I'll admit it, I'm a snob, but only in the most basic sense.
I love all things country – pastoral themes, rural landscapes, dirt roads.
Certainly, there are circumstances in which one has no choice but to live in a city. I myself have lived in a city. However, I think there is something strange about people who want to live in cities. I question their values.
Do you know what I mean? That's total, utter, completely polished snobbism.
It's like the polar opposite of Nellie Oleson's disdain for country folk.
And, naturally, my feelings spill over into the realm of dog preferences: I like pointers, spaniels, hounds, sheepdogs, working dogs like St. Bernards, and I don't mind if a Pekingese jumps onto my lap when I'm sitting in some dignified lady's drawing room down the street.
But I cannot understand why anyone living in the country would want such a dog, and if the dog's owner knows anyone who hunts, herds cattle, or needs to deliver a bottle of brandy on a cold winter's evening, the embarrassment becomes a raging hell.
My snobbism also extends to my purchasing habits: If I need to spend money, I prefer to do it in stores whose owners I can imagine to be bold advocates of country living.
So you can meet my dog.
I have a springer spaniel. She's not a city dog; she likes country things. Her mission in life is to stir things up. She does her job with an innocent carefreeness, or at least as much innocence as she can muster at her age.
So at the slightest scent of grouse or pheasant or woodcock she toddles towards the source of the scent. She never lets up on a rabbit that sometimes sits at the edge of the yard. She runs up to a mourning dove. She never lets up until she sees a squirrel scolding her from high up in the leafy shade. But she's getting old. She can't jump into my truck anymore. Imagine a spring horse that can't jump. Sad.
I got tired of helping her into my truck, and she definitely despised my efforts to help her. It hurt her dignity. But her dignity was also hurt when she tried to jump into my truck, only to fall to the ground in failure. I decided I needed a dog ramp to help her out.
I had been searching various websites for products that I thought would be suitable for a real dog, a country dog.
I found a lot of stuff for urban animals: cat stools, dog stairs, etc. Most of it is useful for getting animals from the carpet to the sofa. But getting a dog from the stubble field to the truck bed? Well, there's probably not much demand for such products. Less demand means less options. This is introductory economics, something our politicians should study.
Anyway, I'm a guy. Men can't find anything. Of course, this is a stereotype, but it's one of the generalizations we can rely on. Moreover, I only have regular glasses. I don't have bifocal or trifocal glasses that my ophthalmologist advises me to buy. Fancy glasses don't suit my eye habits and I myself have refused those lenses. So I can't see anything. My computer screen is blurry. That's what prevents me from shopping online.
I decided to go to a store in town to look for a ramp, and as I am blind I asked my wife, Sas-n-Blas, to come with me and help me.
And the store was just as bad as I'd feared. They had crickets for iguanas, bird food for parakeets, and fish food for fancy tank fish, but no sturdy dog ramps anywhere. And I imagined the owners skateboarded and macraméed in their spare time. I couldn't believe they were the kind of extravagant types I'd want to do business with.
I left town and headed home, and with the help of Sass-N-Brass, I booted up my computer and found another dog ramp website, one that claimed to sell ramps “for the comfort of our furry friends.”
No outdoor enthusiast I know would write copy like this for a country dog ramp. We've moved on. Be careful where you spend your money.
Finally, with the help of Sass-N-Brass, I found a lamp that I thought would work well.
There was no furball copy anywhere. We ordered it. The delivery company did a great job and the lamp arrived a few days later. It was just what I wanted. It holds up to even the heaviest of dogs. Lily now rides proudly in my truck with all the dignity and dignity of a hunting dog.
What about the crickets they sell for iguanas at the local store?
An intrepid angler might want to buy one for a trip to a trout-stocked stream, and I think hunters and anglers are the type of customers store owners should try to attract.
Ah, my country snobbism is on full display here. I'll try to feel guilty later.
