Our dog, Scout is not a good traveler. With some encouragement, he will go with us, but he is not the kind of dog who will excitedly jump in when I open the car door. When he sees us packing, he hops onto our love seat in the corner of the living room and watches us drag suitcases down stairs and across the kitchen floor. His stare is glazed over: the " please tell me this isn't happening" kind of look. We always pack his stuff last and that's when he knows for sure he can't escape the trip. His gaze turns into hiding his snout under his front paws when Clark approaches him with the leash. For a second, he hopes the leash's purpose is for a walk, but he knows better.
When Scout was a puppy, he threw up every single time we drove him to the vet for his series of shots. I thought all dogs loved to go for rides, so I was completely surprised when the vet told us that occasionally, dogs get car sick. He added, " Some dogs exhibit stress when they are confined to a moving vehicle and their fear leads to vomiting. Some outgrow it and some do not."
" Great," I thought. My mental picture of Scout sniffing wildflowers and hiking switchbacks with us in Colorado and cavorting in the waves of the Gulf of Mexico was beginning to change. I hated giving up on the idea that Scout could be our companion everywhere we went with just the occasional boarding experience. We rescued him in order to be with him and to enjoy him. I thought that included taking him with us on road trips.
The "doggie camp" people try to make you think that your dog is fine being confined to a cage, a concrete floor, and artificial turf. You are given many options as to the kind of experience you want your dog to have while he is in jail. Does he prefer classical music or current hits? Would he enjoy a large screen with DogTV? Does he prefer playtime or alone time? How often does he want time outside? I have tried to stay within a normal range of extras because I don't think Scout cares if he listens to Beethoven or Taylor Swift, so whatever they are playing on their Apple Music or Spotify is fine with me. And he would only be interested in a TV show that pictured squirrels or cats 24/7 and that would not be soothing for him or anybody else within barking range. But he does care about how much time he gets outside with other dogs and humans, so I pay extra for that.
When we left Scout at the last boarding kennel, we were given a web address so that we could watch him interact with the other dogs and the attendant --just like parents of kids at summer camp. I got online at the appointed time to observe Scout come into the large playroom with other dogs his size. I didn't like what I saw.
Scout was at the human's feet, looking up to make eye contact, patiently waiting to be lifted into her arms for an ear scratch or a tummy rub. He quietly followed her around while she offered her love and attention to other dogs by picking them up one at a time. He continued to be available to her, skipping the chance to play with the other dogs. She never ever chose him, even though miles away I was wailing at her, thinking she could feel my vibe through the air.
"Pick him, pick him!" I screamed at the screen to no avail. And then the pack left to go in the back for rest time. As I watched Scout trot through the door with his ears down and his tail limp, I just couldn't understand why he was not worthy of a quick show of affection. He was very well behaved and deserved a pat or two, but the attendant continued to overlook him for the more delicate and deluxe varieties. That was exactly why I wanted Scout to skip the dog facilities. Nobody was going to love on Scout like we do, plus it cost an arm and a leg for him to hang out there for a week.
We take Scout on the three hour trip to Houston every time we go which is quite often. Annie, the Golden Retriever, who belongs to my daughter and her family, lives there. Scout adores her and he knows when we turn into her neighborhood that she is waiting at the other end. Three hours to get to Annie is worth the ride.
He also goes to Oxford, Mississippi with us where we have a small cottage out from town that we rent for football games and Ole Miss/Oxford events. But the twelve hours to get to Mississippi is a long day. We have tried a dog seat belt in his bed in the back seat, but he is so miserable that he chokes himself trying to get to the front seat where we are- and throwing up is always on the horizon. Scout doesn't seem as nervous and unhappy if he is in front with us. We have tried other tactics but the tried and true no vomit method is lap riding. There is less panting and more sleeping.
And yes, I know, it is not safe for him to be loose in the car. But I am old enough to remember that as kids, we were unrestricted during trips, and when I got car sick, riding shotgun was the feather in my nauseated cap. Scout and I have both graduated from the dramamine tablets, but we are still marginal when it comes to moving in any vehicle for long periods of time. Even if I am covered in collie fur and nose drips when we arrive at our destination, we travel together in the front. So when he hesitates when jumping into the car, I get it. Scout and I like what we experience once we get where we are going, but the getting there is another thing.
* Update: We have convinced Scout that he's safer in a harness and seatbelt.
Ellie, you're killing me.Your first road trip with us when we picked you up from your foster family was a foreshadow of life with you, our new baby. You never poked your head out of the window like other dogs. You were two years old. What Golden Retriever doesn't like the wind in her face? You stayed in the floorboard from Chattanooga to Montgomery. And you made the car smelly all the way home.
You wouldn't get near us when we brought you home but stayed in our closet only to come out when we coaxed you with pieces of steak we kept in our pockets. When our neighbors came to welcome you to the street, you were not in the greeting mood.
You would run off when you could and when we called you, you would look over your shoulder and keep going with that over the top donkey kick of yours.
You refused to get into your crate no matter what kind of food we threw in there. You even convinced me to get in there first to show you it wasn't so bad, but you didn't hold up your end of the bargain. I ended up giving it to our neighbors whose dog knew how to follow commands.
I had to literally drag you into obedience school because you would not get out of the car. We had to have help to get you in the door every time. You did not enjoy school like the other dogs seemed to. But we finished the course and you were at the top of the class. Your only break was when a man with a booming voice interrupted our final exam. All of our practice paid off even though you didn't seem to want to go like the other dogs.
When Jetta and Ford would come to get you for a walk with their mom, Kathy, you would run off with them and not pay attention when we pleaded with you to come home. We hunted you down in the country more times than I can count. You didn't come when Clark whistled or called like the other two dogs.
You were a Golden Retriever!! But you would slink into the other room if we threw a ball. You refused to fetch a ball even when I put it in my mouth to show you how retrieving works. And when we went to the huge dog park at Shelby Farms, you would not go in the water after a stick. You would wallow like crazy in the hot and sticky mud on the edge of the lake until you got ear fungus from all the gook in your ears. You never learned to swim like the other dogs. You just sat on the edge and watched the others frolicking in the water.
After your first year with us, you began to approach people with a waggy tail and you followed me around like a shadow attached to my heels.You busted into the bathroom while I sat on the toilet. You would peek into the closet to make sure I was in there when I was getting dressed. You alarmed us of oncoming storms long before they arrived by helping yourself to our shower floor. You loved your walks, chasing squirrels, and wallowing---always the wallowing. Every few feet you would throw yourself onto the ground, kick your feet skyward, and begin to writhe on the grass. I would tell you to wait and hold the leash tight so that you wouldn't wallow in the dirt before we made it to a better place to scratch your back. Our walks were not like the other dogs'.
And you know what? I loved that you were not like other dogs. You made our lives interesting and funny and memorable. I would not have traded you for any of the other dogs that were predictable and obedient and compliant. I will always remember your sweet disposition, your quiet demeanor, your stubborn streak, and your constant attentiveness to me, down to your kisses for me this morning. You were not like the other dogs. You were perfect.
While I am packing, I am also thinking about pictures I would like to take of the house and the yard--you know--so I can remember how this place looks. And I would love to take some shots of Ellie, our dog, with her friends, Bea,the beagle, and Bentley, the black lab. But Ellie will have none of it. I don't know if it's because she was in a cage somewhere for two years before we got her, or if someone banged her over the head with a camera her first two years of life, or what, but she will not let me take her picture. I know you are thinking, well--she's a dog-just get out the camera and take her picture. But it's not that simple. I swear she knows when I am about to do it. I sneak the camera out and take off the lens cover in another room. I even turn on the flash manually and focus in the next room. Then when I go back into the room where she is---------gone. She has sneaked out of the room. every single time
I have tried it outside, hiding the camera on the steps or on the porch. I have even palmed my phone with the camera mode on and as soon as I try to click one off, she has her back turned and is headed in the opposite direction. It's so frustrating. Even our neighbors have tried. nothing..... so the only way to get her picture is to put a choke hold on her with your arms, pretending you are hugging her.
But I intend to outwit her; I just don't know how. It's like she can read my mind!(or my body language)
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| see what I mean? |
Ellie is a beautiful golden retriever who we got from a rescue center in Knoxville, Tennessee four years ago. She was in pretty bad shape when we got her, but we immediately enrolled her in Obedience Training and she came in second in her class and received a perfect attendance certificate. (She's very proud of her work ethic.) I am not kidding when I say that I had to literally drag her into the pet store where we took lessons, and she would hunker down and look pitiful until the last one or two sessions. When Clark and I would take her for a walk on the street, she would cower down and pull on the leash for us to take her back home. And she was scared to death of men, even Clark. But now, we have neighbors who come and get her every day to walk her with their dog. And she walks with this amazing gait with her head held high, actually a bit prissy. And she adores everybody, especially Clark. She is our baby, and I think she will miss our wonderful neighbors, especially Kris and Clayton and Kathy and Becca, who will probably miss her more than they'll miss us.
