For more than 20 years, candidates running for office in the Hillbrook-Tall Oaks Civic Association in Annandale have stood, waved and received polite applause at the annual meeting in June. Everyone votes, eats ice cream, chats with neighbors and goes home.
Wow, that sounds like fun. I like free ice cream. Wish our crappy-ass HOA offered ice cream. Shoot, I wish our crappy-ass HOA did anything other than send me a bill every January.
This past election, to make the meeting move faster, only the names and qualifications of the candidates were announced. Running for president, Ms. Beatha Lee was described as a relatively new resident, interested in neighborhood activities and the outdoors, and who had experience in Maine overseeing an estate of 26 acres.
Who the hell names their child Beatha? I mean, really? This person is probably like 87-years-old. I’m sure they voted her in thinking she might croak in the middle of her term and then they’d get another free ice cream party to vote in someone else. Score!
Though unfamiliar with Lee's name, the crowd of about 50 raised their hands, assuming that the candidate was a civic-minded newcomer. These days, it's hard to get anyone to volunteer to devote the time needed to serve as an officer. The slate that Lee headed was unanimously elected. Everyone ate ice cream, watched a karate demonstration and went home.
So, there were no speeches? No platforms? No nothing? Just free ice cream and karate. My kind of election. No mud-slinging. No “I approve this ad.” No misconstruing facts. Can we go this route in November?
Only weeks later did many discover that their new president was, in fact, a dog.
Election fail.
And this is a problem, why, exactly? Who said your HOA president has to have opposable thumbs? Is that in the by-laws somewhere?
Ms. Beatha Lee is a shaggy, dirty-white Wheaten terrier.
If she’s dirty give that dog a bath!
"She had a name," said Robin Klein Browder, who grew up in the neighborhood and moved back after she got married. "It wasn't Spot or Rover. It was a first and last name, so everyone thought she was human. I'm not thrilled, I'm embarrassed."
Well, you know, I think this proves that perhaps you should take a little more interest in the “people” running as HOA president instead of just hoping to get to the free ice cream sooner. Honestly, don’t be embarrassed if you had the ability to step up and ask questions and you didn’t. You’re to blame. Morons. Of course no one will accept blame for that. “It’s the owner’s fault for trying to pull one over on us.” Um, no, it’s your fault for not asking the right questions, for not having protocol that protected this from happening. Serves you right.
"At first, people would say to me, 'This is crazy!' " said Helen Winter, a director emeritus of the board who is in her 80s and is a major force behind the neighborhood watch, the welcoming committee and the annual block party. "And I'd say, 'It is crazy. Isn't that fun?' It's one of those things that breaks the monotony."
Good for the 80-some-odd-year-old. Glad not everyone in that neighborhood has a giant stick up their ass. (Yes, I realize the grammar is wrong because the pronouns don’t match with plurals – I don’t care! It's been a long day, I'm too tired to rewrite it.)
Dave Frederickson, who read the dog's name and qualifications to the crowd at the annual meeting, said, "Many people, like myself, were amused. But some were extremely upset. I've spent a lot of time on the phone explaining things."
Those who were extremely upset are probably dog-haters too. Screw them. I don’t think you owed anyone any explanations. As Armand taught us in Interview With The Vampire, “You ask the wrong questions.” Apparently no one asked ANY questions.
The duly elected president is actually the pet of the former president, Mark Crawford, who inherited Beatha (pronounced Bee-Ah-tah) in 2008 from his mother and stepfather in Maine.
And we care about the fact he inherited this dog with a stupid name why, exactly?
Crawford had served three consecutive terms as president and, according to association bylaws, could not run for the office again. For weeks leading up to the election, he begged, pleaded and cajoled neighbors to run for the often-thankless volunteer post. No one bit.
Okay, so honestly, I don’t get it. He wasn’t allowed to run again, but no one else wanted the position. So, couldn’t they rewrite the bylaws to allow him to run again? It’s not rocket science. It’s not like the bylaws were freakin’ etched in stone back in the times of Christ and can’t be changed because an entire religion was founded on them or something.
Grammar Nazi note: Seriously, the “had” as the second word in this paragraph is NOT NECESSARY. When will people learn???
Out of sheer frustration, Crawford decided to put up his dog.
How much you want to bet he was drunk when he decided to do this? Because honestly, it does sound like something that you’d come up with, and think was an awesome idea when you’re drunk.
"This isn't a power trip," said Crawford, who now serves as vice president under his pooch. "We wanted to send a message to the neighborhood that they needed to get involved and get engaged. That they can't count on the same people to do this year in and year out."
We? You and your idiotically-named dog discussed this? Yeah, maybe you were high, not drunk. I do, however, get the point you’re trying to make, but it sounds like it was lost on your neighbors. Maybe you need to move somewhere else. You know, somewhere with some intelligent residents.
Crawford and the nominating committee carefully scanned Article V of their bylaws on officer qualifications. Resident of the neighborhood: Check. Attained the age of majority. Check (in dog years). "Our charter language did not mention that a human had to serve," Crawford said. "The way it was phrased was very accommodating, to be frank."
Are you sure? Did you use actual dog age calculation or the misguided principle of one human year equals seven years?
Those same bylaws also outline the fairly substantial duties of the president, everything from running meetings and appointing committee members to executing contracts and co-signing checks. Not to mention speaking for the association at public meetings. So how has the canine managed?
Well, if he handed out some LSD to everyone before the meetings, I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of speaking at and running meetings. Slip it in the free ice cream everyone loves, no one will know.
"Well, she delegates a lot," Crawford said. "That's what executives are supposed to do - delegate."
No, that’s what crappy executives are supposed to do. Real executives actually do something besides push their own agendas.
The dog occasionally attends the monthly board meetings, usually held the first Tuesday or Wednesday of the month in Crawford's home. "She's sometimes sitting under the table, listening to what goes on," Frederickson said. "Until she gets bored and wants to be let out. I don't know if the board members need to pet her on their way in."
The meetings are in your house, but she’s only there occasionally? I don’t get it. Do you send her away? I mean, if she goes outside, don’t you let her back in? Or is it a “once you’re out, you can’t come back in until you figure out how to open the door yourself” kind of thing?
Crawford and the other seven human board members have kept the annual block parties and ice cream socials running without a hitch - the president was too out of sorts to attend.
Was she too out of sorts? Or was it just the fact SHE. WAS. A. DOG?????
Over time, the neighbors have come to accept their new leader.
Do they really have a choice? If they want to oust the dog, someone would have to step up, and it doesn’t sound like that’s going to happen. Or they have to move. And if they want to move because a dog is the HOA president, I think they’ve got way too much time on their hands to think about this. I wish a dog was the HOA president in our neighborhood, would do such a better job than Dennis Anderson.
"It doesn't surprise me one bit that a dog is the president - our neighborhood is so dog-friendly," said Meghan Pituch Myers, who moved in a little over a year ago. "We often find ourselves referencing people by their dogs ... 'I saw Daisy's mom today at the store.' "
Awwww. How sweet. Though, I have to admit, there are some people I don’t know the human’s name, but I do know the dog’s name. So, that makes a lot of sense. And it’s really nothing special, lady, people everywhere do it. It’s not just your happy little corner of the world.
So has the ploy worked? Are people getting more involved?
Well, I don’t know about that, but it apparently pissed people off. That’s usually my main goal in life.
Crawford said it's too early to tell.
Browder, whose father ran the association when she was a girl and whose husband also served as president, said she might be willing. "If we elected a dog, I'm thinking, okay, maybe I better do my duty," she said.
If you’re doing your duty, just follow along behind the president with a pooper-scooper.
But if she doesn't, "maybe we'll get a cat this time," groused longtime resident Dave Borowski.
Ohhh, or maybe someone can put a horse in their backyard and then the horse can run. Ohhh, or maybe someone could elect their car. That could be fun. Anyone got a pet tortoise? (That would definitely meet the age criteria!)Added Frederickson: "We're hoping for a Homo sapiens."
Picky, picky, picky. Well, I hope you actually get a good look at the candidates next time.
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