Springtime in New England,
when a sweet dog’s thoughts turn to Trump
SPRING IS COMING slowly to our part of the planet. Which we say every year, and it’s always true. But spring is especially grudging this year, when both the political and natural climates are so out of whack.
Still, spring remains one of New England’s charms, with the light showing up earlier each morning, and hanging on later into the evening, the universal promise that things get better, life renews itself.
Here in Newport, R.I., my adopted hometown, they have a thing with daffodils – “Daffodil Days” every April, when hundreds of thousands of yellow flowers reappear, making a spectacular place all the more so. Even a transplant from Missouri like Yours Truly, not known for her green dewclaw, can appreciate the flowering of our city.
I’m meeting lots more dogs, too. Not that we don’t see a lot of fellow travelers during the winter, “going out” being an imperative for our kind. But humans are willing to stay out longer and aren’t in as much a rush, which works to a sweet dog’s advantage.
What I’m trying to say is that fun is making its annual return.
WHAT, YOU ASK, does all this drivel have to do with Donald J. Trump, the subject of and only reason for our blog?
I know it sounds paranoid. Whenever I see man or beast or both having a grand old time, I wonder how that sits with the scowling, cruel person who haunts the White House. My bet is that it makes him mad as hell.
“That’s one crazy dog they’ve got down there in Rhode Island. There’s enough that’s frightening, scary for real about Donald Trump without having to make things up, like he’s against fun.
“For goodness sake, the man’s got walls to build,” you’re saying, “Cruise missiles to launch, rivers to pollute, immigrant families to separate, taxes to slash, medical care to take away, research to defund and public schools to downgrade.”
It’s hard to see Trump strumming a guitar, weeding a garden, baking a carrot cake, downloading music into his smart phone, subscribing to a community theater, knocking down a few brewskies at a backyard barbecue, frolicking in the surf, shooting hoops, hiking the Cliff Walk, reading up for the next book club, singing around the piano or taking a dog with gorgeous eyelashes to the park, listening to the screeches and screams of kids on playground swings and wondering how all the songbirds made it through the winter.
He plays golf, I’ll give you that. But is it for fun? Or, instead, is it an excuse to remind his companions that it’s his golf course and the greatest one in the world, or to chat them up on his latest deal or a chance to ogle the waitstaff?
I can’t help it; it’s what I think when we pass girls giggling on the sidewalk, or see kids on the merry-go-round, or watch somebody flying a kite. If Donald J. Trump saw any of that, he wouldn’t like it. He’d get his scowl on. And then, because he’s president, he do something about it. Get Bannon into the Oval Office or have Spicer explain away his latest 5:53 a.m. Twitter blast about how spring is something that Muslims are trying to spring on America.
Maybe he’ll change his mind about climate change. Instead of it being a hoax, he’ll decide that, at least for the time being, climate change is real. And if you can do something to speed up climate change, maybe get rid of the EPA altogether, maybe install a coal furnace at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, then it's just possible that we can get rid of spring for good and quick. Call Bannon … on second thought, it’s important enough to get the son-in-law working on.
But he’ll have to act fast before it slips his mind. Stay focused. That's always the hard part. Getting rid of spring will be wonderful, the best kind of climate change the world’s ever seen.
And what could be more fun?