and I had to fight the temptation to leap out of may car, knock on the driver's side window, and ask "Excuse me, but how do you know that your dog likes the Redskins? Did he tell you?"
As an aside, I remain quite perplexed at the amount of personal data people choose to affix to the back end of their cars. It is not unusual for me, just by glancing at a rear window, to ascertain the size of a family, the hobbies of the children, occasionally the names of the children, number of cats, branch of military service, political party affiliation, zombie hunter status, alma mater, and on a rare occasion favorite French Impressionist painter. Looking at the back of my car you could figure that I have at least one child at St. Mark Lutheran Preschool. Our need for self-expression clearly has no bounds.
But back to the dog and his supposed fandom. I would offer to the owner of the dog that one should really give the dog the opportunity to choose a team for himself. Array the logos of all 32 teams around your furry friend (car magnets will work, as that seems to be your preferred medium by which to make a statement, and I'd recommend you smear them with bacon grease just to make sure he doesn't trot away in search of squirrels...you got to hold his interest), and turn him loose. The first one he picks up with his nasty pointy teeth is the winner.
But be careful! When we let dogs have a choice the results can be devastating. My father once told me about how he would took his late and much beloved black labrador, Sammy, to work with him on the weekends. While dad did his work, Sammy would do his (his job included lying in the sun, pricking up his ears at divers sounds, and greeting other people who might happen to be coming into work on a Sunday).
One day a new hire, a fairly attractive and brilliant woman recently out of college, walked in to catch up on some work, and after greeting her in the hall Sammy watched as she walked towards her cubicle. He then turned and stared through the doorway my dad's office, looked into my father's eyes. He then looked towards where the woman had gone, and again once more back at my dad. Sammy was just a dog, and he only had a few gears in his little brain, but to my dad it was obvious that they were spinning wildly while he balanced the equations concerning to whom he would rather offer up his canine talents. At last the choice was made. Sammy snorted with derision, and he pranced down the hall towards the young woman.
And he never came back.
Bollocks! Of course he came back. Sammy was a good dog, a loyal dog. But it was clear that for a moment his loyalty wavered and it cut my old man to the quick, allbeit for just a brief moment.
So, Mr. Redskins dog owner, don't get all upset when your dog shows his true colors and makes it known that he is a fan of the Cowboys or the Packers or the Steelers....and with Dan Snyder at the helm I really couldn't blame him. I'd just as soon chew on a pair of old shoes than be a Redskins fan, and I'll bet your dog feels the same way.
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