The Consequence

It seems fitting that the most salient thoughts I have regarding this election revolve around my dog taking a shit.

Yesterday morning — the Thursday after the election — I took my sweet boy Truman for his morning walk. I live in a residential area in Burbank, surrounded by tree-lined streets and (mostly) well-kept, single story houses. As you stroll along the sidewalk, you’ve got the main lawns leading up to people’s homes on one side, and on the other side, the narrow strip of grass separating the sidewalk from the curb.

I prefer Truman take his dump on the narrow strip of grass. I know he’s still technically crapping in someone’s lawn, but it feels less egregious somehow. To facilitate this, I try to keep him on that “narrow strip” side of me during the early part of the walk; once he’s done his business, he’s free to explore as far as his leash will allow.

Yesterday I was lost in my thoughts, contemplating the upsetting (though not entirely unexpected) defeat of a highly capable public servant to an incompetent orange blob of rage-filled id; little attention was I paying to Truman. So it was not until too late that I realized the sneaky bugger had trotted into the middle of someone’s lawn and assumed the position.

Every dog owner knows when their furry loved one is about to go number two. There’s a subtle shift in the speed and gait of the dog’s walk, signaling that the train is ready to leave the station. If you realize that release is imminent, you have a short window of time in which to redirect the pooch if you prefer they defecate in a more appropriate spot.

I, alas, missed that window, so there was nothing I could do but hope that the homeowners didn’t happen to be passing by their window at that exact moment and spot my dog using their 1/10th of an acre of Bermuda grass for his morning constitutional. I looked up at the house and, thankfully, saw no one in the window.

What I did see was the big old “Trump/Vance” campaign sign next to the front door.

Well, friends, at that moment I found myself faced with a dilemma. I stood there, bag in hand, thinking, “I should just leave it. I should leave that steaming pile of feces right fucking there. Serves you right, you fascist, misogynist, racist, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic, don’t-give-a-fuck-about-anyone-but-your-goddamned-fucking-selves, authoritarian-welcoming, Trump-supporting, chucklefucking anal warts.”

I stood there for a long time. Truman was confused.

Then I picked up the poop.

Why did I do it? Did I simply wuss out? Maybe. Or is it that I remembered in that moment that I am a mature and rational adult who is above such vulgar displays?

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. I am as petty and vindictive as they come.

What I realized was that the consequence of leaving that heaping mass of waste where it was wouldn’t fall on the assholes who lived there. Because in a neighborhood like this, no one mows their own lawn. No, the people who would be forced to deal with Truman’s excrement would be the trio of undocumented workers — the very people that MAGAts revile so much because reasons — that these homeowners have hired to keep the hedges trimmed and the blades of grass lush. The people who live there wouldn’t even be inconvenienced.

And that was the lesson. Anytime I make a rash, emotionally driven decision, I tend to do more harm to myself and the people I’m trying to protect than to my intended targets. Taking a minute to think things through yields better results. (Okay, it ain’t Aesop’s fables, but I take my life lessons where I can find them.)

I don’t know exactly why so many people support and voted for this fuckin’ guy. Better minds than mine are on that case, trying to make sense of it all. (For an excellent analysis, I recommend this piece by Robert Reich.) I think the loudest Trump supporters, the ones with the oversized Trump flags and the stupid red hats, really are just sad, hate-filled trolls, lacking in empathy and decency. I wouldn’t stoop to defend them. I wouldn’t spit on them if they were on fire.

But that doesn’t encompass everybody who cast a vote for Orange Foolius, nor those who sat this one out because they couldn’t bear to make a choice between what they perceived to be the lesser of two evils. I think there are a lot of people who simply didn’t think through the consequences of once again elevating this smirking idiot to the highest office in the land. They made a rash, emotionally driven decision. “My life is going nowhere, and politicians are to blame. Trump the anti-politician is the answer!“

They left the shit in the middle of the lawn.

They’re wrong, of course. We know they’re wrong, because we’ve already seen this movie. And now we all have to sit through it again, suffering the consequences of rash, emotionally driven decisions that weren’t thought through. Women’s rights will continue to be stripped. Queer and trans people will be at risk. Immigrants, legal or otherwise, will be cast out. The world will be less safe.

I believe many of the people who voted for Trump (or chose not to vote at all) will come to regret it … bigly. Not the diehards, of course. They’re too far gone. But for everyone else, there will be a reckoning.

Unfortunately, by then it may be too late. Democracy was on the ballot this year, and over half the country voted it out. Now we’re all stuck dealing with the steaming pile.

Bad dog, America. Bad dog.