As we come to the final weeks of campaigning prior to the Iowa caucuses, there are few members of the press who could not stand and give a candidate's stump speech. The press knows how former Sen. John Edwards is going to answer the question on why he and his wife differ on the question of gay marriage; how former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney is going to speak when asked about his Mormon faith; and the basic candidate responses to most of the questions that are asked at events and during press conferences. More importantly, most members of the press have already reported those statements to the public and are no longer interested in reporting them again.

To paint with a wide brush, the press is no longer interested in reporting the happenings at campaign events. It's rare for a new question to be asked by the public at a campaign stop and the press, above all else, is on the hunt for something new. Whether the that new thing comes from a policy roll-out or from a candidate mis-step from a previous position is of no consequence. It just has to be fresh — scandalous or sexy are bonus prizes.

These types of political games, while admittedly fun for the press and providing some of the public's most animated water cooler discussions, leave little else behind for true discourse. Like a fire, such statements and incidents spark in one place and spread quickly in all directions, engulfing everything else in their path. All other news stories, regardless of how important they may be, either go underground or suffer the fate of the flames. The true disservice, however, comes in the aftermath, when the political prairie attempts to renew itself after the blaze. While there might be a few green twigs proclaiming the context surrounding this or that statement, they are overshadowed by the charred remains. This is something, unfortunately, I know personally.

On a Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago, I led my troop of second grade Brownie Girl Scouts on a trip to the local nature center. We were there for over two hours, taking part in a conservation program and learning about the animals that make their home there. The conservationists leading the program, parent volunteers and I, as troop leader, showed the girls animal pelts, bones, tracks and even scat to help them understand a little more about the world we live in and share with other creatures.

As we were on our way out of the nature center, a group of three friends stood with a small dog in their arms and a larger dog at their feet. The girls, some of whom have no pets as a part of their families, became very excited about petting the dogs. I quickly moved to the front of the line and explained that we would need to approach quietly, not run and then ask the owners for permission to approach the dogs.

The girls did as they were asked to do and we soon learned that the smaller dog was a pet and the larger dog was a stray. The girls were given permission to pet the smaller dog, but were asked not to approach the larger. One of the girls, noticing some wounds and other oddities on the stray, began to question what this or that was.

"What's this?" she asked while pointing to a sore on the dog's leg.

"He's been injured," I said. "I don't know how, but I'm sure he'll get patched up once the people from the animal shelter come to get him."

"Why is his skin so bubbly over here?" another girl asked while pointing to a swollen area by the dog's neck.

While I moved to get a better look, one of the three friends answered, "We think that is some sort of a fatty tumor, but we aren't sure."

Another girl stood behind the dog, pointed and asked, "What's that?"

When I moved to the back of the dog, the only thing I saw was the dog's tail and I told her so.

"No, not the tail," she said. "What's this underneath?"

I paused a few moments to consider my options. I could have yelled, "Race you to the car," and avoided the entire exchange. I considered pointing off into the woods and proclaiming that I saw a deer. I thought about the candy in my pocket that I was saving for the ride home. But, as I looked into the eyes of the girl asking the question and the eyes of the other girls, I understood that the only fair thing for me to do was to tell the truth.

"That is the dog's penis," I said and paused, intending to then announce the race to the car. The few moments of silence was all it took for the girls to grasp the gravity of what I'd said and for the shrieks of laughter to begin. The three friends also began to twitter with nervous laughter, even while the one gentleman's cheeks blushed red. My own daughter side-stepped her way beside me and, in a move I can only describe as solidarity, threaded her fingers through my own.

To this day, when the girls talk about our trip to the nature center, they don't remember the snake skins or the indoor bee hive. They don't talk about the animal pelts or the ways we learned wolves communicate with body language. The first thing that springs to their mind is their troop leader saying the word "penis."

In the coming weeks, Americans will be force-fed sound bytes and video clips. We will be asked to take tiny slivers of information as representative of 12 to 18 months of campaigning or, perhaps, lifetimes of public service. We will, no doubt, be asked to overlook the dog's penis in order to remember the whole of our learning experience. I hope we're up to the challenge.