Turns out The Don is also a dog

Pol­lies’ Chi­nese signs make in­ter­est­ing di­ver­sion from as­cen­dency

Life & Style Weekend - - STUFF - Greg Bray blogs at www.greg­bray­writer.word­press.com. Find him on Face­book: Greg Bray – Writer

Here in Oz, Mal­colm Turn­bull and Pauline Hanson’s birth year is 1954, which makes them horses (like me) 1954 ponies are wooden el­e­ments, which might make Mal a rock­ing horse and Pauline a Tro­jan horse...

FOLKS, to­day marks the start of the Chi­nese Year of the Rooster. And while some may be cock-a-hoop about it, those of us born in the year of the Horse gen­er­ally don’t be­lieve in fairy tales.

Any­way, last weekend, to dis­tract my­self from the Trump as­cen­dency, I de­cided to do a bit of re­search into what sort of zo­diac an­i­mals some of our politi­cians are; im­me­di­ately, images of top-hat­ted, grin­ning pigs stand­ing neck deep in a trough stuffed with cash sprang into my mind.

Still, start­ing with “The Don­ald”, I dis­cov­ered he was born in 1946, the year of the Dog. Well, he’s top dog now and his best doggy traits are loy­alty and clev­er­ness, while his weak­nesses are stub­born­ness, and be­ing too sen­si­tive and emo­tional.

At this point my scep­ti­cism be­gan to wa­ver.

In­ter­est­ingly enough, Don­ald’s wife Me­la­nia was born in 1970, so she’s also a Dog. By the way, so is my Long Suf­fer­ing Wife – born in 1970 that is.

Here in Oz, Mal­colm Turn­bull and Pauline Hanson’s birth year is 1954, which makes them Horses (like me). 1954 ponies are wooden el­e­ments, which might make Mal a rock­ing horse and Pauline a Tro­jan horse, while I, with a name like Bray, would be a… mov­ing right along.

Be­ing born in 1967 makes Bill Shorten and Barn­aby Joyce Goats. Now, there are three types of goat – Billy, nanny and feral – and you can choose which one th­ese two might be. But the one thing you re­ally need to know about Goats is, never turn your back on them.

I did find one pol­lie who was born in the Year of the Rooster – Tony Ab­bott, 1957. No wet hen, this cock­sure ban­tam was thor­oughly plucked af­ter some foul play in the fowl house. But don’t call the colonel just yet, be­cause this plucky lit­tle pul­let might just flut­ter from his back­bench perch for an­other chop at the prime roost.

Any­way, it was an in­ter­est­ing di­ver­sion, but I don’t put a lot of stock in th­ese an­cient fa­bles – we Li­brans aren’t that gullible.

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