I’ve never worked in marketing, so my grasp of direct mail optimization is, at best, layperson: somewhere, my name and address have been coded into a database indicating that I purchased X or contributed to Y, thereby indicating I might want to throw money at Z. While mailing list sellers and database analysts rake in the cash, I rake in piles of credit card offers, loads of baby-product spam, and earlier this year, and despite repeated requests to the contrary, a daily phone call from Kucinich for President. (Had Dennis himself called even once and explained to me how a batshit midget congressman snags a bangin’ flame-haired goddess like Elizabeth, I’d've stopped ear-raping his volunteers and started tithing to his campaign.)
And then there are the CATALOGS. Because honestly, you’re just one monogrammed Pottery Barn Kids Anywhere Chair away from being sized up as a Saab-driving, arugula-inhaling hoarder with a troubling flatware jones. And a hankering for an Atlantic Monthly subscription. And an outdoor kitchen textiled in last year’s color palette THIS WILL NOT STAND.
Also? Your dog eats Sevruga and sleeps on a bed of hand-stitched Wagyu hides.
Because despite the fact that Moses would rather drag my lazy ass around Ballard than be caught dead in a $400 doggie stroller, I just got this catalog in the mail.
If you don’t know Moses, he’s what I call the Full Dog Immersion Experience: bull-headed, antagonistic, and frequently an unrepentant asshole. Moreover, he does NOT play well with others; Moses looks at every other dog the same way I look at every image of George Bush: with raised hair, curled lips and UNCONTAINED MURDEROUS RAGE.
But he’s also a smooch-happy ham and, even at 8, pretty hot for an old guy:
See that toy? It’s a TIRE. Up until he ripped his ACL in half last year and we took it away from him, his favorite toy was a FULL-SIZED DUNLOP. His plush bed? OUR bed. His gourmet delights? Whatever’s left on our plates. His doggie day spa? My bathtub, and brother loves him a good scrub and towel-down.
What he would not love is this:
Zen Haus? More like Zen Prison. Is there anything about Alex’s face that doesn’t scream Stockholm Syndrome? If I locked Moses in this “peaceful retreat for your dog — and stylish accent table for you!”, I’d come home to a contemporary $629 mountain of fiberglass dust. Next!
Designed to reduce fear, shyness, thunderstorm phobias and other behavioral problems, the Anxiety Wrap is a holistic tool and alternative method that uses maintained pressure throughout the body to help alleviate stress and build your dog’s self confidence. When used with gentle training methods, the Anxiety Wrap encourages balance, bonding and human socialization.
So for $99.95 (plus shipping!), I could just strap this on Moses to satisfy his needs for balance, bonding and human socialization? Jesus, to think of all the years I’ve wasted on “play” and “affection”. . . I wonder if they make these in infant/toddler sizes? Gimme more, In the Company of Dogs!
Oooooh. Okay, confession: this, we have. Well, except that ours is a $12 plastic “kiddie” pool, not a $219 plastic “dog” pool. Way to call out a cheap bitch, catalog retailers. What else ya got?
Mmmhhhmmm. Yeah, I don’t see Moses’s analyst okaying this given his already raging narcissistic tendencies. Also, even if it’s a picture of him, all he sees is “other dog,” which makes me see “$299 pile of sticks.”
Yay, an AmStaff! An AmStaff wearing a. . . $59.95 CAR SUN SHADE! In the Company of Dogs, now you are just fucking with me.
Okay, these are actually. . . really cute. And given the unending wetness of a Seattle winter, these kicks would be a fun way to slog through to March. So you win, catalog: I’m adding the Wellies to my Amazon Universal Wish List.
Wellies that will no doubt beget catalogs on outfitting my English country home. . .