Ted Talk

Snowflake Cruz has a bone to pick with Dad

Hi, there. My name is Snowflake Cruz, and I have a bone to pick with my family — well, my Dad, mostly.

I’m a little white rescue dog — my family adopted me in 2014. Journalists have gone above and beyond to document me and my well-being after my family skedaddled off to Cancun — but these scribes haven’t done a very good job at identifying my sex or my breed. A lot in the press say I’m a poodle; I fear that might be “fake news”.

I’m no expert on dog breeds, but sources say I more closely resemble a Bichon Frise. That’s a small, fluffy, white dog, which also happens to be hypoallergenic. La Familia Cruz seems like the type that would have a dog that wouldn’t cause too many of them to sneeze, don’t they? But no matter — after my family left me in what my Mom told her friends on text was a “FREEZING” house, I’d say I’m more of a Bichon Freeze if anything. Get it?

Oh, and about those texts that were leaked to The New York Times, and pretty much proved that my parents and my two sisters were planning to fly the coop — it wasn’t me! But if I were you, I’d check with Mitt Romney’s Irish Setter, Seamus. You know, the pup who made the trek to Canada for a family vacay in 1983 while in his carrier — strapped to the top of Romney station wagon.

OK, I realize dogs don’t live that long — especially after a harrowing trip like that, which I heard was both ways! — but since my Dad, Rafael (some of you call him “Ted”) and now-Senator Romney don’t really get along, I thought I’d blame someone related to Mitt and Ann. You never know — one of Seamus’ progeny could have dropped the dime on my folks. Twelve hours — both ways! — strapped to the top of a car that’s traveling an average of 60 mph (Romney is cautious) isn’t something you’d readily forget. I know that Seamus would most likely feel my pain if he learned about how I’d been treated.

And what about my sisters, Catherine and Caroline? I hear Dad tried to blame them for his Cancun escapade. I don’t know about that, though. I’m sure they really wanted to go to the beach, but they wouldn’t leave me freezing my cojones off back home in Houston. Would they? And let’s be clear about one thing — if my folks had invited me, I’d have lapped that chance right up!

Speaking of cojones — yes, they’re “man parts”, which my Dad really doesn’t have to any great degree. And I suppose you would assume that if I mentioned my own cojones, I’m probably a boy dog. But you might just be wrong. Women have cojones too, you know, at least metaphorically. My Mom, Heidi, who has a big-ass job stealing money from clients at Goldman Sachs, taught me that. She wears the proverbial pants in our family.

My Dad has been raked over the coals (one of the fossil fuels that failed during the Big Texas Deep Freeze) for his attitude toward both his constituents and my own personal well-being. I’ve been barking at him, too. Texans have been freezing — and even dying — because politicians like my Dad would rather yelp about policies that don’t exist, like the Green New Deal, than fix the danged power problem in our state. In defense of Yours Truly, though, there were even folks on the Twitter Machine who were saying things like “I Stand with Snowflake”. I know my Dad must be having the most difficult time keeping his mouth shut. He’s usually the first to hurl insults and “own the libs” with snarky nicknames like “Snowflake”. You were wondering about the origin of my name, weren’t you?

So there you have it. I’m a little white dog, reportedly a poodle but possibly a Bichon Frise, and my family abandoned me. In a “FREEZING” house, with plans to be gone three or four nights. To Cancun. That’s on what’s known as the “Mayan Riviera”. Wonder if Mom and Dad were planning to have Mexico pay for their vacation? And who knows — maybe the $309 per night rate at the Ritz Carlton down there doesn’t include dogs.

My buddy Yosemite Sam the Security Guard (OK, that’s made up — no one knows his name yet), who was was parked out front of our house (hmmmm…at 4,100-plus square feet, maybe a McMansion?) and told reporters he was “checking in” on me while my family was on this joy ride, is my caregiver on the regular anyway. You saw those pix of my Dad in his “dad jeans” and tacky grey Polo at the airport, didn’t you? That is not the physique of a man who walks his dog — even for a photo op. Ya think?

And speaking of photo ops — I heard that my Dad was out and about Sunday handing out cases of water to those in need, even though he was supposed to be in quarantine because he’d just been in Mexico. How altruistic of him — but also stupid. I’ve noticed that he’s kinda smart but with zero common sense.

While he was out working the crowd, I hope my Dad didn’t tell any of our fellow Texans that he left me in a cold house without electricity. And I hope he didn’t get too close to his constituents on Sunday. Leave it to my Dad to become a one-man super-spreader event! Sorta like another guy I’ve heard about— the one with the odd orange patina. I can’t recall his name, but he’s a friend of my Dad’s.

I just wanted to tell everyone that I’m OK now. My Dad probably didn’t learn his lesson, but he never does. Just ask all of the people in D.C. and in Texas who hate his guts. What was it that Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina said about him?

“If you killed Ted Cruz on the floor of the Senate, and the trial was in the Senate, nobody would convict you,” Mr. Graham said — and he’s a Republican, like my Dad! I don’t know if the Gentleman from South Carolina has a dog, but I know that if he did, he wouldn’t treat his puppy so shamefully.

And then there is this man named Rick Wilson. He’s from a group called the Lincoln Project, and even FOX News was yelling the other day about how my Dad will be the group’s next target for a take-down.

“We all know Ted Cruz is sort of a political force of nature,” Mr. Wilson said. “He is what he is. You either hate him or you hate him.” Ouch!

I hope my Dad will think twice before leaving me in such an uncomfortable situation again. Even if I do have a bunch of fluffy white fur and all. It was dark, and it was cold — no, it was “FREEZING!” — and my people vanished, leaving me for warmer climes. Even my water bowl froze. Back home. Where I was. Because they didn’t take me with.

The upside of this whole kerfluffle is we’ve had a lot of people hanging around our Houston neighborhood — even Mariachi Bands playing on the sidewalk in front of my family’s house — and I do love that fiesta music!

The bottom line here is that everything that could have gone wrong in this situation did — for the suffering people of Texas, for my Dad, and especially for me. I hope my Dad remembers this week as a cautionary tale. Because, really, you can only kick a dog so many times before it bites back.