My niece, a different one than in the Reba the Mail Lady story, and her husband are expecting their first baby in the Fall. I wanted to buy a unique handmade baby gift so I went to the seaside market where all the local crafters sold their wares. Now that I think about it, ‘sold their wares’ is a funny expression considering I wasn’t there to buy any wears. In fact, I wasn’t there to buy most of what was being sold.
Early in my shopping trip, as I walked around and checked out vendors’ wares, I noticed there were a lot of dogs visiting the market with their owners. I had a dog and a not-my-kitty but they never went shopping at the market, or any other place. They stayed at home because in those days, pushing your dressed-up rescue dog or cat in a baby carrier perched in shopping cart wasn’t a status symbol like it is today. Yes, I know, this is the second shot at rescuers but they, like the social media buffs, like the attention. Why else would they take their pet everywhere they go and introduce them as “he’s a rescue” or “she’s a rescue”? I never introduced my dog, Buster, as “he’s not a rescue”. And what on earth would I say about not-my-kitty, the kitty who has at least two homes?
Anyway, I’m getting off track because the real story here is supposed to be about shopping for a soon-to-be new baby but the rescue dogs got me going and I can’t seem to rein it in. You see, not only were dogs there with their owners, but a lot of what was being sold at the market was specifically for them and a few other pets. There were unique handmade pet clothes in one tent, pet treats in the next, followed by pet shampoos, pet oils, pet bowls, and pet beds. Where were the unique handmade baby clothes? Baby treats? Baby shampoos? Baby oils? Baby beds? Well they weren’t at the seaside market. I left empty-handed. I’m gonna call my niece. She needs to have a puppy.