Рита Браун - Sneaky Pie For President

“I can drive.” Pewter was sitting on the sofa as she watched the TV, but she now jumped down to squarely face Tally. “Porsches were made for me.”

“If you two start a fight, we won’t get to go up to Monticello,” Sneaky Pie reminded them.

“She’s right,” Tucker agreed. The corgi wanted to go to the big house on the hill.

“She started it.” The gray cat peevishly glowered.

“I did not.” Tally growled again, and everyone was reminded how excitable Jack Russells could be.

Sneaky wearied of both Pewter and Tally being so touchy.

“You said people trust dogs more than cats,” Pewter grumbled.

“They do,” said Tally. “Man’s best friend. Fido. It’s Latin or something, meaning faithful. Has a cat ever been named Fido?”

“Tally, no cat would endure it.” Sneaky smiled. “Still, I agree, for some reason people trust dogs more than cats. What’s your point, Tally?”

“You should turn over your campaign to me.” Tally wagged her little tail. “I’ll name you my running mate.”

Pewter exploded with laughter. “No one in their right mind would vote for a Jack Russell. And by the way, Tally, no one believes you speak Latin.”

Although she agreed with Pewter, Tucker kept her mouth shut. Jack Russells lived for excitement. Finding none, they’d create it. Washington, D.C., didn’t need any more frenzied yapping. It needed level heads making informed decisions. Tally thought with her nose, and was unfit for office.

Tally was getting worked up right now—not a formula for profitable dialogue. “They will so vote for me. Don’t forget: I kill vermin. I protect humans. I, I, I chase delivery people. I mean, how do you know that delivery person isn’t actually a thief? And I’m small, so I can get places other dogs can’t. I am the most useful and helpful dog any human could want,” Tally boasted.

“You’re also stark-raving mad. Even given today’s degraded standards, I don’t think politics is quite ready to go to the dogs.” The gray cat’s eyes grew larger. “You run in circles, you run after everything that moves, you bark all the time, and I must tell you, it’s the worst bark in the world. In the entire world.”

“Is not,” barked Tally. “Is not!”

Their human peeked in from the kitchen. “Will you shut up?”

Tally looked up at the woman. “Will you get a face-lift?”

Pewter cuffed the little dog. “Be glad she doesn’t know what you’re saying.”

“That’s my challenge,” Sneaky said.

Pewter gave this some thought. Impressed by the Red-shouldered Hawk’s response that afternoon, she reconsidered her former rejection of Sneaky Pie’s ideas. “I think explaining to the world why you live with a Jack Russell will be a major problem.”

Baring her fangs, mostly white, the tricolor dog growled. “You watch your mouth.”

“Well, Tally.” Sneaky Pie tried to sound reasonable. “Americans love golden retrievers, Labradors, even poodles. If I choose to select any dog as a running mate, out of political necessity I will have to pick one of the more popular breeds.”

“No fair. I should be a candidate.”

“Sorry, Tally,” said Sneaky. “Your demographics are wrong. Jack Russells aren’t that popular. And Pewter is right, you bark too much.”

“Who wants a big fat Lab?” Tally shrieked.

“I agree with her there,” Tucker said, coming to Tally’s defense.

“Much of America wants a Lab,” Sneaky rejoined. “They fall for their dumb good looks.”

The gray cat thought out loud: “Poodles don’t shed. You might want to think about that.”

“Poodles are too French,” Sneaky said. “Not American enough.”

“Hey, over here!” Tally yipped. “I’m American.” The Jack Russell’s voice rose. “I’m as American as apple pie.”

For a moment, the thought of pie caused them all to fall silent. What was their human doing in the kitchen?

“If you were born here, yes,” Sneaky said to Tally. “But considered all-American? No.”

The little dog was deeply shocked. “How can you say that?”

“You’re associated with England, the British Isles. So is Tucker. You’re also associated with horse people, and lots of Americans think those people are rich. That’s not the message we want to send.” The tiger cat considered what kind of dog would really be a good addition to her ticket.

“What? Horses mean wealth?” asked Pewter. “That shows you what humans know. Living with a horse is a ticket to poverty. They eat while you sleep.” Still, Pewter was giving Tally the evil eye.

“We can deal with horses later,” said Sneaky. “I can’t ignore them, you know. Nor cattle, either.”

“You’re ignoring me!” Tally whined.

“I am not ignoring you. I am simply telling you how humans perceive Jack Russells.”

The dog looked imploringly at the tiger cat. “Sneaky, you don’t think I’m a nutcase, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“How can you lie like that?” Pewter spat out, aghast. “You know she’s bonkers.”

“Pewter, let’s consider this rationally. True, Tally is exuberant with her many feelings. She expresses them perhaps more than is wise, and loudly, but she’s a good sort. And she does protect our C.O.” Sneaky used their nickname for their human.

C.O. stood for Can Opener.

Tally triumphantly bumped the cat. “See?”

Given Pewter’s bulk, this attempted bump knocked the little dog off balance, not the hefty cat.

Pewter stuck to her guns. “She’s a lunatic.”

“I’m courageous, high-spirited, good company,” countered Tally. “I am the perfect running mate. We’re in a depression. People need their spirits picked up.”

“What they need is jobs,” Sneaky reasonably replied.

“What about an older, wiser dog who works, who demonstrates proven skill?” asked Tucker quietly. “Herding dogs? Hunting dogs? I myself herd cattle.”

Both her friends stared at her, surprised. Before they could say a word, their human called.

“Let’s go.”

Once settled in the truck, they watched the lush scenery pass by, twilight casting long Prussian blue shadows across spring green meadows.

“Are you serious about this?” Pewter asked Sneaky. “You really think you need a dog as a running mate?” Pewter raised her nose, enjoying the higher view a truck affords.

“Sure I do. People aren’t likely to be moved by a goldfish.”

“I don’t see how you can pick one running mate without offending every other breed,” Tucker prudently observed. “I mean, what if you do pick a golden retriever or a beagle?”

“Good point. It has to be a mutt.” Sneaky Pie watched a Great Blue Heron flying overhead to its nest by the water. “It’s all about demographics.”

“A mutt? Never.” Tally yelped. “Have you no pride?”

“Tally, shut up!” the driver reprimanded.

Tally grimaced. “Can’t we find her a mate? Something to occupy her?”

“Then there’d be two of them to manage.” Sneaky laughed. “One is bad enough.”

Pewter laughed, too.

“Maybe you’re right. It’s tough enough as it is protecting her. She can’t even smell. Just last week she was twenty-five yards from a bobcat and didn’t even know it. Luckily, bobcats aren’t vicious, but what if she had been that close to something really aggressive? Or an animal with her young? I tell you, none of them have the sense to get out of harm’s way. Sometimes I go to bed exhausted just from chasing off bad actors.” Tally held her chin up, threw out her chest.