There's a three-legged dog on our street. It's a Shetland sheepdog. One of those miniature nuclear powered Lassie dogs that would wear a hole in the Earth's crust running in circles before it ever got across "Timmy's in the well." It's missing its left front leg.
The dog gets around as if having been born with four legs was a mistake of evolution. It dodges and weaves and barks and generally makes a nuisance of itself whenever you pass its home. The Dog Whisperer would mention it was bred to tend herds. When it runs up its driveway and onto the street yapping like the broken wheel on a grocery store cart, it's keeping us away from its herd of imaginary Shetland sheep.
The first time I saw it, I didn't know it was missing a leg. It got around like a quadruped. One day my landlord said to me, "Watch out for the three-legged dog," and I thought she was cautioning me not to step on it.
If it was human it might have been lying around feeling sorry for itself, bemoaning the loss of its paw, complaining it couldn't run the doggie wheelbarrow races anymore. But it was running and weaving and yapping, just like it was born to do.
It antagonized me and my dog as we walked past the driveway it was protecting, hopping around madly like a weird transpecies creature: a bird going through surgery to become a mammal. Occasionally my dog would look up at me with that, "What exactly are you going to do about this?" look that pack members give the alpha male. "What is your plan? You do have a plan for dealing with this, don't you?"
But there was no plan.
"You should kill it so we don't have to worry about it biting us and maybe we can eat it," my dog seemed to say.
What I said with my body language, the only language a dog can really read from a human, was, "Let's get the hell out of here before one of us gets bit. I am much bigger than you, but I am stupid and planless. I am not worthy to lead."
What I said with my mouth in a language incomprehensible to my beast was, "Come on. Leave it. Leave it."
That's what dogs are all about. They see what is there, and not what you say. They do what they're born to do from the beginning to the end with no complications. People might not like what a particular dog is doing. We may scoop them up off the city streets and euthanize them. But sane people can't blame a dog for doing doggie things any more than you could blame a bear for doing bear things or a fly for being a pest.
As much as we would like for everything to fit our pattern of thought, the physics of life knows no need for such compliance. Things are rarely as we say they should be, were, or are. We talk about our existence as if it's a film we're directing, where we control the lighting, the camera angles, and the actors.
But it's not like that.
Dogs know it.
Primary day in Alaska was August 29th. The big race is for governor. Sarah Palin won the Republican nomination, soundly defeating everyone, including the incumbent governor.
Tony Knowles won the Democratic nomination. He has been governor of Alaska before.
Lots of other races were decided. I will not list them all here.
On primary day lots of citizens were out on the streets carrying campaign signs. In the capital city, every street corner was populated by one or more supporters of a particular candidate who were waving signs and encouraging cars to honk their horns.
It was a generally peaceful scene, save for Anchorage, where someone shot at the Frank Murkowski supporters.
All of that was interesting and is now in the past as we veer onward toward election day.
Yesterday as I was driving in to work I noticed a group of people standing on a prominent street corner waving signs and banners, encouraging people to honk their horns. These were supporters of Randy Wanamaker, who is running for state assembly.
As the primary is in the past, it is unclear exactly what these people were doing. While there is no reason they could not support their candidate at any time they chose a Tuesday morning to do it. It was a Tuesday that happened to be the primary day in other states.
And so it looked like the Randy Wanamaker team was a couple weeks too late and presumably, a couple dollars short.
Perhaps they'd erroneously entered the Alaska primary date on their PDAs. Perhaps they overslept on primary day and were having a make-up day. Perhaps they felt they should support their candidate on non-election days or perhaps they were drunk.
Whatever the reason, their being there, vigorously supporting their candidate on a Tuesday upon which no voting was occurring in the state of Alaska suggested to the casual passerby that they were less than the sharpest tacks in the box.
This is an example of at least one way in which trying to do something good politically can backfire on you.
Politics can be fun, but it's probably time I took a step back. I've been watching too much MSNBC. Reading too many internet blogs.
It's time I took stock. Why am I so worked up about politics? Why does the mere mention of the name of our president make my stomach churn?
What is my truth?
I would like to go back to being a moderate "fence sitter". I would like to be able to vote for Republican candidates without feeling I'm committing America to further fascism.
I'm tired of politicians of any breed. I'm tired of being told bald-faced lies by any administration. The difference with this administration is I'm being told I'm not American for not believing the lies. Prior administrations at least let me believe casting my vote meant something other than "you're either for us, or against your children's future."
I would not like to see a Democratic sweep of the legislature in November and the executive in 2008. Generally, I don't think they're strong people. I think they are wimps for the fact they can't administer the coup d'grace to an administration that is mired in its own hubris and the blood of nearly 3000 soldiers lives squandered slashing at Republican windmills. While there is less coordination of ideology in the Democratic party than the Republican party (and so the Demos would be less likely to force a national religion down our throats) the tension needs to be maintained. I want to see the branches of our legislature unbalanced. I want them all to debate in public. It shouldn't be that a couple dissenters from the majority party have to drag the whole thing into the light of reason because their consciences won't let them continue to administer and follow the lies.
I think we have lost the war and not one Democratic incumbent or candidate has the guts to stand up and say it. The administration did it by sending our fathers and brother and mothers and sisters into harm's way without the proper equipment, with no plan, and no clear objective. Get our people out of there - or - come up with the means to equip them and a goal they can achieve and a plan to get them there. This has got to be fixed. We have allowed ourselves to be blindsided by idiots.
Legislative gridlock would be better than this mess.
This is what I think about when I try not to think about politics.
It is beautiful in Alaska this morning.
When it is sunny in Juneau, there is no prettier place on earth. The morning sunlight turns the glaciers orange-pink. The bay turns azure and the bald eagles soar against a deep blue sky. The air is crisp. Snow-capped mountains far in the distance pierce the horizon like the remnants of a dream from which you've just awakened.
When it's sunny in Juneau each tree stands straighter, proud to have its own shadow. Fingers of light touch the forest floor and filter through the soft pine needles to animals sleeping below. We are an outpost of humanity in the mountains, surrounded by ice and trees. A place where visitors wonder how all of us came to be here, and why we would ever think to leave.
I have had a fight with my brother. In our lives we have had many disagreements, and several fights. When I was younger, they were fistfights. As adult males, both in our forties, they're wars of words.
My brother is a highly skilled, highly principled person. He tries to practice the rules he sets out for himself and he is merciless on himself when he strays.
He has been very concerned with his family matters, to the exclusion of everything, and everyone else. And his family matters have been numerous and serious. There are health issues to be considered as well.
So when my own family matters became all-encompassing, I could not expect to turn to my brother for help, and I didn't. When he offered his advice and judgment on my situation, I was unaccepting.
The therapist I was seeing recommended that I do not confront my brother about how action he has taken has hurt me and my family. She felt he would not be accepting. In fact, could not accept someone else's plight while he went through his own trials.
I didn't take her advice.
I'm not sure where we stand now. I have friends in this world but I only have one brother who has been my partner in trudging through this messy life. He has been my best friend, though I doubt he would say the same of me. I have never really known how to reach him through the thin veneer of attitude and stricture which kept him from ever expressing any strong feeling toward me that wasn't a criticism.
It's certain, I'm not a saint. Takes two to tango. Etc.
And as much as my brother has held me up against his own barometer of behavior, I have held him to mine. At times, we have both found the other grossly lacking.
But he is my brother.
I don't know what's best in this world, anymore. Times have been hard and I have been taking out my personal frustrations on the politics of the world. Now I understand the pundits and pollsters. When you have a big hole in your life you try to fill it with other things. Politics is easy to adopt as a scapegoat for frustrations.
When you get on the plane they tell you - put on your oxygen mask first before helping others. This is because you will quickly fall unconscious if you don't have oxygen. When you're unconscious, you're unable to help anyone else first.
My brother would argue that it is better to die while helping another put on his mask first than to help yourself during the limited valuable time another has to live. They might be dead by the time you get your mask on and regain the presence of mind to help them. And besides, he'd add, it's a stupid thing to consider having to do.
I say I would follow the airline's instructions.
In reality, neither of us has been in that situation, so neither of us knows what he would do. I only know what we are doing now.
Would it have been better to have not said a word and maintained tranquility till a time when we could discuss it more rationally? Or is it better I don't have those feelings eating at me anymore? Do either of us have the energy to try to understand the other?
I only ever had one brother. I miss him.
I wish he missed me.
What separates men from Shetland sheepdogs is we claim to have the ability to step out of our skins and observe ourselves from a distance. We not only think, but we can think about thinking.
We can examine our behavior and correct it where necessary, or applaud it where appropriate.
These days I feel like a three-legged dog who's too busy protecting his imaginary sheep to realize that people aren't threats - that they admire him for how well he gets around with his handicap. And that in their admiration they refrain from expressing the glaring truth that there are no sheep to guard, so perhaps there really was never any need to get around so well on only three legs.