Bulldogged
My siblings and I were raised by staunch Republicans; Mom was boots-on-the-ground, Dad made it clear that we were expected to follow his example. They followed the news, and we were expected to do likewise. By the time we got old enough to form our own opinions, we'd learned the value of knowing when it was safe to express those thoughts. It was a bit surprising, then, when Dad, in his final years, was in the habit of throwing his news magazines at the television when the news presented coverage of W; Dad was not happy with what they were doing to his party, and he passed before Obama rose in the public awareness. Mom outlived him by a few years, and surprised all of us when she voted for Obama, stating that he was proving to be the best president of her lifetime; she passed after casting her last vote for Hillary.
But it's Dad who's on my mind today. He spent his career working for Mack trucks. Little bulldog trinkets were all around the house. By the time I started high school he was affixing the famed hood ornament to the family cars. My first car, a birthday gift from my fiancé, did not escape that adornment; imagine, if you will, that bulldog perched on the hood of a 1964 GTO. Seriously. That car was stolen and wrecked, concurrent with the broken engagement. I was working part time while going to school and managed to save enough to make my first purchase of a car, a spiffy bright red convertible Corvair. It, too, got the dog. A few years later I was living a few states away from parents and bought the only brand new car I've ever owned, a fire engine red VW bug. Dad wanted me to come for a visit so that he could decorate the VW; I flew in for visits, so the bug escaped the bling. As for trump's visit to the Mack facility today, I can't imagine Dad being pleased. Given his displeasure with W/Cheney, he'd likely view the event as an insult to the Mack brand. And on that, he and I would be in rare agreement. .