pet connection

After you’ve been driving a vehicle a while, you get a sense of the person it has been designed for. Soccer moms, of course, and then richer soccer moms and soccer moms who don’t want to look like soccer moms. Twenty-something snowboarders/skateboarders/mountain bikers. Guys who want everyone to know that they are NOT poorly endowed, just look at the size of this, um, SUV. And then, of course, there are middle-aged single-women with dogs, like … uh … me.

After a few days driving the Land Rover L3, I knew exactly who the target audience was:

Dick Cheney.

In other words, it’s the perfect vacation home vehicle for someone older, rich and powerful, who expects luxury, demands toughness and is fully prepared to push everyone else the bloody hell out of his way. The Land Rover L3 (test model at a tick over $56K) even has a Cheney-esque sneer on its face, in the way it brings up the hallogen headlights with a look of sheer superiority. And in how it packs in all its luxuries — navigation system, alpaca-trimmed heated leather seats and more — with grudging contempt for anyone who’d want them. Listen up, wimps! I’m a serious off-roader with a grand Imperial tradition. You want heated seats? Fine! But you’re going to get sixteen different ways to get over that snow-covered ridge, you got that, pal?!

The L3 is a pretty flawless as an upscale dogmobile, although if your dog’s an older one you’ll need a ramp to get him up into it, because the off-road chops means this SUV’s pretty darn high off the ground. (As for people, well, let me just say don’t try to get into that alpaca butt warmer if you’re wearing a long, slender skirt. You can’t, without some inelegant hiking and exhibitionism.) The tailgate is the two-part kind I love, with the glass flipping up and the tailgate flipping down. Seats fold flat, there’s ample cargo room for the muddy hunting dog a fellow with 6,000 acres of well-stocked Montana hunting land would surely have. (Hey, if it’s good enough for the Queen’s corgis, it’s good enough for the Veep’s hunting hounds, no?)

Pretty perfect rich-guy dogmobile all around, except for one little problem: The yellow button.

On the center console are many of the buttons having to do with various four-wheel options one never faces in most of California, such as driving through snow storms. Smack dab in the middle of the cluster is a yellow button that puts the vehicle into cliff-climbing mode. Great if you’re in an action adventure movie, and you’ve just woken up from being drugged to discover your back wheels are at the edge of a crumbling cliff. If that’s your case, no worries! Push the yellow button and the forces of good are trumphant! You’re on your way to a happy ending!

But, be driving down a suburban boulevard when your beautiful, wimpy little Sheltie steps on the yellow button and you may end up tail-ended. We were not, but just because of pure dumb luck. The Land Rover rolled its shoulders, cracked its knuckles and shifted rapidly down into cliff-climbing mode, a move that involved a 30 mph drop in speed. In other words, OH MY GOD! Why they put this there, I have no idea. Maybe your friends and family aren’t as nosy than mine, but I can honestly imagine most of them saying “what’s THIS for?” and pushing the thing. (Hello, Sonia!)

Bottom line: Got a ranch in Montana, a cliff to climb, an extra $60K or you’re in line for the English throne or a top GOP office, you’ll love the Land Rover L3, and the dogs will, too. But whatever you do, DON’T TOUCH THE YELLOW BUTTON!