Dear President-elect Barack Obama,

I could not be more thrilled by your victory. Our victory. Just knowing that a biracial man — a man raised by a single mother from Kansas and her parents, a man with the middle name “Hussein,” a man who comes from lesser means than I — can actually become president is a triumph for the American spirit, and for the world.

I haven’t felt this patriotic, well, ever. I came into political awareness just as a great president was being put through the wringer for lying about his indiscretions. Then an election was stolen from the people, by a proud ignoramus who is as close to American royalty as we come. And the second time around, my fellow citizens chose to follow him again.

I was left feeling disillusioned — with the leaders of our country, with the way our system works, with the smarts of “my fellow Americans.” But, with your election, I finally believe that this really is a country where the little guy can rise above. You have empowered a generation of young people — people who, someday, will have kids who roll their eyes when we talk about how we felt the night you were elected president, the same way we have scoffed at our own parents’ crazy hippie ideology.

Anyway. You may also be interested to know that you have now cemented your place as number one on My List, which is the cause of much self-loathing for me, because I also have a big crush on your wife and kids.

Speaking of those kids. During your victory speech in Grant Park, you so adoringly said: “Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that’s coming with us to the White House.”

(Incidentally, this was the moment I chose to start crying.)

Barack (may I call you Barack?), I am heartened to hear that you intend to keep the long-standing tradition of pets in the White House alive and wagging. I understand Malia suffers from allergies, and so you are looking to add a non-shedding, “hypo-allergenic” breed to your beautiful family.

If I may, sir, I’d like to offer a word of warning: Stay away from the Wheaten Terrors.

This summer, the American Kennel Club held an election for the best canine candidate for the Obama family. The winner, with 26 percent of the vote, is the poodle. A close second, with 25 percent of the vote, is the Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier.

My fear, sir, is that you will overlook the poodle as you endeavor to choose a breed that does not connote elitism, and in so doing, you will opt for the more spirited, spritely, approachable qualities that characterize the Wheaten Terrier.

I know what you’re thinking. Here is a dog that is non-shedding, grows to just 30-40 pounds, and is known for being friendly, intelligent, and great with kids. The adorable puppies are born entirely black, but they eventually turn varying shades of brown and beige. Perfect for your family, right?

DON’T DO IT, sir. Do not be fooled by the spin doctors. When they say “friendly,” what they really mean is “jumps on you incessantly when you walk through the door, refusing to stop and often resorting to biting when ignored.”

“Good with kids” means “loves hard,” as in “has no qualms about knocking over a three-year old to give her a toothy kiss.”

“Intelligent” really means “conniving,” as in “intentionally doesn’t do her business on her walk, so you will be forced to take her again in 15 minutes.”

“Spirited” means “bossy,” “stubborn,” or “selfish.” As in, “looks you in the eye to make sure you see her peeing on the carpet,” or “determined to spend the entire evening with her head in the garbage can, no matter how many times you yell, swat, or do the Cesar Milan-style hand-bite to the neck.”

And then there’s the underwear-chewing, and the destruction of anything that costs more than her life is worth.

Just trust me on this one, sir. This animal does not belong in the White House.

Your humble servant,

Amanda

P.S. Here’s a photo or two of my own Wheaten Terror on election night. You see?

Molly apparently thinks I’m too juicy, too.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Note the complete lack of remorse. And the black socks.