Posted on 08/11/2024 6:39:08 AM PDT by MtnClimber
A small town has never elected a mayor with opposable thumbs. But is it ready for a new kind of four-legged leader? Eric Spitznagel reports from Omena, Michigan.
Welcome to Omena’s triennial animal election. Above (L to R) Kanda McKee holds Porsche McKee, the deputy vice mayor, Schatzi Putnam, and Rosie Disch, the incumbent mayor of Omena. (Nic Antaya for The Free Press)
On July 20 in Omena, a small town in the “little finger” of northern Michigan, a crowd of about a hundred locals gathered in a church parking lot for the inauguration of their new mayor. A brass band played “The Stars and Stripes Forever” as Sally Viskochil, president of the local historical society, walked across the patriotically festooned stage to make the announcement.
“And our new mayor is. . . ” There was a collective intake of breath. “Lucky!”
There was a smattering of applause, but a few members of the audience looked stunned. Mike McKenzie, 53, an Illinoisan with a summer home in Omena, turned to me, befuddled.
“Boy,” he said. “I guess people really are fed up with the old two-species system.”
Lucky, part American Quarter Horse, part Paint Horse, was elected as the sixth mayor of Omena, Michigan. (Photo by Amber Standerfer)
ucky, after all, is a horse. He’s a cross between an American Quarter and an American Paint, to be precise, and the first equid to be elected mayor of Omena. Until now, this race has only ever been won by a dog—and, once, a cat. You could say Lucky was an underdog in securing the town’s highest office, except he beat twelve actual dogs, five cats, and a goat. Many of them were in attendance. The victor was not.
As the results sunk in, Rosie, the incumbent mayor, a Golden Labrador mix, wandered around the crowd, saying her goodbyes. The band broke into “Hail to the Chief” for her, and she paused, as if to listen.
Welcome to Omena’s triennial animal election. What began as a fundraising stunt for the local historical society in 2009 is now a source of heated political debate in this middle-of-nowhere Michigan village, population 355. As the crowd began to disperse, a small group of locals gathered under a tree to escape the sun, and to talk frankly.
“The horse isn’t even from here,” groused Cathy Stephenson, the campaign manager for Topsy & Turvy, domestic shorthair cats who ran on one ticket to be co-mayors.......
Belly laugh!!
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