Remain Alert And Watch Where You Go

Dog Buddy White House Kennel 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Washington, D.C.

Dear Buddy:

Hey, you’re one lucky canine. At least you got a regular dog’s name. Your sentimental master ditched 1,000 entries to name you after his uncle, Buddy Grisham, a good ol’ Arky who raised hounds.

Whew, you can’t imagine, Buddy, the cutesy-pie monikers people wanted to hang on you. They wanted silly state puns like Barkansas or Arkanpaws. Or to pair you up with Socks (Boots, Slippers, Shoe). Or takeoffs on your chocolate coat (Nestle, Mousse, Willie Wonka). Or dumb political or sports names (Newt, Nafta, Top Secret, Mulligan).

Since you’re only 3 months old, you probably don’t know the ill-fated names that befell other presidential mutts: Sweet Lips (Washington), Fido (Lincoln), Veto (Garfield), Laddie Boy (Harding), Fala (FDR), Clipper (Kennedy) and King Timahoe (Nixon).

Grrr. It’s enough to make you chew up some sneakers or irrigate the Oval Office rug.

Don’t do it. You’re a celebrity pup now, Buddy. There are 149,505 registered Labrador retrievers in the U.S.A., most popular breed by far, but you’re the star. After your master ended the suspense by announcing your name, he could have ended his press conference.

Too bad he didn’t.

Face it, Buddy, you were hired as a political dog. So behave. In your first public appearance on the White House lawn, you leaped up and licked a TV camera. Don’t repeat this act or you’ll be mistaken for a U.S. senator.

Granted, you were quick to obey when the prez said, “Sit.”

You were more obedient than FBI Director Louie Freeh, when your master whispered, “Quit.”

First trick you must learn, Buddy, is to wear an adoring gaze when your master speaks (and speaks …). Study photos of first ladies. Since Labs love to romp and swim, it will be hard to ward off doggy coma. When your master says, “In conclusion,” he’s getting warmed up.

Don’t worry if you conked out during your first press conference. Ninety-one minutes? The marathon was so ear-numbing, a reporter asked a question and fell asleep during the prez’s answer.

You’ve got to understand your master’s a bit insecure these days. Old pals George Stephanopoulos and Dick Morris called him a “lame duck” and “more interested in golf than being president.” That, Buddy, is a slur, like telling a Lab he’s a Pekingese.

See, your boss talked 91 minutes to prove he’s Fully Alert, On Top of Things and Chock-full of Great Plans.

That’s why he kept bragging it was a “banner year” and vowed 1998 “will be a year of vigorous action.” He mentioned every world trouble spot but Mozambique and Luxembourg. He called Saddam Hussein “clever crazy” and “maddeningly stupid.” He bristled because Congressman Dick Gephardt said he only had “small ideas.”

Your master got red-faced and started waving his arms when an ABC reporter said his race dialogue was “presidential Oprah.” You see, Buddy, your master likes to put people in front of microphones, talking about race - never mind, you’re too young to understand.

When a reporter mentioned Al Gore, your master gushed about their partnership and said the veep has “performed superbly.”

Not much different from spokesman Mike McCurry’s description of you, Buddy: “Likes to have his tummy scratched.”

You were probably confused when the prez got into a hot argument with himself about affirmative action vs. racial preferences. By that time, McCurry was waving desperately at the prez, like a Navy signalman trying to land a jet. The prez flew on.

Were your eyelids dropping, Buddy? Ears flopping listlessly? Maybe the White House vet can stash some Benzedrine in your Alpo.

Remember, Buddy, you were chosen as First Dog because you have the same inbred traits as your master - a keen nose for trouble, stamina to run tirelessly, a love for the chase. But here’s some advice: Don’t jump in Gore’s lap. Your master’s already nervous about 2000. Don’t run Socks up a tree. You don’t want a harassment suit, not at Robert Bennett’s fees.

If Newt comes to visit, don’t make a puddle on his shoes. He’ll shut down the government.

Don’t wag your tail at the words “Quayle” or “Forbes.” Whine and look unhappy.

Don’t chew up anything marked “FBI files” or “campaign donations.” Rep. Dan Burton will put you in his dog pound. Cover your ears if the prez is asking somebody for $50,000 on the telephone. Janet Reno will subpoena you to bark.

But, psst, Buddy, here’s one favor you can do for the rest of us: If you see a copy of the upcoming State of the Union speech, chomp on a few pages - you know, like the last 30 minutes.

You’ll truly be Man’s Best Friend.

xxxx