My Secret Identity

Since I started writing about traveling Europe, many people have written to ask (complain) about how I get around undetected. "Isn't it a little tough for a laser-powered baby wolf," begins a typical letter, "to get through customs?"

Yes and no. It would be incredibly difficult for a laser-powered baby wolf to go all the places I go. But it's easy for a dog.

I guess it's time to admit that I have a secret identity. I know a lot of people are saying, "Of course you do. You're a person pretending to be a wolf," as if there's a person alive who has my insight. No, my friends, my secret identity is Shabbat, the family dog of New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman.


"Dad"

Sure, Tom was good when he won all those Pulitzer prizes in Beirut and Jerusalam, but he's not such a genius when it comes to latching the back gate. This has allowed me to switch comfortably in the last few months between life with the Friedmans (including the excellent travel benefits) and writing this column from my secret Den of Democracy.

Sure, to show my thanks I occasionally whisper suggestions to Tom as he sleeps. ("Go to Spain. Take Shabbat for protection. Plus he's a great way to meet chicks.") But generally, to the Friedmans and the rest of the world, I am a simple mutt with spectactularly colored eyes.
I am back in America now, and am considering writing about life in the Red States. I wonder if Robert Novak has a dog?