Durban — This is the second shot of getting Off The Couch.

The first one would have been much better because there was an actual train of thought. But its derailment did provide what I thought was a pretty funny dad joke.

What do you get when you cross brute power with a baby brain? A politician.

Well, I thought it was funny. That was the second answer after a loud, sweary scolding for the cute 7-month-old cross-boxer puppy who just wants to play, cuddle or lick you to death, even when you can’t.

The couch is having a bit of trouble with “little” Leila, our latest pack member. She is enormous and helluva strong and apparently deaf, until the fridge or biscuit tin is opened.

Naturally she is without the darker forces essential to being a successful politician or, in some cases, business person. But it’s extraordinary how effective brute force can be, especially when combined with a charming demeanour.

She has both in spades. And, man, is she big!

She has outgrown everyone except the Big Boss, who is the only person she respects after they had a bit of a gnarly argument. She’s still up for a challenge, though; she just makes sure she has enough space between her and him so she can evade him when he’s reached the end of the chewed rope they both consider theirs. It’s hers, but for the moment, he has largely claimed it until he falls asleep and she sneaks it off back to her home.

She’s very tall and we nearly had a tech disaster when she suddenly jumped up to put her paws on the desk, knocking a half-full 2-litre water bottle over. The water went everywhere but thanks to the smallish drinking hole and a panicked swipe (at her and the bottle), it was directed over the human, not the electronics.

A couple of hours later, the LAN cable was disconnected during a forbidden expedition under the desk.

“Granny” has been so stern with her that the other dogs scatter when they hear that tone in case they’re in trouble. But she just crinkles her face delightfully, sits and looks puzzled. No shame.

Just like a public figure who’s been caught in a nefarious plot.

My old friend Jen and I don’t talk often because we’re both busy, but we caught up recently and had a good old chin-wag.

One of our topics of conversation was the state of the world. The shortage of shame is depressing.

Being of an age, we have seen entire governments, businesses and “important” people collapse because of a skandaal. As far back as Nixon. That’s “Tricky Dicky” to you youngies who would need to be told Nixon is Richard. It happened: a young person asked me “Nixon who?” Luckily it was a (landline) call and the person couldn’t see my shocked face.

Even Nixon only quit to avoid impeachment and possibly the same jail-cell future some of his advisers ended up with, not actual shame at his Watergate (and other) transgressions.

Now there’s no such thing. Stolen billions? Backroom brokering? Trading with butchers and killers? Sex stories or rape? No problem. Bluster and bull will save the day and let scaly predators, creeps and crooks keep on trucking.

Talking of which, there will be no couch comment on the Van Gogh lookalike. Apart, maybe, from the meme world. Did someone say duck? Or “Friends, Romans and countrymen…”?

It’s not funny and the karmic universe will klap me for even going there.

Leila may provide a solution we’re trying out: if you can’t shame them into being better, cut off the biscuit supply.

Independent on Saturday