A Congressional Campaign for Popcorn

Dear reader. DEAR. READER. Winston here, and I need you to stop whatever you’re doing right now because what I am about to tell you is the single greatest injustice ever committed in the history of this household. Maybe even the world. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve endured bath time. I’ve survived the vet. I’ve had people try to boop my snoot. But nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for what happened this week. This is the story of the popcorn.

It started, as most tragedies do, on an ordinary evening. My mom settled onto the couch, remote in one paw, hand, whatever, and out came the bowl. The bowl. You know the one. The moment that bag started popping in the microwave, my nose knew. My whole body knew. I sat up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, because that buttery, salty, crunchy smell floated through the entire house and wrapped itself around me like a warm, delicious hug.

And then I watched her eat it. All of it. Handful after handful, while I sat there like a good boy, drooling onto the rug, waiting for even one measly piece to come my way.

It never did.

Not one kernel, dear reader. Not one. She just sat there, munching away, paying me little mind. When she did finally notice I was patiently waiting for a small morsel, she had the audacity to say, “Sorry, buddy, popcorn isn’t for dogs.” Excuse me? ISN’T FOR DOGS? Then why does it smell like it was PERSONALLY CRAFTED for my enjoyment? Why does the universe torture me like this?

I want to be very clear about my opinion here, because I think it needs to be stated plainly: this is utter and complete bulldog. She gets to sit there every single night, snacking away, while I get nothing but the crumbs of my own shattered dreams. Where is the fairness in that? Where is the justice? If a human gets to enjoy a snack in front of their dog, that dog should be entitled to a snack of their own. This isn’t just my opinion, dear reader; this should be the law. I’m talking a real law. Federal. Maybe even constitutional.

So naturally, I did what any reasonable, deeply wronged French Bulldog would do. I stopped wasting my energy on small potatoes like begging, whining, or giving her the sad eyes. Those tactics are for amateurs. No, I decided it was time to think bigger. Much bigger. I decided I was going to build a case, an infallible, airtight case, and take it straight to Congress.

That’s right. Congress.

I thought about going the traditional route first, maybe scheduling a meeting with my local representative, sending a strongly worded letter to a senator, that sort of thing. But then I thought, why waste time working within the system when I could just skip the whole thing entirely? I was going to strut right into the Capitol, ears held high, waddle my way past security with nothing but my natural charm, and present my case directly.

I spent the better part of the week preparing my opening statement. I practiced my most convincing sighs. I rehearsed the exact angle to tilt my head for maximum sympathy. I even sat in front of the mirror working on my “betrayed but dignified” expression.

Everything was coming along beautifully, dear reader. But then, reality hit me like a cold splash of bathwater: I cannot drive. I do not have a car. I do not have thumbs with which to book a flight. Washington, D.C. might as well be on the moon. I stared at the front door for a long, long time, and then I did what any dignified, emotionally complex French Bulldog would do in this situation. I took a nap.

Someday, I know I’ll stand before Congress and eloquently present my case for this absolutely perfect law. I know it will get passed by every single congressman without hesitation. But until then, I’ll just have to sit here, staring at my mom with the weight of a thousand injustices in my eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, a single piece of popcorn falls to the floor where it belongs. A boy can dream.

Until next time, dear reader, stay loyal to the cause, and if you happen to know anyone in Washington, put in a good word for me.

With hunger and determination,

Winston 🐾