What Pet Should Donald Trump Adopt? Here Are Our Suggestions
Unless you count that hairy varmint that hangs out on top of his head, it looks like Donald Trump may be the first president in 150 years to not have a pet. Last month, the New York Post broke the bittersweet news that a potential goldendoodle deal fell through after that fluffy dog's owner decided she couldn't part with the pup.
Every president since 1901 has had a dog, but some earlier heads of state had more unusual companions, like the "nest of white mice [Andrew Johnson] found in his bedroom," the Post reports. It got us to thinking about what pet would best fit the First Family. Here's what we came up with.
A genetically modified crossbreed that grew popular in the '80s because it was a low-grade facsimile of a rare, noble creature? We're talkin' peas in a pod, here.
It's only fitting that a man with a full, lush head of hair have a dog that's nothing but hair. Also known as a Hungarian sheepdog, the Komondor is essentially a large mop that barks. But don't let its goofy appearance fool you – this canine Cousin It is powerful and mighty protective of its owner. And although they're hidden under those luxurious white cords, trust us, the Komondor's paws are yuge.
We're not sure who Kirk was, but his animal rocks – an unusual ungulate that looks like what might happen if an antelope were left in the dryer too long. A little larger than a pomeranian, it won't take up too much room in the Oval Office, and can be safely locked away in the cabinet when Putin comes to visit. Bonus: in addition to the usual poopin' and peein', this little guy marks his territory with tears, which just seems wholly appropriate. Extra-bonus: When threatened, it actually screams “dik-dik”!
Yes, they're real. We checked with Sean Spicer.
What, you don't think the Department of Defense extracted DNA from the fossilized tissue of this prehistoric flying reptile ages ago? And you don't think that, if anyone was going to get the first one, it wouldn't be Donald Trump? Sure, this winged monster would need to be tamed, so that it wouldn't swoop down upon hapless White House sightseers, and only our fearless leader has that kind of grit.
Strong. Loyal. Igneous. Plus, its lack of sentience means low overhead, so from a strictly price-point perspective, it's a (rock) solid choice.
There are many varieties of this noble flora, including the rubber plant, the weeping fig, and the vaguely Trumpian-sounding fiddle-leaf fig, which is probably what the First Family should go for. All it needs is sunlight and water, two things that still might exist after Trump's first year in office.
Why have a pet that makes messes, when you have one that cleans them up? Plus, it walks itself. No, the Trumps won't be greeted with tail-wags and slobbery kisses upon returning home, but they'll feel the next-best thing: the love from HEPA-filtered squeegee-suction nipping at their feet, with all the loyalty and affection that an infra-red guidance system can afford. “Clean, Ubu, clean – good robot!”