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Commentary :: Animal Rights
CHERYL SEAL EXCLUSIVE! Entry from the Diary of Barney, the White House Dog!!!
This diary entry was sneaked out of the White House by a mouse who prefers to be known only as "Deep Throat II". After some bartering (which involved an undisclosed amount of oatmeal and cheddar cheese), I obtained the diary pages. Here is the entry. The illustrations are my interpretations of first-hand descriptions of certain incidents told to me by Deep Throat II, who secretly taped Barneys conversations with Lulu, a mouse that lives in the White House kitchen.
Dear Diary,
Well, it's been another long and bizarro day at the White House. I don't know how much longer I can stand it.The stress is making my hair fall out and I think I'm becoming bulemic...I can't stop making myself throw up. But then, maybe I'm just getting an ulcer.
I never asked to be a celebrity dog. Give me a few trees and parking meters to sniff in the city or a patch of stinky mud in the country to roll in and I'd be happy as a clam. (Are clams happy? I'm skeptical.)
But here I am, stuck here at this big pile of limestone with a lunatic and a pack of uptight suits who could use some primal scream therapy. That ballon-faced guy, Karl Rove, especially, makes my skin crawl. He's all cute and lovey dovey with me whenever G. W. is around (as cute and lovey dovey as someone who looks like an evil version of the Pillsbury Dough Boy can be, that is). But the other day when G.W. went down the hall to ask Condi a question, he kicked me and told me I looked like a yak someone had cut off at the knees.
Laura's not too bad, but I don't think they can raise her Prozac dose any higher without killing her. But G.W. - the lunatic - is my biggest problem. He's getting creepier all the time. I thought he was harmless back in the early days - he even played a pretty good game of Frisbee. But lately, he's been going around the bend faster than a pulp truck going down Pike's Peak without brakes.
Take last night. Laura went out to a Christian Women against Everything meeting. As soon as she was gone, G.W. said "Yipee! Let's go play soldier!" That's his favorite game now. #file_1#Whenever Laura is out, he locks himself and me up in the Lincoln Bedroom and gets out the uniforms and tape deck. It wouldn't be so bad, but we play German soldier! As in World War II. He dresses up like a general and dresses me up like a lieutenant. Then he plays the "Flgiht of the Valkyre" by Wagner and makes me march up and down for hours.
When he got bored with that, he took me off to the big bathroom, the one with the old-fashioned clawfoot tub. He filled it up with water and bubble bath and played his favorite bathtime game: "Make the Rubber Ducky squeal." That didn't last long, though. He got all upset and started to cry because the ducky wouldn't squeal. Last bath night, he must've squeezed the ducky so hard he popped a hole in it, so now all it will do is sort of whimper and sigh. I know just how it feels!
#file_2#
This past several days have been a real trial. G.W. keeps grabbing me and sniffling, "You're my only friend." I think I'm going blind from all the photos he's had the press people take of him holding me. He grabs my paw and makes me wave. It's embarrassing! It used to be the old guys at Amvets or the kids at some grade school would take the heat off me and pose with the poor slob for the camera. But now everyone ducks and hide when they see him coming and it's all on me.
Last week, he tried to get a bunch of school kids at a ball park to pose with him. When they started making excuses and started to move away toward the bleachers to escape, he picked me up and shook me at them, yelling, "Freeze! Or my dog will attack!" That's when he tripped and dropped me on my head. I'm still seeing stars if I get up too fast.
#file_3#
I keep hoping he'll get impeached and have to go back to Texas. We'd all be happier. But if that doesn't happen, I think I might take a chunk out of Karl Rove's ankle. Then maybe they would send me to the pound and I could just take my chances. At this point, anything would be worth a try!
TEXT and ILLUSTRATIONS Copyright 2003 by Cheryl Seal
Well, it's been another long and bizarro day at the White House. I don't know how much longer I can stand it.The stress is making my hair fall out and I think I'm becoming bulemic...I can't stop making myself throw up. But then, maybe I'm just getting an ulcer.
I never asked to be a celebrity dog. Give me a few trees and parking meters to sniff in the city or a patch of stinky mud in the country to roll in and I'd be happy as a clam. (Are clams happy? I'm skeptical.)
But here I am, stuck here at this big pile of limestone with a lunatic and a pack of uptight suits who could use some primal scream therapy. That ballon-faced guy, Karl Rove, especially, makes my skin crawl. He's all cute and lovey dovey with me whenever G. W. is around (as cute and lovey dovey as someone who looks like an evil version of the Pillsbury Dough Boy can be, that is). But the other day when G.W. went down the hall to ask Condi a question, he kicked me and told me I looked like a yak someone had cut off at the knees.
Laura's not too bad, but I don't think they can raise her Prozac dose any higher without killing her. But G.W. - the lunatic - is my biggest problem. He's getting creepier all the time. I thought he was harmless back in the early days - he even played a pretty good game of Frisbee. But lately, he's been going around the bend faster than a pulp truck going down Pike's Peak without brakes.
Take last night. Laura went out to a Christian Women against Everything meeting. As soon as she was gone, G.W. said "Yipee! Let's go play soldier!" That's his favorite game now. #file_1#Whenever Laura is out, he locks himself and me up in the Lincoln Bedroom and gets out the uniforms and tape deck. It wouldn't be so bad, but we play German soldier! As in World War II. He dresses up like a general and dresses me up like a lieutenant. Then he plays the "Flgiht of the Valkyre" by Wagner and makes me march up and down for hours.
When he got bored with that, he took me off to the big bathroom, the one with the old-fashioned clawfoot tub. He filled it up with water and bubble bath and played his favorite bathtime game: "Make the Rubber Ducky squeal." That didn't last long, though. He got all upset and started to cry because the ducky wouldn't squeal. Last bath night, he must've squeezed the ducky so hard he popped a hole in it, so now all it will do is sort of whimper and sigh. I know just how it feels!
#file_2#
This past several days have been a real trial. G.W. keeps grabbing me and sniffling, "You're my only friend." I think I'm going blind from all the photos he's had the press people take of him holding me. He grabs my paw and makes me wave. It's embarrassing! It used to be the old guys at Amvets or the kids at some grade school would take the heat off me and pose with the poor slob for the camera. But now everyone ducks and hide when they see him coming and it's all on me.
Last week, he tried to get a bunch of school kids at a ball park to pose with him. When they started making excuses and started to move away toward the bleachers to escape, he picked me up and shook me at them, yelling, "Freeze! Or my dog will attack!" That's when he tripped and dropped me on my head. I'm still seeing stars if I get up too fast.
#file_3#
I keep hoping he'll get impeached and have to go back to Texas. We'd all be happier. But if that doesn't happen, I think I might take a chunk out of Karl Rove's ankle. Then maybe they would send me to the pound and I could just take my chances. At this point, anything would be worth a try!
TEXT and ILLUSTRATIONS Copyright 2003 by Cheryl Seal
Click on image for a larger version
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