(Through Rose-Coloured Glasses)
I have a dream, a strange dream.
I was at the animal shelter. A noisy demonstation was going on outside.
The shelter has just announced their plan to euthanize 350 of their care, due to an outbreak of ringworm, which actually was not a worm, but a fungal skin condition, a contagious stubborn disease. Yes, it’s treatable, but at great economic cost and manpower.
I saw a puppy, with sad dopey eyes, crying and listening quietly to a flamboyant private eye with a borrowed red Ferrari.
“Listen, I have no smoking gun on you, no evidence of your wrong-doing. It’s not me who exiled you here.”
Puppy whined, “I did nothing wrong, must be a misunderstanding.”
“It’s all optics. With all the embarrassing gaffes you and your husband mustered recently. It’s bad optics.”
“I know nothing about his business.”
“This political ringworm business is highly contagious, not fatal, but can spread like wild fire, has to be contained quickly and efficiently. House cleaning, sweeping all dirts under the political carpet.”
“Show me the allegations, show me now.”
“It really doesn’t matter. Sorry your political life is on the euthanization list. Casualty of war.”
“He cannot dump me just like that. I am a legally elected representative of my constituents.”
“Sorry, hun, cannot turn back the clock. He has more important maneuver to steer. Look at the thousands of believers at Parliament Hill last week. More managable crusaders to lead, more profitable alliances to establish and new direction to enforce.”
“How about me, what am I to do?”
“I don’t know. Join the Wildrose Party?”
Zoomed. The red Ferrari was gone.