheds her waist trainer when nobody’s looking.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Kelso and Culvey doing their Trump thang. By the way, the Donald said today that’s he’s worth TEN BILLION (his emphasis), but my pets are priceless. With or without toupees.