www.roanoke.com

Ray Stubblefield

Recent columns

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From the RoundTable blog

I really shouldn't have bought it, but it was too late to cancel the order. So despite my buyer's remorse, the UPS truck was winding its way up our half-mile gravel driveway. Nobody arrives at our house without us knowing well in advance.

Our log home is located on a very remote five acres in southern Franklin County. When I mention that I live in Franklin County, what comes to mind for most folks are two things: Smith Mountain Lake and moonshine. I tell them I don't live anywhere near the lake.

If we happen to be busy and miss the clatter of a vehicle bouncing up our not-so-well-tended driveway, the dogs won't. We have four: two Australian Shepherds, Lexi and Pirate, an aged yellow Lab named Abbey, and a Chihuahua mix known as Rat-Rat. And I can't forget our cat. He never really got a name, so we just call him Cat.

This menagerie wasn't planned. It just happened. I should have put my foot down long ago and said, enough already. But I've become a soft touch in my old age and couldn't say no, so our pet population just grew and grew.

Now, early each morning, while the rest of the house is asleep, while I'm up surfing the Net, reading or writing, I'm reminded of my lack of backbone and resolve as I get to be doorman to this motley crew.

My being up is a cue for them to do the same, so one or more of them wants in or out every five minutes it seems. And they are persistent. No matter how much I try to ignore the scratch at the door or the little bark, they won't quit. So like a faithful and dutiful servant, I tend to their every whim. And I have only myself to blame.

This was one of the biggest packages I have ever had delivered. It was my new mountain bike, coming all the way from Bikesdirect.com in Texas. Even though I'm 53, I was like a kid at Christmas.

It's not news. The Internet has revolutionized commerce. You can buy almost anything on the Net and have it delivered to your doorstep within days. All you need is a valid credit card number, a computer and a few minutes to fill out the order form, and voilà. I've had large items shipped all the way from California arrive more quickly than a letter sent from Roanoke. Go figure.

Sometimes, this is not a good thing. My Amazon account has this one-click buying feature. All the pertinent information is already on file, so all I have to do is click, and it's on its way.

My wife has never shared my excitement for my "boy toys," as she likes to call them. Imagine that. But even with all I spend on ski equipment, backpacking gear, kayaks, cameras and bikes, she never really can complain too much because she and my daughter have a hobby that is far more expensive than all mine combined. They have horses. Need I say more? And we don't have just one horse; we have four.

The horse thing was my wife's idea. She thought our daughter needed something to get involved in, and did she ever. Her room is full of trophies and ribbons she won over the years in horse show competitions. I hope she can somehow find a way to make a living at it. She's good, and it would be nice to recoup some of the money we've spent.

But having said that, let me say that there are various levels of horse ownership. It's like being a homeowner. Homes can range from a modest ranch to a mansion worth millions. I would say we are at the modest ranch stage.

At some horse shows we see the full spectrum. There are horse trailers worth more than my house, pulled by rigs worth almost as much. There are saddles that cost thousands and horses that cost tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. And these are horse shows for middle-class folks. Then you can move up to the shows for the truly wealthy. We read about those or watch them on TV.

Ironic isn't it? Even with all our horses and all the horse shows I've been to, I've never once been on one of our horses. Somehow it's just not me. But in the end, what really matters is that everyone has the freedom to choose and be the person he or she was meant to be. Thank goodness we have steady jobs that allow us to pay for that luxury.

Stubblefield teaches earth science at Franklin County High School and is a Roanoke Times columnist.