I haven’t liked how things have gone in the White House these past eight years—and it looks like we’re in for four more. This isn’t just about politics anymore. It’s bigger than that. Think of it as the State of the Union in three letters: D-O-G. It seems like the First Dog may be a vanishing breed—like campaigners who kissed babies.

For starters, the indomitable Donald J. Trump might have the office of the president again—but still, no dog.

“Make America great again,” he says to everyone but you.

“With no dog in the House? That can’t be true!”

Too bad, because I could really picture him with a power breed—like a Rottweiler, a Doberman, or my fave, the Giant Schnauzer. Not only would one of these dogs make for great photo ops, lending a “tough guy” image, but a dog would also be the perfect sidekick for the re-elected Prez, especially one who values loyalty above all else. There isn’t another creature on Earth more faithful to its master—and unlike certain aides, dogs wouldn’t be writing any tell-all books.

Trump as a doggy dad? It just might work. He could get the best-bred dogs, trained by a media star like Cesar Millan—though he might not be long for the country. A flunky could care for the dog, do the walking, the feeding—Donald J wouldn’t have to lift a finger unless it was to toss a treat. As president, he’d just reap the benefits of the ultimate sidekick.

The House needs a dog,

The people a pooch—

A furball to pat,

To fetch and to smooch,

To reassure the country,

A chilled, whiskered mooch.

If I had a say—and I wish more presidents would listen to me—I’d urge the President to get a black Giant Schnauzer, maybe even two. A perfect match: German origins, wild eyebrows, and a flair for pissing people off…or on. And if Mr. President has one of his notorious late-night McDonald’s binges during a meeting, he could always blame any “unexpected sounds” on the dog.

The dog, a Rockwell painting

From times of yore—

When kids were kids,

And Dad would snore,

And Grandma she just cussed and swore.

Now, you might say that the difference between Trump and Biden, was that Joe had a dog, specifically an imposing German Shepherd. One, who by the bye, bit ten people—we know of. What does that say about a president? A lot, if you ask me. If you can’t control even your dog, how are you gonna run a country, not to mention lead the free world? Poor Joe, even his dog’s antics bit him on the campaign trail.

I’ve seen it too many times: the sweet-hearted guy who tries to play tough by getting a power breed, only to have disaster inevitably follow. Biden’s a good guy, really, probably more suited for a Cocker Spaniel or Beagle—and there’s nothing wrong with those breeds. President Johnson had a Beagle, and JFK had a Spaniel. But Biden’s legacy? It’s almost as if his dog could explain:

I been in the White House,

But I musta been the wrong dog,

I’d a had the right job,

But the boss was in a deep fog.

Biting, growling, barking, scratching, chewing at guests’ feet,

See the prez shaking with every sheik I meet.

Nuclear fusion is causing lotsa fear—

Mauling ambassadors while all the leaders cheer.

I been in the White House,

But I musta been the wrong dog.

It’s simple—the White House needs the right dog. The good news is that it’s not too late for the president-elect to make me happy and get a black Giant Schnauzer.

Think of two great communicators in recent times, Clinton and Obama, who both entered the White House without gray hair, wrinkles, and dogs. Not only did they hit the trifecta by becoming dog dads, but they did a presidential job selecting the right breed, sending the right message. Clinton got Buddy, an affable chocolate Lab with legendary charms, and like his master, a true Lothario. Obama went with Bo, a Portuguese Water Dog, bred by Ted Kennedy. Not only was Bo a Cool Hand Luke who never shed, but like his master, he was a gifted orator and the most quoted canine alive.

Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff

Get ready, get ready

Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff

Get ready

Cuz here I come

The point is, both canine partnerships worked exceedingly well—no reason Don couldn’t beat them as a doggy dad even without a recount.

Yeah, that black Giant Schnauzer would get the recycled President the cover of People’s Sexiest Man Alive, projecting testosterone, machismo, and those iconic Trumpian eyebrows. But most importantly, a dog would humanize him, and let’s face it, that’s exactly what he needs, that’s what we all need—a little fur and a lot of heart to bridge divides and hang out in Rockwell’s nostalgic America. Because let’s be honest—if we’re making America great again, maybe a dog is just the partner we need.