Lyn Nofziger and David Kelly's Puppy Torture

The new puppy is banished to the basement. She is the peein’iss’ dog I’ve ever owned. I take her outside, and she goes. I bring her in, and she does it again. We are all peed out around here. A friend suggested I give her a treat immediately after those very rare occasions when I see her go outside. A reward, perhaps, to encourage good behavior. How about I beat the crap out of the puppy when I catch her doing it in the house? If she chews up ANY of my 14 remote controls, I will stuff her into the microwave again.

I was assured this puppy was six months old, and that she was housebroken. Housebroken nuthin’.

She doesn’t have a name yet, because I can’t come up with one.

I was going to name her David Kelly, but that seems silly for a female. Puppy, not David Kelly. David Kelly, who now has a tattoo of the severed body parts of the Black Dahlia on his forearm. Now that is trippy. Or was it Betty Page? David Kelly, who helped me through my first big crisis, but he refused to let me maim or kill the offender who slithered into my Garden of Eden on Thursday, and hurt my feelings all day long. Don’t mean to be too dramatic. Not gonna name a peein’ dawg after David Kelly.

JackJarko™ is his assistant, and he helps out with certain types of melodrama that I create. Jack’s suggestion today, while bizarre, did the trick. Super Glue is hard to get off certain body parts, but it took my mind off the inhumanity I’ve been suffering.

Nick suggested "Bitch." Richard thought of "Eva," after Hitler’s wife. I have considered, "Nigga Pleez," from Dave Chappelle. Funny, but awkward when I take her to the vet.

Nothing fits. I’ve always had the hardest time coming up with names for dawgs. Virgil is named after a client I represented in 1990. Nine year old kid. Not many people are named Virgil any more. But it has been good for the dog; I can’t say I know about the kid. He was fat. Mickey was named after an attorney friend of mine. He is not fat. Rich, but not fat.

If I can’t think of a good name, I’ll keep calling her "puppy," or I’ll take her way down on the south side and dump her. I’m thinking one of those neighborhoods where people flip you the bird, simply for having a car that runs. I swear that has happened to me twice in Moore.

Writing this goofy note took my mind off things for a bit. But as a holocaust survivor, it is more difficult for me to blow off resentments.

I read some place that someone tested Obama’s DNA, and it turns out he is only 1/16 black, and part of that is Australian Aborigine. He is losing his street cred -- fast. What if it turns out that Senators McCain or Clinton are blacker? That would be kyna coo.

Never mind. I’m still pissed at everything that happened today.

Oh, I’d intended to write something about Lyn Nofziger, who was like a father to me. He died two years ago today. I still miss him a lot. I was lucky to know him. He was a big shot in the Reagan years, and he helped me get started in politics. He flew out for my graduation from law school in 1990. He had a terrific sense of humor. Once he met a friend of mine who was working in Senator Kennedy’s office. My friend says, "hi Mr. Nofziger. I’m Pat. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I work for Senator Kennedy." Lyn shook his hand and asked, "have you taught him how to swim yet?"

Lyn was one of the more interesting figures from the 80’s. I don’t believe Reagan would have been elected without Lyn’s political ground work between the 1976 and 1980 campaigns. This means Lyn Nofziger ended the Cold War and brought down the Berlin Wall. The Pope, Margaret Thatcher, and President Reagan helped.

Yep, I miss him. He was kind and generous and utterly fascinating. He loved Ted Williams and the Red Sox. He supported the use of Medical Marijuana, because it helped his daughter Susie when she was stricken with cancer. He loved reading the comics. He worked every crossword puzzle, and he did it with a pen. He’d let me work it when I visited. He used to buy me fine cigars. He gave me a leather bound planner, which was a gift to him from President Reagan. On it is embossed, "To FCN from RWR, Christmas, 1981." When he gave it to me, he had this message added for me, "To RPH from LN, Graduation, 1990."

I talked to him almost every day. Had Thanksgiving with him every year, from 1982 until 2005. On the Friday after, we’d have chili at a famous chili parlor in Arlington. Then we’d head to Tyson’s Corner Mall so we could bitch about the traffic and the shoppers. We never bought a thing. I used to ask him, "could we please just walk around until someone recognizes you, and then I can sort of bask in your celebrity?"

Actually, people often did recognize him. They recalled his role as stand-in press secretary on the day Reagan was shot in 1981. At a press conference, Nofziger repeated the corny jokes the President cracked on his way to the operating room. "Please tell me you’re all Republicans" or "Honey, I forgot to duck."

Hearing those jokes calmed us down. Meanwhile, the President was near death.

If you want to know more about Lyn, ask me, or google his name. I asked him once if "Nofziger" was German. He said, sarcastically, "no, rAndolf, it’s Irish." He always got to me.

You never really know how much you’re going to miss someone until you miss them.

RPH, Esq. N.V.