Divide, Colorado held an election last week that drew passionate supporters, careful consideration of the candidates, and ultimately, some heartbroken losers. The winner was Ringo, a dog. His defeated rivals included Mango the cat, Dale the sugar glider, Napoleon the donkey, and Flan the cow.
Ringo's victory marks the latest chapter in Divide's unusual civic tradition. Since 2010, the town has been governed by a rotating cast of animal mayors: a three-legged dog, a three-legged cat, and a four-legged donkey have all held the post before him.
Election administrator Kathleen Ruyak expressed mild surprise at one outcome. "We're a rural area, and I'm kind of surprised that the cow did not ever pull ahead," Ruyak said. "She has a lot to say. She's a very talkative cow. She just moos. She just keeps mooing for treats and cookies." The election raised $20,000 for the Teller County Regional Animal Shelter, where Ruyak works. Ringo will be sworn in on May 8 and serve a two-year term.
The spectacle might seem uniquely absurd, but across rural America, dozens of towns have embedded animal leadership into their local culture. These positions rarely carry actual executive power, but instead function as fundraisers and tourist attractions in communities seeking revenue and visitors.
Omena, Michigan elected Lucky, a black and white horse, as mayor in 2024. He defeated 12 dogs, five cats, and a goat named Sandra. According to his owner and campaign manager Kathryn Bosco, Lucky has strong social credentials. "He has great social skills and he's friendly. He loves everybody," she said. Bosco also noted his personality: "He's also got a bit of an attitude. He's all boy, all fun and games. He likes to jump over fences. He also likes girl horses and carrots."
Lucky made history as the first horse elected to Omena's top post, breaking a tradition dominated by cats and dogs. The election raised $15,000 for the Omena Historical Society. The town itself is small, with about 300 residents and attractions including a winery and art gallery.
Fair Haven, Vermont runs similar campaigns where candidates' owners pay a $5 fee and local children vote. Duncan, a dog, won last year with the campaign slogan "Fetch the Future." His owner, Miranda Cox, created campaign posters including one declaring "Heart of gold, paw of iron." But Duncan proved frustrated by the limits of his position. "He doesn't really have many responsibilities, just attending town events," Cox said. "He went to the Memorial Day town event that we have, and they have a parade every year, and he was in that. But that's pretty much it. He doesn't have much sway over the goings on uptown."
The tradition dates back decades in some places. Rabbit Hash, Kentucky, a small cluster of houses around an old general store in Boone County, stumbled into animal leadership accidentally. The town, founded in the early 1800s, held its first mayoral election in 1998 as part of bicentennial celebrations for the county. Initially, only humans ran. Then someone entered Goofy, a dog, into the race. The dog won, and Rabbit Hash has elected only dogs as mayors since.
Mayor Boone, the current canine leader of Rabbit Hash, actually campaigned on a substantive platform. His owner, Dave Landwehr, explained: "The town had a large erosion issue on the bank. Some trees were about ready to fall over, and they had lost a lot of the river bank." Boone promised water safety measures and, remarkably, delivered. "Boone went out and got sponsors, and we came in and did erosion bank stabilization," Landwehr said.
Boone was elected on the same day Donald Trump won the presidency for the second time, yet has proven far less divisive. He appears at Christmas parades, helped "chair" a music festival last August, and meets with local charities and organizations. Despite the demands of office, Landwehr noted, "Boone still finds time to relax, by barking at rabbits and visiting a coon hound called Darby who is kind of his girlfriend." The mayor has remained unchanged by power, a trait Landwehr credits to Boone's good nature.
The tradition has at least one dark chapter. Lajitas, Texas, near Big Bend National Park on the Mexico border, originally had a human mayor but was taken over by Clay Henry, a goat, in 1986. Henry developed a notorious reputation during his tenure, allegedly consuming 35 to 40 bottles of beer per day while housed in a cage next to a local bar. He left office in 1992 when his son, Clay Henry Jr, killed him in what was reportedly a drunken fight over a female goat. Clay Henry Jr assumed the position, followed by his own son, Clay Henry III, in 2000. As of 2024, Clay Henry IV reportedly serves as mayor, though the goat could not be reached for comment.
These unincorporated communities can hold novelty elections precisely because they lack formal local government structures, instead falling under county governance. That legal quirk opens the door for animal mayors but also means they wield no actual power. Still, the fundraising benefits and community engagement are real. Unlike cities ruled by ambitious humans, these animal leaders appear immune to the corrupting effects of office.
Author James Rodriguez: "In an era when politics looks increasingly broken and cynical, there's something refreshingly honest about a town that elects a dog and expects nothing from it but good company."
Comments