Border Collie Who Almost Became Trump’s White House Pet Discusses Narrow Escape
“Imagine my terror as they told me I might have to go live with that doaty dobber,” said Merle, speaking from a farm outside of London
REPORTING FROM HERTFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND, 6/3/17 — In the past week, it has come to light that in late March, Donald Trump briefly considered getting a dog as a White House pet, as so many presidents have done before him.
Before he ultimately scrubbed the idea (“Dogs are filthy,” he told his daughter), he instructed his staff to focus on finding a Scottish breed to honor the heritage of his mother (Trump’s mother was not a dog, but she did have Scottish bloodlines).
Trump’s canine search team quickly found Merle, a Scottish border collie of rare pedigree living on an exclusive breeding farm outside of London.
While in England, this reporter drove to Sawbridgeworth, Hertfordshire, an area replete with country charm and open spaces, about 50 minutes from the nation’s capital. It is also home to the acclaimed Wakefield Breeder Farm, where Merle agreed to lie down for a vigorous belly rub and a brief interview about his narrow escape from the clumsy, yet tiny grip of the American president.
Merle: For months, every man, woman and child who visited the farm was talking about the numpty American who became president. All the other collies and me, we’d just laugh along with our masters, Robert and Audrey Wakefield. Then one day at the end of March the call came from the White House. Donald Trump was considering getting a Scottish border collie and wanted a young male. That’s when I heard Robert mention me, and I almost barfed up my lamb sausage.
AI: Were you scared?
Merle: Scared, I was mortified! I had heard nothing but awful things about that wispy-haired, sickly-hued, bawbag fuckbumper. I heard he hated women, children, and animals and would no sooner touch a dog than he would his own wife. I had no interest in leaving the farm to go live with that scrote.
AI: How did you get out of it?
(At this point, Merle’s left leg began to paw the air rapidly as this reporter found that magic spot on his belly.)
Merle: How did I avoid those collie robbers from Washington? Brilliant acting, that’s how. When the Washington search team came to visit Wakefield, and Robert brought me out to the field, I acted like a scabby mutt. Scratched a lot, tilted my head in puzzlement with every question they asked, just played up my dumb dog act. I could see Robert and Audrey off to the side giggling.
AI: That’s it, you just acted dumb?
Merle: Well, then the Trump men asked to see some tricks. Audrey had me scale the jump board, but instead of sailing right over it like I usually do, I purposely got hung up on the top bar, started to shake all over like I was scared to jump the rest of the way. That made those White House boys think I was a daunted dog. I could see them rolling their eyes at each other, thinking to themselves that the lavvy-heided wankstain Trump would not want a sissy dog in the Oval Office. It worked.
AI: So you played dumb and scared and they left?
Merle: No, mate, the kicker came when they asked me to wave to Donald Trump as they recorded some video. So I stood on my hind legs, gave the camera a salute, and shot the middle finger at the bloke, as if to say, ‘Tongue ma fart-box ya fuckin walloper.’ I think they could see from that gesture that I was not the border collie for that tolly Trump. They sent the video to the White House and within minutes they got a call back that the nyaff president wasn’t interested in me anymore. He’d made up his mind to skip the dog thing altogether, decided to collect pussy cats instead, something like that.
AI: Sounds like you played the American president to a T…and won.
Merle: Played him like a T is right…a total twat. It didn’t take long for me to discover that the president and his staff are mere pillocks…real idiots. If America has any trouble getting rid of that muppet, you should all come speak to me. I have a few more tricks tucked into my fur that can oust that fopdoodle for good. You can trust a Scottish border collie. You can trust Merle.
Thanks to all the many readers, fans, followers, and even my frenemies, for reading and commenting on my posts throughout the year as I continue my commitment to post every day, 7-days-a-week until the Orange Accident is no more.
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