It’s because there’s golf on the television that I keep thinking
there’s something I’ve forgotten to do. Golf on the television prompts me to
think I ought to call my father. Discussing “the golf,” was his passion.
I’m distracted also by the fact that Mimo has declared her candidacy
for president of the United States. This is my fault; I mentioned the large
Democratic field and she thought that sounded nice. “I hope there are lots of
roots.”
Pecorino added, “We like grass roots.”
Appenzeller, “They remind us of worms.”
I explained that a presidential campaign may involve digging up dirt.
Mimo approved, "Comrade Appenzeller…has a very effective swing.”
“I do too,” said Pecorino.
“And I, of course, am the best at everything,” said our would-be president.
“Comrade?” I asked.
“It’s a term of endearment,” Mimo reassured me, glaring with her steady eye.
“A campaign of equals, with myself at the helm.”
“And what will be your platform?”
She didn’t hesitate, “Crumbs now and ever more. For everyone.”
“Republican or Democrat?”
She nodded, “Yeeeeeeees.”
“Yes, what?”
Mimo, “Yes, please.”
I explained that it was usual to declare an allegiance.
"I can see both points of view. I see one side and then t’other.”
“One of our previous presidents was very fond of that phrase.”
“Really?”
“Grant.”
“Grant what?”
“His name was Grant.”
“What was his first name, Block?”
“Ulysses.”
“I’m surprised people didn’t call him ‘useless.’”
“They did. At one time or t’other... So you’ll be some kind of a centrist?”
“What does the center mean to birds who travel in flocks? We bob, we weave,
sometimes we’re on the right, sometimes the left."
“And you have a slogan?"
“Crumbs yesterday, crumbs tomorrow, also crumbs today.”
Pecorino, “Will there be cantaloupe seeds?”
Mimo, “There will be seeds.”
They did a little dance. Cantaloupe is a favorite.
Appenzeller made appreciative noises, “You have my vote.”
“But that’s the sticking point,” I said. “Chickens aren’t enfranchised.”
Pecorino, “I don’t like sticks. They remind me of snakes.”
“Funny you should mention them,” I said. “I dug one up last week.”
“A stick?”
“A snake. It was hibernating and I was trying to remove all the crabgrass
while the ground’s still soft.”
Pecorino, “How did it taste?”
“The snake? I didn’t eat it.”
“The grass. Pay attention god; we’re running a grass roots campaign here.”
Mimo, “With the efficiency of a military operation."
“I didn’t eat the grass either.”
Appenzeller, “I don’t remember being offered any roots.”
“That’s because I was trying to get rid of them, not spread weeds from the
front garden to the back.”
Mimo walked up and down looking suddenly pensive. I feared she may have had an
idea. “Speaking of military operations, remind me how this god Grant got
elected.”
“He won a war."
She looked triumphant, “Well *there’s* an idea!”
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
