Dogs, Dads, and Dreams

The little dachshund nudges my knee, no more than a feather's touch, and without opening my eyes, I throw back the blanket and he crawls up and into the L shaped space between my knees and my shoulders. He sighs, gives me a quick kiss on my chin, then presses tightly up against me and goes to sleep. I tuck my free arm over his sleek little body and under his belly and hold him close to me. The small brown dog is snoozing behind my neck and there are cats scattered here and there, wrapped around my ankles, comfortably asleep on my shoulder and perched in front of the the window. It's one of those “life doesn't get much better than this” moments and I try to hold onto it. I'm afraid they may be much more of a rarity come the new year.

I have tried and tried to find some light in the coming darkness, tried and tried to work through the despair and fear that is crushing me. I tell myself he's all talk, it won't be as bad as he promised, we will not cement ourselves as a country of the racist, the rednecks and the rich. It's just that I can't find any evidence to support what I tell myself. Every new obscene appointment is worse than the last and the country is being swallowed whole by greed and profiteering, led by the sorriest excuse for a human being ever born. The fact that he can't even spell or speak coherently doesn't trouble me near as much as the fact that he prefers the entire country follow his example. I've missed educated people for years, missed people with integrity even longer and now it seems that both will be ground up and spit out on the ashes of health care, diplomacy, equality, free speech, and civil rights There will be flat out brutality for anyone who doesn't agree and resistance will be trampled by white sheeted cowards masquerading as bankers and politicians and cost cutting CEO's whose souls are ruled by profit and loss reports.

My daddy would undoubtedly tell me I'm getting carried away with doom and gloom. He would give me a sad, tolerant smile and tell me to stop being melodramatic. He would assure me we live in a better world with better people, that my fears are groundless, that the country is stronger, wiser, and more even tempered than the lunatic fringe. He would laugh and tease me about being a fatalist and too young to see things clearly. Maybe he'd even believe it or maybe he'd just want me not to worry so much. Or maybe, just maybe, he'd suspect I was right but not want to say so.

The little dachshund sleeps on, dreaming and occasionally twitching, pressing closer against me. My breath stirs the dappled fly away fur on his ears and every now and again, one small paw gives one small kick at whatever he's chasing in his dreams.