How To Travel With Your Dog (My Expert Personal Experience)
Dogs are outstanding traveling companions – they don’t back-seat drive, misread road maps, insist on eating at truck stops, snore, or steal your covers!
They are kind, affectionate, adventurous, easygoing, protective, and courageous. At this point I doubt that I would trade my dog Sam for a two-legged traveling companion, if offered.
Sam, full name Tycoon Sam, is a five-year-old, 70-pound Weimaraner. Over the years, since he was a tiny puppy, we have traveled some 90,000 miles, visited twenty-five states, met with high adventure and low comedy and loved every minute of it most of the time.
I think I now know more than the usual “expert” about how to travel with a dog staying in the good graces of policemen, park rangers, motel managers, and out of the city pound.
What To Take With You
So, first of all, what do you take on trip with a dog?
This is my own personal favorite list:
1) A few old towels.
2) Several Airwick scent fresheners.
3) Two old sheets.
4) Several rolls of heavy duty paper towels.
5) A “pets allowed” motel guidebook listing.
6) Waders.
7) Ear plugs.
Nose plugs.
9) A two-day supply of marrow bones.
10) Tweezers.
11) Plain collar.
12) Choke collar.
13) Updated dog tags.
14) My dog’s medical history.
15) Leash.
16) Dog food.
17) Can opener.
18) Food bowl.
19) Water bowl.
20) Tomato juice.
How To Plan Your Itinerary
Second, how do you plan your itinerary? I have found that most problems will occur during one of the following events: the time-to-eat stop, the short time-to-tinkle stop, the long stretch-your-legs-and-run stop, the historic-visit stop, the overnight stop, and the picnic-enjoy-the-scenery stop. Doesn’t leave much, does it?
The Time-To-Eat-Stop
If I know my route, I always try to pick a restaurant near a field or empty lot so I can give Sam a run before I go in to eat. If I can’t find such a setup, I have to resort to this tactic:
I pull into the parking space, open the door a crack, and pretzel myself out, murmuring, “back Sam, no Sam, down Sam, good boy Sam. I’ll be back in a minute, I promise.” (Sam has no concept of time.)
The problem with this tactic is, I have to return. Sam, unlike many dogs, will not howl while I am out of eyesight. However, the minute he spots me slinking up to the car with crushed bread crusts and leftover bacon rinds at the ready, he releases his happiness greeting. It is one thousand times more shattering than a mere howl.
If a dog does howl as you leave, I suggest you don’t go back to shush him. This usually just encourages him, and of course in your dog’s mind he got a reaction from you, right?
So just walk on, ear plugs out of purse and pushed well in. Ignore or smile innocently at the couple with the two kids staring accusingly at you from the rolled-up windows in their SUV.
The Short Time-To-Tinkle Stop
The problem with the short stop is deciding when to stop. I have this rule: Whenever Sam indicates impatience by digging in the rear seat upholstery or marching through and in between my bucket seats, it’s time.
I know there is that rare canine who slumbers with dreamy innocence through traffic curses and screeching brakes, but my motto is, never trust an angelic dog, because there aren’t any!
When Sam starts maneuvers, I stop at the first acceptable open space. However, herein lies a pitfall; how to pick a likely candidate.
My advice is:
1) Avoid vacant lots too much glass.
2) Bypass school play yards.
3) Approach public parks with extreme caution and only if your dog has impeccable manners.
I have managed, after some thousand scoldings, to make Same a proper gentlemen. He will heel on command, come immediately if my voice registers panic, and will not poop on grass.
The latter accomplishment (not pooping on grass) takes persistent training, but any housebroken dog can learn. It’s just an extension of his training. For a traveling dog, it is a consideration that may endear him to park groundsmen, although this is not guaranteed.
I recall a romp in a Lexington, Nebraska, public park. Just as I was quietly congratulating myself on Sam’s good manners, he began to circle ominously in the midst of the children’s play area…. and… PLOP!
Well, cedar shavings aren’t grass, and mistakes will happen. That’s why I carry the roll of paper towels with me. It is always a number one priority that these kinds of messes be cleaned up.
Old shrines and historic relics are also ill-advised. Late one afternoon, I stopped in Colusa, California, to photograph an ancient landmark old city hall or whatever abandoned in the midst of a palm-decked vacant lot.
Anyways, I decided, since it was well away from the highway, to let Sam out. Before I could collect the wits I always need when Sam is out and running, he was out the door and racing toward the building.
A migration of pigeons swept up from the relic’s roof, swung through the palms and settled again on the perches deeded them by their ancestors. Sam headed straight for the gaping darkness of an open cellar window and disappeared. I rushed up to the hole and peered in.
“Sam, get out of there this instant!”
He emerged from an adjoining window and trotted around the side of the building. As he disappeared, I noted the magnificent mantle of pigeon droppings adorning his shoulders.
Out came the Airwick and two old towels.
The Overnight Stop
Bedding down for the night with a four-legged companion can present almost as many problems as with a two-legged one. Many motels do not allow pets; however, I have found that it does not pay to lie and try to sneak Sam in.
One bark, and no manager could possibly continue to believe that Sam is a sweet little Dachshund. Tell the truth, and you may be surprised. Sam has frequently been showered with dog biscuits by an admiring manager and introduced to a beloved old Bessie or Spot.
My problem with overnights and Sam is his sense of togetherness. That’s why I carry two old sheets, one for my bed and one for his. Sam always curls up obediently on his sheet at the foot of my bed when we turn in, and then when I am fast asleep, sneaks onto the bed.
It never fails: when I wake up, my feet are still asleep, and I have a 70-pound, silky-gray foot warmer curled up on my toes.
One more thing about overnights I think it goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyways) that dogs should never be left alone in motel rooms. It’s not fair to the management, your neighbors, or your dog.
Two short reminiscences to strongly underline this point:
During a stop in Roseburg, Washington, Sam and I stayed at a charming and expensive motel with a wonderfully lenient policy towards large canine guests. My next door neighbor took unfortunate advantage of this. He left a gigantic, moose-sized Irish Wolfhound alone in the motel room while he went off to dinner.
The Wolfhound, feeling very lonely, thrust his great shaggy head through the window screen, tore it completely out, and howled that howl that only hounds can utter. It was literally the most annoying and loud howling session I’ve ever heard from a dog, and for nearly three hours, all while many other tenants were trying to sleep and enjoy their stay.
The following terrible story was told to me by the manager of a motel in Indio, California. Hunters left their field-champion Weimaraner in the motel room for a few hours. The dog became so upset and frightened that he jumped through the solid plate glass window and was so badly lacerated that he had to be destroyed.
I have trained Sam to stay in the car whenever I need to leave by myself for a period of time. I tell him to guard it well, give him a marrow bone and say I’ll be back in a few minutes. He is content. The car is his home on wheels, after all. Be sure to lock the car, though.
The Picnic Stop
The picnic stop is potentially one of the most pleasurable travel events, but easily the most hazardous. The problem is, you want to eat; you want to lean back and enjoy the scenery, along with your leftover sandwich.
But this means that you can’t watch the dog every five seconds. Of course you can tie him up. But consider this criminal if you are in open, unpopulated country. I never tie Sam up… to my constant misfortune.
One noon, on a trip through the Trinity Alps of northern California, I found myself in the tiny mountain town of Lewiston, and hungry! I decided to look for a picnic spot. I surmised that there might be an area on the banks of the Trinity River below me.
I followed a small road down the bluff, past a boarded-up hotel and tackle shop, a few cabins and dismantled mobile homes, to the river. Sure enough, on the other side, in a clearing of pines, was a picnic table.
I crossed the bridge, pulled off into some gravel and opened the door for Sam. Out he went over my lap and disappeared into the boulders and scrub growth along the banks. I unloaded lunch cheese, bread, a soda, a piece of banana cake I’d been hoarding since home and scrambled over the gravel and rocks to the table.
It was chewed and scarred, so I sat down on it my boots on what was left of the bench and arrayed my feast beside me.
I surveyed my surroundings a beautiful spot, a bowl in the mountains filled with pines, the river rushing below me. Across the river was a farm house. I could see an old white table and chair by a rear door. There were cartons and baskets piled on it. Cords of firewood were stacked against the walls behind.
Ah nature!
I breathed deeply. What a place to live! Wouldn’t it be marvelous to have a cabin here. Sam would love it!
And where is he? I had not heard the tinkle-clank of his dog tags for several minutes.
“Sam?”
He appeared from behind the boulders and raced over to me, grinning, both ears turned inside out. I’m here, he was telling me, and he sped away in the opposite direction. I heard him rooting around in the brush behind me. I picked up my cheese sandwich and took a generous, famished bite.
What was that peculiar odor? I thought to myself.
I hadn’t noticed it before. My sandwich poised in mid-air. Was there something under the table I hadn’t seen? I leaned over to take a look. Rocks, grass, nothing. I looked toward the river and the farm. Had the wind changed?
Sam circled back by me and vanished into the boulders again. Ugh, the smell was stronger. I lifted up my boots and looked at the soles… nothing. I finished off the sandwich and leaned back, relishing the beauty and congratulating myself for finding such a lovely picnic spot.
Phew! There is was again what a stink. Sam trotted up to me.
Oh no! There it was, all over his back, down his legs gray, raw, slimy pieces of something long dead. “OH SAM!”
(As I mentioned, waders are essential.)
I pulled Sam into the Trinity River, dunked and scrubbed, and pulled out three old towels, and remembered: I had forgotten to bring the tomato juice.
For those unfamiliar with this remedy, tomato juice is the absolute best remedy for cleaning up your dog if he meets with the unfortunate clash with a skunk or decides to roll around in something dead.
Oh well – I sat down on the banks of the Trinity and let Sam shake river water and other unmentionables all over me. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Actually, I was beginning to get used to it, it smelled divine to Sam. I began to smile and giggle – “Ah dogs!”
And I almost forgot the most important essential that you must bring along if you want to travel with a dog a loving sense of humor!
