Four Ways to Move Your Lover

There are four ways to transport four-legged humans (that’s what the Jet Blue booking agent called them) across country.  Any pet under 20 lbs. can be carried on and stowed under the seat in front of you. Her Royal Majesty is only 11 lbs. and that’s what we'll do for her.  I bought the largest airline carrier they offer and it's still tight.  I have no idea how you stuff one of Mama’s Good Eaters into one of those things.  If you have a Garfieldesque cat, or a dog that cannot be passed off as a squirrel, here is what you can do:

1.     Drive them. As much as I adore Lucky Bastard, I am not willing to drive for 15 hours a day for five days straight, trying to find places for him to relieve himself as I go.

2.     Have someone else drive them. My mother offered to fly out and drive him back for us.  The Professor ruled that one out immediately.  He said, “I love your mother, and I love Huck, too much, to allow that.”  How much trouble can a 68-year-old lady and a mutt can get into?

3.     Fly them on PetAirways (they are then called Pawsengers).  If you are afraid of checking your furry family into the belly of a plane (I had visions of our dog arriving in San Diego motionless), you can pay $700 for a ticket on PetAirways.  There is an additional $200 charge if you need to rent a crate and since we don’t have an industrial strength refridgerator box laying around, that’s $900.  They only fly westbound on certain days, and only out of NYC to LA.  They make five stops and it takes 14 hours.  Sure, the Pawsengers are served meals and probably champagne at those prices, but non-stop to San Diego seemed like a better route.

4.     Fly them on your flight.  Continental Airlines is known for being the most pet-friendly airline.  They guarantee your canine cargo flies with you, the animals are the last to board and the first to deplane (seems like every breathing thing gets off before I do now).  Supposedly there is temperature control (more awful visions), both in the cargo area and in the van that transports them to and from the plane.  The cost for their special PetSafe program is $395 one way. 

Sure we considered other options.  The classic motor home trip, or maybe even just the station wagon, all packed up with me leading  camp songs as we rolled along.  I had vignettes of stopping at national parks and eating at roadside diners.  “Easy Rider” could be my handle.  But then, in the quiet of the night, alone with my Google Maps, I broke it down:  one vehicle, two drivers, two children, two live animals, six motels, seven days, 21 meals.  Did I forget the 3,000 miles?  As much as I hate to admit it, I’ll take sane and practical for $400.

Werewolf in Ithaca

I booked an appointment with a Behavior Specialist at my Veterinarian’s office to learn a few tricks for training Huck. Believe me, this felt like I was calling up a dog whisperer.  But I am in a place where I’d rather try the new wave method than yell at or beat my dog because I don’t know any better.

She asked me to describe our routine and what was going on at home. I am pretty good at schedules and consistency, so I didn’t need a lot of coaching there.  I described how Charming Baby was afraid of the dog. Bless Sam’s heart, he thought the dog was trying to “hug” him every time Huck jumped up on him and asserted his dominance. I knew better than to think I had a cross-species rapist on my hands, but I didn’t know how to empower my son or get the dog to stop “hugging.”

It was a simple fix. Dogs are pack animals and they need to know their place. Instincts will drive them to vie for the alpha position. After I explained what was going on, the Vet said, “Right now your dog thinks he’s above your children.”

“Really?” Little fucker.

“A dog’s place is determined by how and when he gets his food. You need to have Sam feed him. That will tell him he is below Sam in the pack.”

Sure enough, as directed, Sam started putting the bowl down, then, when Huck goes for it, he picks it up and commands, “Wait.” When Sam is good and ready, he puts the bowl of food down and says, "Okay."  Then the dog gets to eat.

Huck doesn’t whine or whimper, he sits there patiently watching Sam and then happily eats when we let him.

The Vet assured me it is not cruel to play this on a dog. A dog just wants to know where he stands and once he's figured that out, he is happy.

I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand…

Working Like a Dog

My mom left Friday morning after her first visit out here. I was happy the weather was good so she could experience bucolic Ithaca at its best. We took her to all of our favorite places and I think she favored the Farmer’s Market. She said seeing all the hippies was “refreshing.” I would have started crying when her plane took off if I weren’t so relieved to not have to tell her to stop loading and unloading the dishwasher.

My mom’s visit was perfectly timed. We got lucky at the shelter with Huck right before she arrived. Not only did she get to meet him, she was a huge help with breaking him in to our household.

Huck is mostly coonhound, which is a working breed. You have to occupy a dog like that with jobs or they will misbehave—tearing up your yard, furniture or whatever they can unearth. So we’ve been walking, fetching and swimming non-stop. Huck thinks he’s assisting us in some long crazy hunt for Lord knows what.

I get this dog down to his core. Even though I have more free time now than ever in my life, I am no toy poodle. I like to work. I shudder to think of the messes I would make if I wasn’t focused on a set of goals. Although a two-martini lunch date does sound good.

I think the best part of putting in a solid day is the sweet reward at the end. My mom and I spent the late afternoons of her visit in deck chairs (she reading, me drinking wine) while Huck napped next to us. There is no better feeling for breeds like us.

 Huck, 6 months old