The road trip and the four-legged child

When I was a kid, our family took a road trip every summer from our home in Colorado to visit my grandparents in Phoenix.
Now if you haven’t had the particular pleasure of driving to Phoenix in the summertime sans air conditioning, you don’t know what you’re missing. Rivers of sweat drenched us as soon as that burning ball of sun reached its apex. This gave my brother and me a singular urgency to “Are we there yet?”
My parents were doubtless ready to leave us on the side of the road because let’s face it: They were as hot as we were – plus they were dealing with two whiny kids!
It wasn’t until becoming a parent I realized what goes into the planning of a trip of more than one day’s duration with the kiddos in tow.
Suffice to say then, as our nest emptied, my duties as Travel-Planner-in-Charge found a new outlet. We still take road trips, and I’m still packing an arsenal of road-trip happiness – but in a different kind of ditty bag.
Traveling with a blind, but scrappy, lhasa apso isn’t as easy as you’d think.
Our canine friend, Puddin’, is not what you’d call a happy camper on the open road. He whines. He growls. He emits sounds that defy definition. And I’ve put more research into finding a solution to this dilemma than I ever spent tackling college assignments.
So it probably won’t surprise you that our road trip experiences with our little dear have had their ups and downs.
Take last winter for example.
We were homeward bound from Colorado, leaving the hotel where we’d stopped for the night. Hubby, who likes to leave before dawn, had bounded off to the truck to fire up the engine and heat the cab’s interior. I was in charge of schlepping to the truck the dog, his bed, his special blanket, his two kinds of food, his water, his special bowls and his medications, along with my own personal travel bags.
Now this takes talent, people. Pushing my laborious way through the outside door of the hotel, it suddenly blew open, blasting me with hurricane force wind and blowing snow. I turned to guide Puddin’ through the door on his leash (remember, this boy is blind) when, just as suddenly, the door blew shut, locking automatically. With me on the outside of the hotel. And Puddin’ on the inside. Caught in the locked door was his leash.
Well.
Somewhere down the long row of parked cars my husband was sitting inside the truck in toasty comfort. While I, on the other hand, was standing in freezing wind and snow with a whining dog locked away on the other side. Through the window in the door I could see him standing there, worriedly waiting. Now what?
If my husband was like normal people and used his cell phone, I could’ve called him. But he doesn’t turn it on. Because it runs down the battery. So we waited.
Finally I saw him heading back to see what was taking so long (yay!). A quick verbal conference, and (having already turned in the keys), he set off for the hotel’s front entrance, which was approximately 14 miles away. Yes, it was a large hotel.
Anxiously watching my nervous dog through the window, suddenly I saw a man coming out of a room inside. Rapping loudly on the window I got his attention.
“My dog is stuck!” I hollered. “Can you help me?” And what do you think my darling dog did? Yep, he proceeded to growl at him. OMG!
“Will he bite?” the man queried hesitantly.
“Well, possibly,” I admitted. “Just open the door but don’t look at him. And don’t talk to him,” I added, at which point this guy looked like he would rather be anywhere but where he was at this moment.
Miraculously, my husband made his appearance from inside the hotel and rescued our trapped pup – and the poor man who was no match for my 18-pound ornery lhasa apso.
Hmmm … maybe those old days of sweltering road trips to Phoenix weren’t as tough as I
Gale Hammond is a writer and freelance photographer who has lived in Morgan Hill since 1983. Reach her at

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