Even in the midst of all this trump bullshit, I can’t ignore the fact that our dog, Rocky, is getting old. I almost said “my dog,” which is kind of the truth. He is my familiar. He follows me all over the house. Sometimes, he precedes me, walking at a mind-numbingly slow pace, turning around occasionally to see if I’m still behind him. He has bumped his head on the walls of the hallway many, many times while doing this. He’s not the smartest dog I’ve ever owned, but he may be the sweetest.

Rocky, a dog