Suspension of disbelief is a literary term which in essence means the reader must put logic and critical thinking on hold in order to accept something which is too absurd or unreal to be taken seriously. But, of course, as is increasingly more common, truth is stranger than fiction, and sometimes so much so that even with reality, we must suspend disbelief. Which brings me to the governor of South Dakota, Kristi Noem.

In her recently released memoir “No Going Back: The Truth On What’s Wrong With Politics And How We Move America Forward,” Noem recollects, with nary a hint of regret, remorse or moral ambivalence, the day years ago when she killed a 14-month-old Wire Haired Pointer puppy named Cricket, who, among other offenses, couldn’t cut muster as a pheasant hunting dog.

Noem describes Cricket as having an aggressive personality (not uncommon for dogs bred to hunt). Not a hunter myself (in addition to moral reservations, the image of me decked out in camouflage skulking about in the woods requires an extra effort at suspension of disbelief) I didn’t understand Noem’s rationale for taking Cricket on a pheasant hunt with more mature dogs in order to calm the puppy, as stated in her memoir. For the innocent young pup, it was a romp in the woods as she had, “The time of her life,” excitedly chasing birds and ruining the hunt.

On their way home, Noem made a stop to visit some locals who owned chickens. Cricket, still high from the botched pheasant hunt, jumped out of the truck and made a beeline for the hapless cluckers.

“Like a trained assassin,” writes Noam, “Cricket began grabbing one chicken at a time, crunching it to death with one bite, then dropping it to attack another.” Noam describes Cricket as “The picture of joy” during the attack. After restraining the frisky pup, Noam paid the traumatized family for the value of the chickens, then returned home, apparently in a seething rage. “I hated that dog!” (exclamation point added) Noam recalls, calling Cricket “Less than worthless as a hunting dog, untrainable (did she ever try?) and dangerous to all. At that moment, I realized I had to put her down.” Noam dragged Cricket to a gravel pit, and shot her dead in front of an incredulous construction crew. “It was not a pleasant job, but it had to be done,” she remembers, “And after it was over, I realized another unpleasant job needed to be done.”

Who was next in line? A mean, old “Disgusting, musky rancid goat,” who sometimes chased her children and sullied their clothes. Sorta normal behavior, knowers of goat behavior might opine, but in Noam’s eyes, he needed killing, as Texans like to say. The goat was unceremoniously dragged to the gravel pit. But, perhaps her hand still shaking with rage from the previous unpleasantness, Noam botched her first shot at the hapless goat, and had to run back to her truck for more ammo to finish off the agonized animal.

And what do dog trainers have to say? (Try as I may, I failed to discover any credible literature written by goat trainers.) Among other things, “A 14-month old dog is a baby that doesn’t know any better,” says professional hunting dog trainer Dan Lussen. He further stated, “There’s a lot of steps you take before you take the dog to a field and shoot birds over it, like obedience training.”

And when Noam’s young daughter came home from school that day and asked, “Mommy, where’s Cricket?” I can only conjecture her response. “Oh, sweetie, Cricket’s gone to Puppy Heaven, along with your pet goat to keep her company.”

Ah yes. Suspension of disbelief. Perhaps if instead of Cricket, the puppy had been a three year old dog named Butch, or Spike. But Cricket?

Does anyone remember Joni Ernst, when she successfully ran for senator from Iowa several years ago? Do you remember her blissfully reminiscing about her childhood on the farm where she was assigned the job of castrating the male pigs, a skill that put her in good stead as a future member of the GOP. “Dog gone it, when I’m elected watch out DC. I’m going to cut pork- I know how to make them squeal!” she stated in a tv commercial, or words to that effect. Does my memory fail, or was there a mad dash by senate male Democrats to purchase protective cups from Amazon?

For the sake of brevity and mercy, I will leave out Sarah Palin. Or at least I would if I could but I can’t. When she was governor of Alaska she evened out the eco imbalance by dispatching countless wolves. At least it was from a helicopter, perhaps providing our lupine friends (who have family units more stable than our own) some illusion that they were dropping like flies for somehow offending some thunder god up in the sky, and not from a zealous, lunatic hunter.

Think of how different the Red State women are from our Blue State progressive ladies. Think of their incongruous names – Kristi, Joni, such cute little girl names (lest I forget the adorable name Cricket.) These women scare the bejesus out of me. But how many badass psycho women do we have? Try to imagine Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez wrestling down a hog and rendering him a falsetto on the porcine quire, or Gretchen Whitmer running amok, filling the gravel pit with puppies, goats and god only knows what other wiggly, squealing innocent creatures. Yes, the good women folk in South Dakota, Iowa and Alaska, those self-reliant, rough and ready Red States, may indeed have inherently different sensibilities from our Blue State ladies. Is it a biblical thing, something about dominion over the animals, taken to a psychotic degree?

Kristi Noam made no secrets about wanting to be Trump’s running mate, and appeared to be the favorite. The pundits now say, due to her book, she has self-immolated, and doesn’t stand a chance.

I think of the terror in the eyes of little Cricket, and the death throes of that old goat. Vice president?

I figure she’s a shoo-in.