Why Auctions and Alcohol Don't Mix

Last fall I bid on some items at an auction to benefit the New York SAR Federation. A warm amber liquid was offered by a friend and accepted before bidding commenced. Got a nice tuggie toy for Cole, a gift certificate for a company that sells training gear, and this other thing.

It was a certificate for a very expensive collapsible aluminum police dog crate.

The catalog said that it was only 32" long, so it didn't get much in the way of bids. I walked off with an auction bargain. It was puzzling though -- why would a company that caters to police departments make such a small crate (and in only the one size)?

I've got donut-spare sized SAR dogs, and I'd always coveted one of those bombproof aluminum crates for car and airline use. Didn't think about the "collapsible" aspect until later. No airline will take one. Derrr... amber liquid.

Finally sent in the certificate a few weeks ago. My intent was actually to forward the thing to a friend with a smallish dog who is experimenting with crate destruction. But since I'd never seen one, and was concerned about the "collapsible" aspect, I didn't have it shipped direct. I wanted to inspect it first.

When the UPS delivery golem -- the jackass who throws my packages in the driveway, speeds down our lane, lies like a priest, and dented this very expensive item tossing it on the porch this time -- appeared the other day, I thought the giant box he hefted out was the six or eight trees I'd recently ordered

We opened it up in the living room:


It is 42" long. Catalog typo. It eats up the entire center of the living room. We've all been worshiping it, and PC tried to brain me with a femur the other day. Cole has learned to do a handstand in front of its open door. Rosie does her best Snoopy on the doghouse impression atop it.

It won't be going off to contain Ms. Maddie; the sides are wiggly, the aluminum stock is pretty thin, and I'm fairly sure she can get her jaws around the air vents and commence injurious mayhem. The top and bottom, however, seem to be engineered to withstand a tactical nuclear strike, and the door is Hannibal Lecter-worthy, and has a lock.

It would make an uber-cool end table if we lived in a giant loft served by a freight elevator and decorated in a sort of post-modern industrial ironic mode.

It is far too large for my car.

It does easily fold down into something the size of a giant radiation-shielded architect's portfolio.



Open thread: What the hell do I do with this thing?