First, can we just agree that at this point in the election process we have arrived at a point of canine proliferation? OK: Romney carried his dog into an untenable journey after which the dog (dear Shamus) chose to absent himself from what he clearly felt was a particularly severe (sic) form of canine Hell.
Obama was a child. He had no clue under the deep blue sky what he was being served. I swear to you this: I walked home from the redoubtable Boggs Avenue School on Mount Washington, a place I truly hated except I met a couple of people there with whom I continue to be in contact, such as Jeff DiFiore, but I walked home and was served cattle entrails. God help me, I still crave the taste because that was part of my childhood.
Barack had no choice.
Mitt was the elder. He made all the choices.
Who would you like to be your President?