jeudi 27 janvier 2011

Necessary frivolities


Mungo & Maud
Poop pouch "Leaf"


I am satisfied. Entirely satisfied. My mother once taught me a shopping secret on one of our shopping trips to the mall. I can't recall now if we were shopping for me or for her, or if we were at Shopping Town (for some reason, Casual Corner comes to mind, but that might just be from the number of times I accompanied my mother there, as she selected dresses in which to appear as Miss Joan) or maybe in Nordstrom in Bethesda many years later. She told me only to buy what I loved and only after walking away from it, leaving it, even, in the store; if I couldn't forget it, then I really wanted it, and I had better hope that someone didn't know their mind better than I did.

She didn't say the last part. I did, just now.

Occasionally, I go to dog-milk.com, and I window shop. I can do that on-line because there are windows there, too, and not just my operating system, since I have not yet made the financial leap to Mac. I have beautiful things to buy for my dogs first. I find wonderful things on Dog Milk. Expensive things. Tempting things. I want them for my two Labrador Retrievers, Fia and Rapide.

I found Dog Milk after we lost Baccarat, and I am beginning to suspect that a part of mourning a beloved dog is yearning for expensive and desirable items for the care and accessorizing of your remaining and future beloved dogs. So far, I have exercised discrimination and restraint, until, that is, I saw the small, brown ("chocolate"... are they making a little joke?) leather pouch to hang from your dog's leash for the purpose of carrying her biodegradable poop bags conveniently. It was £38.90.

Such a price does not speak to convenience. It speaks, rather, to luxury.

You don't need to spend that kind of money on an item to carry the poop bags. You have one already, and, besides, you hardly ever walk them anywhere where you need to pick up their poop. When you do, your pocket works nicely. Speaking was my practical self. The one my husband married, or hoped to heaven he had.

"But I like it. I love it. I am yearning for it."

Close your browser window, myself instructed. I did as told, returning to my email, or facebook, or something.

"I still want it, you know."

I know. But you still don't need it, certainly not at £38.90.

I only returned to look at the poop pouch "Leaf" in "chocolate" several more times, checking out the Dog food canisters at £48.00. I'd need two, of course, one for each ultra high quality, high
protein dog food, senior and puppy large breed. And, then, there are the cats to consider. They'd need their own.

And, then, there is the special built-in cupboard I would need to stack and display them.

Or, the dog beds. I long to place one beside my side of the bed for Fia, who has claimed her place there over the whining objections of my husband, a light sleeper sensitive to her least jumping up on his face. But, which one? And I had to go and get an orthopedic one from zooplus.fr for Rapide when I could have had one of these to coordinate with my living room, build, in face, my living room furnishings around it.

So far, I have resisted the collars. I want several, but myself has so far successfully argued with me that I have Labs, and you don't make a fuss over your labs, which brought me back to the
poop pouch.

"I am still yearning for it," I addressed myself. "I can't stop thinking about it, and Mom said, you know, that if you can't stop thinking about something, you want it enough to make the purchase worthwhile."

I knew I didn't care any longer what myself said. I knew I was going to give me (not myself, who wouldn't hear of it) dispensation to buy this small, leather pouch to hang from Fia's garden center leash, the one Sam picked out at Jardiland near Chartres last September on our way to maybe get the 5 month old dog the breeder had available, the day we decided on Fia.

"And I'll be good. I won't buy a new leash."

I didn't mention collars, though. I don't like to lie to myself. I cannot be certain that I have the kind of restraint I'd like to think I do.

It came today in a white box, held closed with white tape imprinted with the MUNGO & MAUD logotype in an elegant taupe, subtly tinged with green. This white box and tape I delighted in. Inside, the poop pouch was enclosed in tissue paper of the lightest gray containing a white cloth bag with taupe drawstring and imprinted with the MUNGO & MAUD logo.

I unwrapped the tissue paper, opened the bag and slid the leather pouch out. It was chocolate leather, soft, supple with a orange braided leather cord stitched to one end to make the loop from which it will hang from my dog's leash. It is somewhat bigger than the head of a Boston Terrier (or stumpy-legged Dachshunds), and so not well-suited to toy dogs, who one can imagine dragging their "chocolate leaf" and its supply of biodegradable plastic bags down the sidewalk, but it is perfect for my black labs.

I can't wait to walk Fia downtown and have need to pick up her poop, which I can now do with an intact pride and sense of superiority. It really is the little things that add up -- I mean, that count.
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