Nixon and his dog, Checkers.

Nixon: hated Commies, hippies, and Democrats.  Loved Checkers.  Loved America.

Heston and his pooch, Quimby.

Heston: loved guns, Moses, guns, shooting guns, and Quimby.  Loved America.

Reagan and Rex.

Reagan: Loved ketchup, tax cuts, and his dog, Rex. Hated commies. Loved America.

Clinton and Buddy.

Clinton: loved elitism, tax increases, and socialized health care.  And Buddy, well, Buddy mysteriously was hit by a car.  And thanks to a deep-pocketed pal of mine (who loves his own dog!), we’re starting a massive right-paw conspiracy to get to the bottom of this. 

So there you have it, Americans!  Vote this November for dog and country.

For the record, I’m completely against trying to sell more McCain bandanas. I want Barack to beat Reagan’s 1984 results — 525 electoral votes. That’s why when my owner tried to advertise McCain bandanas, I did my best to stop him!

DAY 4 — REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION

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STELLA: There’s was notable cultural difference between the conventions. Rebublican convention = suburban and rural dog owners. Democratic convention = urban elite dog owners. I’m sure glad I’m in a home where my owners don’t have to put my craps in a bag and where they eat red meat (mostly moose) an’ tater tots. My conclusion from these past two weeks: McCain is a shoe-in. I’m taking a nap….

BARLEY: My advice to Stella: read the Doggie Electoral Map. So what if a few pups in middle America wear McCain bandanas. Sales in the two weeks of the conventions were 55-to-22 Obama over McCain. Look at the enthusiasm on the User Photos page. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Stella. It’s Obama Dog for president!

DAY 3 — REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION

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STELLA: Did you know McCain was a POW? He was a POW in Vietnam, which is the country where he was a POW for five years, the duration of which he was a POW. Mitt, Huck, Guliani and Palin each touchingly documented how McCain’s POW experience shaped the man who has the POW experience to be president because of being a POW.

He’s clearly got the POHS vote down. All former Prisoners Of the Human Society will be out in force November 4th for our hero, the POW.

Let me spin a tale. I was born in a puppy mill and then dumped at the Human Society. I spent five grueling months of torture (excessive belly rubs!), starvation (only two meals a day!) and mental abuse (all those damn cats meowing!), so that when I finally got out I couldn’tn lift my front legs above my shoulders, just like John McCain. (EDITOR’S NOTE: No dog can reach its legs above its shoulders.)

I pulled myself up by the paw-straps and made something of myself. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I am now the preeminent dog columnist at TheDogVote.com. I am self-made, just like John McCain, ignoring his familial naval lineage and his wife’s tremendous wealth.

Remember your choice this fall: a POW who was a POW during his POW experience, or a man with the middle name Hussein.

BARLEY: “What’s the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull?” asked Sarah Palin during her speech at the Republican convention. “A hockey mom wears lipstick.”

This may have been hilarious for humans, but let me lay out the case that it will not help McCain much with most dogs. First of all, there are some pit bulls who wear lipstick, and I don’t find it particularly politically correct to be dismissive of the small, but vocal, constituency of transvestite canines.

Second, what’s a hockey mom? You may be talking the language of the Alaskan Malamute, but for most “middle America” dogs, ice means having to gnaw the icicles from between our toes. No empathy here. I’ll gladly kick the ball around the yard, but you’re not going to interest me in pushing a puck around the pond.

Third, the sports jokes may resonate with your red-state human voters, but you have to learn to talk to the childless, black-frame glasses wearing, Prius driving, culturally aware, elitist dog owners who are making all the difference in Obama whopping McCain at TheDogVote.com.

DAY 2 — REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION

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STELLA: Freedom = The Twin Cities of McCainburg and Palinville. McCain made all good, flag-salutin’ dogs proud with his pick of Sarah Palin for VP. Most critically, he locked up the swing constituency of American Eskimo Dogs, whose allegiance to Alaska and whose anti-abortion views are in lockstep with Palin.

It was great to see all my Samoyed, Great Pyrenees, Bichon Frisse, American Eskimo and Maltese friends last night. Some commentators (Keith Olberman, I’m looking at you) pointed out that I doubled the number of dogs and/or people of color in attendance last night. I have one thing to say to those freedom haters: the Republican Party is a party of inclusion, unless you believe in abortion, gun-control,
market regulations, universal health care, political correctness, moral relativity, or if you hate hate freedom.

If those Dems take my non-regulated, off-leash dog park away from me, my dog friends and I will kidnap propagandist Michael Moore and post his ransom at TheDogVote.com. Unless, of course, there is oil underneath my non-regulated, off-leash dog park. Then I say, Drill Here, Drill Now!

BARLEY: Only history will tell us what whipped up the the Republican convention more: Hurricane Gustav or Sarah Barracuda. I am inclined to like a Governor whose nickname is animal-related, but she’s from Alaska. There aren’t Barracuda in Alaska. How about something more appropriate like Sarah Sled-Dog or Sarah Alaskan-Malamute or Sarah Timber-Wolf? None have the ring of Barracuda, but she’d pick up more dog votes and close McCain’s near insurmountable gap on the Doggie Electoral Map (see right sidebar).

Last night was tribute night. For most of the presentations, I was snoozing under my owner’s kitchen table from a snausage-induced coma. The few snippets I caught reminded me of when my great-grandfather (on my poodle side) used to sit me down and tell me stories of the Reagan/Bush glory years. He said back then that America was a shining city upon a hill whose bacon drove freedom-loving dogs everywhere.

The most prescient tribute of all was for McCain, given by Fred Thompson. His deep orange tan revealed what he’s been up to since losing the nomination to McCain: tanning beds! Or, more likely, deep sea fishing. Or dog-sledding while vetting the VP selection. My favorite Thompson line: “Now, being a POW doesn’t qualify you to be president.” He didn’t read the talking points.

DAY 1 — REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION

Hurricane Gustav: Barley and Stella are putting politics aside and stocking up a on canned dog food.

DAY 4 — DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION

BARLEY: Besides when I got frightened by all the fireworks and ran out of the room with my tail between my legs, I thought Barack Obama’s speech last night was powerful and mesmerizing.

First, the power. As all the commentators were saying, he finally put some “red meat on the skeleton.” True. Red meat such as promising tax cuts for 95% of the electorate, which in my case will translate into my owners having more money to literally buy me more red meat! He put more red meat on that skeleton by finally taking on Mr. McCain’s mockery of his foreign policy experience. We dogs understand smart diplomacy — how else do you think we deal with our much more powerful owners? He connected with dogs on that point.

Second, the mesmerization. Mr. Obama went back to the theme of his famous 2004 convention speech that we are all Americans no matter our political stripes and no matter our ethnic heritage. He stopped short of mentioning that dogs are Americans, but he only had 42 minutes. By being so inclusive, he implied that dogs are Americans, too, I think.

That’s how I’ll conclude my analysis of the Democratic convention: we’re all Americans. Stella included. See you next week for the RNC. In the meantime, keep up to date on the latest canine political news at TheDogVote.com.

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STELLA:Nice Corinthian columns (or were they Dorian columns?) last night, Barack. We had a viewing party at our Republican dog headquarters in Denver last night. I can’t believe I forgot my camera. You can’t imagine how hilarious dozens of dogs dressed in togas looked.

We’re ready to move from this land of socialism, redistribution of wealth, dog’s right to chose, veterinary care for all… and get to the land of killing terrorists, pork barrel spending (I’m not sure exactly what that is, but I like pork), and consolidation of all the doggy treats in the paws of a few.

One final thing before we pass the torch to the Repubs: Al Gore gives speeches way too fast. I’m telling you, dogs could not understand the man. We’re all ESL, English as a Second Language. My friend Jorge, the chihuahua, who first spoke Doggish, then Spanish, and learned English when he immigrated, could hardly make out a word. Just sayin’, in case Mr. Gore reads the pet section of his local newspaper.

DAY 3 — DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION

BARLEY: What a night — first a speech by Bill Clinton, the basset hound, then Joe Biden, the attack dog.

Bill Clinton is popular among dogs despite being a cat owner. For some, it’s his resemblance to some of the longer-faced members of our species. For others, it’s his vulgarity (the food, the girls…). And for others, it was his wise choice to finally get a dog, Buddy, after five years in the White House. We all mourned the day Buddy was killed in his prime by a car. If dogs could elect Bill president again, we would.

After Bill, the evening turned to this year’s ticket. Biden tore into McCain last night. His persistence reminded me of a dog pulling at the seam of a toy until… split. He wanted so badly to rip all the stuffing out of the GOP last night. Of course, that’s only possible metaphorically. (Dogs, ask your owners to explain to you what a metaphor is.) But I have a feeling after this campaign that there might be some bleedin’.

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STELLA: Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore, and we’re not in St. Paul yet.

It was as obvious on the third night of the convention as it was on the first: Democrats hate freedom as much as they love sappy, love-thy-neighbor music. “People all over the world, join hands, start a love train, love train.” Not only was I not moved by this unfortunate use of the O’Jays’ anthem, I was offended. I don’t have hands, I have paws. And I don’t love my neighbor, I love Dick Cheney, Geroge Bush and the Bush family dog, Spot.

I can’t wait until the journos, bloggers, TV crews, pundits and canine analysts move from this orgy of librul nostrums (see, Barley, you are not the dog who can look up a Latin word in the dictionary) to the Twin Cities. Thank goodness, it’s over…

What? It’s not? Well, I don’t care about Mr. Obama’s speech before 80,000 adoring fans. He’s a celebrity. Just ask the McCain campaign. (Apparently, a celebrity is something vile and despicable in human culture.) Now, if Obama were to speak in front of 80,000 adoring dogs, then I’d be impressed.

DAY 2 — DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION

BARLEY: Hillary Clinton’s speech last night emphasized a theme that resonates with dogs across the nation: suffrage. At TheDogVote.com we work tirelessly so that some day our puppies and grandpuppies will have the right to vote! Clinton inserted herself into the lineage of the women’s movement. Someday your dogs will look back at TheDogVote.com with the same admiration as the Clintonistas view their leader.

Beside the obvious sad fact that most of us cannot have puppies (I urinate like a female dog because my owner took my man parts), there will invariably be future generations of dogs who will desire a roll in the political process. Virginia Governor Mark Warner’s speech was about the future. Forty-five years ago, Martin Luther King gave the “I have a dream” speech, and we’re on the verge of electing the first black president. I have to start organizing a million dog march to the Lincoln Memorial, so that in 2053 there might be a canine candidate for president.

But back to reality. I know McCain is a good, honorable man. His two dogs have told me such. But Clinton was right. “No way. No how. No McCain.” The stakes are high. We need universal veterinary care. We need good public obedience schools for all. We need to protect our reproductive rights. We need to elect Barack Obama president of the United States.

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STELLA: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pantsuits was on display last night. How could a human or dog ever take anyone seriously who wears a bright orange pantsuit? I’m nearly color blind, but I can differentiate a bright, distracting pantsuit from the more conservative variety. It was glaringly obvious that her getup was distracting. You know dogs; flash something colorful in my face and I completely lose my mind. I paw at it, bounce up and down, run through my owner’s legs, lunge, lurch, roll over onto my belly, pant with exhaustion… I love bright, colorful things!

It was total strategic bungle. Conservative humans dislike bright, colorful pantsuits. And dogs of all political stripes simply could not absorb the message because they were distracted. Read the comments on TheDogVote.com. No dog I know, besides that uber-intellect Barley, knew what Clinton was talking about.

The tide is turning. The Doggie Electoral Map at TheDogVote.com is nearly unanimously blue. But Obama was up a dozen points with humans at the beginning of July and now it’s neck and neck. Conservative dogs are just now coming home from deer season and are poised to vote. McCain will prevail, if for nothing else but the fact that Hillary’s shrill laugh is high-pitched enough to drive dogs mad!

DAY 1 — DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION

BARLEY: Thanks for having us, Digger. I just want to take a moment to introduce myself to the American people. My name is Barley and I am a goldendoodle. My father was a dark golden retriever brought from a far away place to mate with my mother, a white poodle. At a young age, I was taken from my parents and raised by humans. Despite such a setback, I worked my way through obedience school and some agility school to get where I am today. I am a featured blogger at a leading canine media outlet, TheDogVote.com, and president of my own fan club. Only in America is my unlikely story possible.

But I digress, Digger. You asked me to write about last night’s Democratic National Convention. I was so moved, like many others, by Ted Kennedy’s impromptu appearance. I first met Mr. Kennedy’s dog, Splash, back at the 2004 convention. We hit it off because we are both non-shedding breeds. He was so proud of his owner last night, and he really thinks Mr. Kennedy will be back in the Senate next year to help push through comprehensive veterinary care reform.

That aside, last night was the coronation of the new Democratic party. With Obama as their leader, they have cast the party tent wide to include limosine liberals (and their toy dogs), suburban housewives (and their golden retrievers), Mountain West independents (and their labs), working-class whites (and their hunting dogs), Hispanics (is chihuahua too cliche?), blacks… well I’d better stop, because I believe in political correctness above all else.

Michelle Obama did the great service of taking the spotlight off the Clinton saga. I kept barking for my owner to turn off MSNBC, which was analyzing the “psychodrama” of the Clinton splittists ad nauseum. (Yes, I am a dog and I speak Latin. Get over it. I’m a liberal elitist dog.) Michelle broke that spell with a pitch-perfect performance. All the dogs in attendance - which were really just the bomb-sniffing dogs - were in tears. And her and Barack’s girls are just so gosh-darn adorable. Like little puppy dogs with dimples.

Tomorrow Hillary speaks, and we’ll be here covering it.

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STELLA: I’m just going to get it out in the open for your readers, Digger. I have seven dog houses and I wear two pair of $500 Ferragamo loafers. If you try to make a smear ad against me, I’ll just claim it was my owner, Lindy McKain, who buys everything for me. Then I’ll make a smear ad against you, Digger, claiming you’re nothing but a posh celebrity like Paris Hilton’s chihuahua, Tinkerbell.

But I like you, Digger. We blogging dogs have to stick together. It’s Michelle Obama I really have a hard time with. She is mean to dogs, and bad for America. I didn’t listen to a single thing she said last night. I just rolled over and let Lindy pet my belly… ahhh.

What? It was a marvelous speech? So what — her husband is wrong about all the great issues of our day. Like digging at the beach. I love digging at the beach. I dig for all kinds of things, like dead fish and greasy napkins. You never know what you might find at the beach. McCain wants off-shore digging, and I know dogs are all for it. Just wait till the RNC.

It’s only a day into the Dem’s convention, and I’m already sick. I’ll admit that I watched the whole thing on mute with Lindy rubbing my belly… ahhhh…. but just the sight of Pelosi and the gang brought up my Kibbles N’ Bits. I only expect it to get worse before it gets better. I mean, the Clintons still have to talk. They better not give a speaking slot to Socks the Cat, or I might have to quit this political blogging job in protest.

Everyone’s waiting for Obama to text us his VP pick. I have my telegraph machine ready for when McCain announces his pick.

I dearly hope McCain is wise enough to pick Barney, George W. Bush’s Scottish Terrier. He has sniffed the ass of many powerful Republicans. (Note: Cheney never changes his underwear.) We all know, and we’re all very pleased, that the end of the Bush presidency will not be the end of the Bush presidency. Tricky Dick Cheney will continue to be the attack dog, while Barney fronts. Upon McCain’s prearranged death, Barney will step forward as the Manchurian Candidate and become leader of the free world!

Should McCain opt out of his own death, there’s always Representative Tom Tancredo. He’s a dog hero, a lover of freedom and hater of tacos, burritos and all other Mexican food that makes me bloated and gassy. He stood up to the authorities when “Dog the Bounty Hunter” was about to be extradited to Mexico on charges of bounty hunting. For those not hip to the dogosphere, “Dog” is The One to Republican pups like “Obama” is The One to Democrat pups. It’s every dog’s dream to be a bounty hunter and hunt down the bad guys. It’s what we’re bred to do. I would go to the gates of hell to hunt down Osama bin Laden… or to get my squeaky noodle-doodle toy. Hey, it may not be legal to bounty hunt in Mexico, but it is the good ol’ USA. There’s no way Americans or their dogs should be held to other countries’ laws, and Tom Tancredo understands that. Moreover, Tancredo would make for darn sure that no Mexican flea-ridden, stray dogs get through our high-tech fence into America.

My colleague of ill-repute, Barley Boo — he had the affair with Rielle Hunter, too — wrote about underdogs for Obama’s VP pick. Here’s my underdog for McCain: Duane Chapman, “Dog the Bounty Hunter” himself. Think about it. All dogs are interested in national security, and this guy is gonna go out and get the worst of the worst. Putin, Chavez, Mugabe, bin Laden, Socks the Cat. He will keep dogs safe, so choose him, Mr. McCain.

But is that the best the media can do for an underdog? Chet Edwards? The dogosphere has its own speculations.

Our top pick for underdog VP is Allen Boyd, representative from Florida’s 2nd district and Co-Chair of the Blue Dog Coalition. He’d bring some swing-state voters of Florida, he’d bring some fiscal conservative cred to the obviously socialist Obama campaign, and he obviously loves dogs — blue ones.

I still think underdog Hillary Clinton has a chance. It would be a huge surprise, but Obama risks losing a large portion of The Dog Vote if he doesn’t pick her. Her opponents often referred to her using a euphemism for female dog. That’s not a negative in the dog body politic. In fact, it’s a positive that she’s a euphemism, and that will garner a lot of female dog votes.

The other Senator from Obama’s home state is not considered to be on the shortlist, but Illinois Sen. Dick Durbin is a genuine hero in the dog world. He lead the crusade to examine the safety of dog food entering our country from China. I say no more.

Finally, we have to have one pick that’s as waaaay out there as the Chet Edwards speculation, and he is Cleveland Cavalier’s mascot, Moondog. He has plenty of experience in front of huge crowds, he know lots of euphemisms (just check out his MySpace page), and he’s been vetted thoroughly. How many other VP candidates have had to appear before a congressional hearing on steroid use? (See photo.)

Who’s your favorite underdog vice presidential candidate?

I’m sure you’d find libertarian and constitutional sympathizers in the canine community. However, the dogosphere is not as alive as its human blog counterpart. My owner’s dad wrote a blog post for U.S. News and World Report about translating the passion of Ron Paul supporters into corporate culture, and he got analyzed/complimented/ridiculed ad nauseum.

So, here’s my challenge to you humans. If we get enough write-in votes, we’ll print Ron Paul dog bandanas. (What color would it be? Green, Yellow, Black, Red/White/Blue?)

Should he be included on the Doggie Electoral Map?

It sounds like National Geographic will be airing a program dedicated to DogTown, where many of Vick’s pit bulls now live. Lo and behold, two of them are being honored with a Canine Good Citizen Award.

Law and order conservatives would have all pit bulls off the streets. It doesn’t matter that a tiny minority of them give the whole breed a bad rap. My owner’s sister’s pit bull is vegan and sleeps like a cat. She’s mildly aggressive when you rub her nipples too hard, but who wouldn’t be?

How about background checks for pit bull owners? Article 1, section 1, line 1 for that piece of legislation: Hyper-fast, cannon-armed NFL quarterbacks are prohibited from owning pit bulls. Leave your thoughts on who shouldn’t own a pit bull in the COMMENTS section.

I know, I know. Conservatives will say that this is the typical liberal blame-someone-else game. Just watch the National Geographic program and see who’s to blame.

The Bush administration has forced us into an age of political cynicism, with the rise of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, and culminating in The Dog Vote. If a dog is taking a whack at McCain for comparing Obama’s supposed vacuousness to Britney’s, then where are we as a nation?

She talks to “Tucker Carlson” and stakes her claim to the Vice Presidency. Her application: a wet, dog-style tonguing to, it looks like, McCain’s lower lip.

I’m not saying that she’s not qualified for the job. I mean, she admits that she doesn’t “go home and have orgies, or anything like that.” But we at The Dog Vote are calling for more vetting. Consider the many bitches she’s had over the years from various fathers! We’re not smearing, just stating the facts.

With all the talk of a post-American world, the discussion seems to miss an obvious new contender for power on the world stage: dogs. As the Earth’s economic globalization process creates a ballooning middle class, it buys dogs, and their food and accessories, in massive quantity.

In 2006, it was estimated there were 61 million dogs in America and over 62 million more in the Brazil, China and Russia. That’s an army that someone — the dogs’ Chengis Khan — will raise if Americans don’t listen to Cesar Milan and keep their pups in line.

What humans can count on for now is that there’s no political unity between dogs. The thrice pregnant street bitch of Mexico City has little in common with the the suburban golden retriever of the Ozzie and Harriet set. Try cobbling them into a political alliance.

Dogs are delicately riding a peaceful ascension in the world order, like the Chinese. However, there are frays at the edges: breed-specific legislation, the ridicule of gay marriage as a slippery slope to man-dog marriage, massive ownerlessness in third world countries, the Tibetan terrier problem.

Most dogs want a peaceful ascension into the world order (call them the “silent majority”). We want to keep our doggie pedicures, our “Obama Dog” scarfs and our dog bakery delicacies. We can tolerate the Cesar Milan authoritarianism and the constant tug at the “gentle” leader in exchange for the trappings of modern dog life. But let’s be clear: we should strive to eliminate the street dog culture of the third world, lest their be a doggie Che Guevara biding his time.

Democrats would be disgusted by my bacchanalian pie eating orgy. “Oh, no!,” they’d say, “slow down, we don’t have enough pie, let’s save some for tomorrow, don’t eat it all at once, let’s conserve that pie–ouch! Don’t bite me!”

If I could talk, I’d say, “Quit hating my freedom, Democrat! I’m free to eat as much pie as I want, and that’s what’s great about the U-S-A!” I’d probably have to say it in French so they understood. I can’t talk though, so I’d bark and maybe bite an ankle or a forearm. That’d show the freedom haters what America’s about.

It’s the same thing with this whole oil thing. Sure, I don’t drive, but my owners do. I need that car to run so I can stick my head out of it. I need it so my owners can go buy me more dog food and food to make pies. But Democrats want to take that car away from us and make us ride a bike even though I think I’m too big to fit in a basket. Meanwhile, heroic Republicans are fighting to protect America by pushing for more digging. Because they love America. Some of these heroes are even staying in Washington, DC and giving up their August recesses to stay in the darkened House chamber and yell about the need for more digging. That’s sacrifice. Here, they could be home in their districts, spending quality time with the wife and kids, going to spaghetti dinners at the local rotary club, walking around in the August sun shaking sweaty hands and pretending to smile all day long, but instead they’ve chosen to protect America from Democrats.

I’m a dog. I know digging. I dig all the time. And you know what? I find awesome stuff. Last week I found a half-buried deer carcass when I was digging. The week before that: an old tennis ball. I know, I couldn’t believe someone left it in the dirt either. But that’s the thing: you put a little effort into digging, and bingo, you’ve got a treasure. The Republicans want to dig because they know there’s great stuff out there for us to find. And because they love America.

They want to dig at the beach. I love digging at the beach. That sand really flies when you get after it. When my owners took me to the beach, I dug around for a bit and found some dead fish. I rolled and rolled in that dead fish until I was covered in its fragrance. Smelling like dead fish is what America’s all about. So let’s dig at the beach. We’ll find great stuff, I just know it.