Yuppie

I think yuppie, as a term, has probably faded from most people’s vocabulary. Still, I find it to be a handy word to define things that are conspicuously both trendy and upper middle class. Many of which I (obviously) participate in.

What follows is the yuppiest tale in all of dogdom.

When I say that Silas is a picky eater I am not kidding. His preferences crack me up. He will not eat eggs at my mom’s house, but he loves them here. The difference? My eggs are cage free and usually from a local farm. Mom buys the cheapest eggs at the Piggly Wiggly. He’s happy enough to eat the regular turkey that I buy, but he goes crazy for the turkey from the heritage turkey lady at the farmer’s market. (I would never have paid that much for turkey to feed the dog, but last year I didn’t know how hard it was going to be to find turkey in September. The heritage turkey lady runs on a different production schedule than the big markets.) His favorite cheese? Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.

One of the places my husband and I go is a little local market/restaurant that really got their start with all things pork. We go because they make the best coffee in town. The pork is their pride and joy, though–I laughed hysterically because their idea of a Father’s Day gift was to take Dad to a hog butchering demo. My Dad’s family was quite happy when they became middle-class enough to stop raising their own hogs. Lately they’ve been offering pork dog chews. I assume they’re pig skin, but the pieces are small and Silas is a very thorough chewer.

I buy Silas pig’s ears from time to time. He’s not a huge fan. He’ll chew one of I smear a little peanut butter on it, but otherwise it just sits there. The last one I bought, he wouldn’t eat even with the peanut butter.

So, of course, yuppie dog thinks the chews from the fancy market are delicious. He has to eat them in his crate, because they are greasy and disgusting. Silas doesn’t mind his crate, but he doesn’t like to have the door shut while there are people around. Unless he’s got the magical pork chew from the fancy market, that is. Then he’s all “Don’t worry about me; I’m getting my chew on in here.”