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January 23rd. Ozymandias.

The Owner is sitting at her Computer watching the House of Commons. I am engaged in a discussion with Squeaky Cat, when she speaks suddenly.

Ozymandias, she says, in slightly strained tones.

What is that? I ask, as her voice was slightly drowned by Squeaky Cat, who is Upset that the Prime Minister has stopped guaranteeing family reunion rights for unaccompanied child refugees. Squeaky Cat feels this particularly Personally was himself an Unaccompanied Refugee, having been trafficked from Australia.

The Owner sighs. I was referencing a Poem, she says. It just came to mind.

I sense the Owner is in Reciting Mode. Go on, I say.

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away, say the Owner.

That is a splendid Poem, I say, What is it about?

It is about a Statue, she says. Of a King who thought himself Very Great and Very Moral but in Fact was full of Hot Air.

What Great and Moral Things did he do? I ask.

One Assumes Not Very Many, says the Owner, picking up Squeaky Cat and glaring at her screen, or we would Perhaps Remember.

Why then does he have both a Statue and a Poem? I ask. I note that Squeaky Cat is Looking Tense.

The Poem and the Statue are Ironic Monuments to Hubris, says the Owner Sadly. They remind us that Power does not make anyone Great. She ruffles the remains of Squeaky Cat’s ears.

What is Hubris? I ask, in part to distract her.

It is the Wielding of Power without Morals, says the Owner. She Squeaks Squeaky Cat, then rearranges his Tail, in an Agitated Kind of Fashion.

The Moral Dog can read the Signals. And Squeaky Cat is pulling that face he pulls when he is Worried about Being Completely Dismantled. Is this Actually About the Prime Minister? I ask.

Sometimes, says the Owner, relaxing her grip on Squeaky Cat and looking Understood, the Moral Dog is Very Astute.

Whilst this is of course True, One does not need to be Very Astute to know when the Owner is talking about the Prime Minister. It is Written on her face, which goes a Rather Unbecoming Lilac. Still, the Moral Dog is always best to Take Credit even when Credit is Not Due. One is so seldom recognised for it when it is.

Thankyou, I say Graciously, and accept the Proffered Biscuit. I sense that Squeaky Cat sighs with Relief.

It is Good for an Owner to be Attuned to her Moral Dog, says the Owner.

It is not good for an Owner to be Lilac, I think, neither for the Owner nor for Squeaky Cat, but I Do Not Say So. It would Spoil the Moment.

Categories: Boris Johnson dignity dog dog philosophy

Hergest the Hound

I am a dog of many thoughts.

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