A self-published children’s book written by two high school students and billed as a lesson in bipartisanship has drawn national attention — and a mix of praise and criticism — after favorable coverage “this summer” in The New York Times and Fox News. Shmoo & Ozzie Go to Washington, by Ellie Gottheimer and Larra Mullin, has been widely noted not only for its theme but because the authors are daughters of two sitting lawmakers: Rep. Josh Gottheimer (D–N.J.) and Markwayne Mullin, who now serves as secretary of the Department of Homeland Security.
The story follows two puppies—Shmoo, from the city, and Ozzie, from a ranch—who set aside their differences to save a beloved local dog park. In the book, the pair lobby a fictional Dog Congress, where both their fathers are lawmakers, to secure funding to keep the park open.
Supporters and some coverage have emphasized the book’s message about reaching across partisan divides and the charitable intent behind it: the authors say proceeds from sales are being directed to a nonprofit that assists homeless children. Those points helped attract human-interest coverage in national outlets, according to the reporting cited this summer in The New York Times and Fox News.
But responses have not been uniformly positive. Critics have raised several objections, including charges of nepotism and concerns that the book promotes pork-barrel spending—using lawmakers’ influence to secure funding for pet projects. Some commentators also highlighted a broader ethical tension tied to the authors’ family connection: they noted that Larra Mullin’s father, as secretary of DHS, oversees a large federal department that includes immigration detention facilities, and likened the book’s premise to a situation in which a lawmaker’s family member stood to benefit from government-funded institutions.
The critiques frame the book as an example of how personal or familial ties can amplify media attention and public goodwill, and say the depiction of lawmakers approving spending for a dog park sidesteps questions about fiscal responsibility. Defenders of the book counter that it is a simple children’s tale with a charitable aim and that teaching cooperation to young readers is a legitimate goal.
Neither the book’s publishers nor the news outlets that covered it suggested that the story reflects real-world legislative practice; the dog park and Dog Congress are fictional devices. Still, the debate around Shmoo & Ozzie Go to Washington highlights how political connections, charitable claims and messages about governance can become entangled when public figures or their relatives publish work that touches on civic themes.
Readers and commentators remain divided: some applaud the attempt to model bipartisanship for children, while others say the lesson is undermined if bipartisanship appears to be deployed to obtain funding for questionable projects. The discussion around the book has therefore become less about its narrative and more about how political capital and media coverage intersect when elected officials’ family members enter the public eye.
