(Note: Several years ago an associate of mine at a retirement community for work dogs gave me documents containing the statement below. It is from a dog who lived from 1990 to 2003, and has an important story to tell. I believe that even now, he needs to be heard.)
My name is Champ. I am a 13 year-old lab mix, and I used to belong to Mitt Romney. For seven years Romney employed me as a vice president at Bain Capital. He forced me to do morally questionable things in order to keep the company profitable. As a lab, I have a highly developed ethical compass. My experience at Bain has left me feeling crippled with guilt and remorse. I now realize that Mitt Romney hates dogs, but he hates obeying federal labor and financial regulations even more. I am nearing the end of my life, and I want to make sure that people know the kind of person I worked for. As I write this, Romney has just been elected governor of Massachusetts. I pray his political career does not progress further.
In 1995, after passing my Series 7 on the first try (my grandmother was a border collie) I went to work at Bain. I was new to the financial world and eager to prove that I was Good. Romney immediately began to delegate a great deal of responsibility to me. He would often stop by my office after hours to chat about our investments and occasionally give me a snausage. I began to look forward to our talks and saw him as a mentor. What I didn't know was that Romney had very specific plans for me, and they didn't involve analysis.
In early 1996 Mitt Romney ordered me to terrorize a group of union representatives who wanted to meet with workers at a company we'd recently acquired. I was told to bark and snarl, that biting would not be required. Romney and other executives sent me on several of these assignments, and - I'm ashamed to admit this - I complied. I needed my job, and I wanted their approval. These jobs became more frequent, and I became desensitized to the terrible things I was doing.
In 1997 I was ordered to target a Pomeranian belonging to an SEC regulator. Romney stressed that he wanted the dog hospitalized. Soon after that, Bain executives began to send me out on regular "sic 'em jobs," as they called them. I shredded the pant leg of a broker at a rival firm in a parking lot. I mauled several investigative reporters from the Globe. The years passed, and I began to lose touch with who I thought I was. In 2002 Bain officials flew me to Salt Lake City so I could do something unspeakable in the laundry bin of the Canadian speed skating team. That night at the kennel I flew into a rage, bit several orderlies, and escaped.
It's taken four weeks of therapy (which counts as 28 weeks in dog therapy) just to come to grips with what I've done, what I've allowed Mitt Romney to turn me into. And unfortunately I don't have enough time to really heal. I do know one thing, however. I wasn't born like this. I wanted, I still want, to be Good.
Not my former boss.
He is Bad. He is as Bad as they come.
If anyone deserves a whack on the nose with a rolled up newspaper it's Mitt Romney.
(Special thanks to Sue, Jeff, and Ella at Beehive Productions.)