Charlie does not do well in the car. He can tough it out on the highway but a winding, curvy, bumpy back road causes his tummy to lurch and purge. This can be especially gross if he is sitting in my lap at the time. Almost all of my pets throughout my life have travelled well. Chase enjoys a car ride and will even hop inside, uninvited, just for the briefest of trips to the store, bank or mailbox.
The worst travel companion I ever had was my cat, Madison. He loathed the car so much that he would work himself into a frenzy before I moved the vehicle ten feet from the driveway. He would spit and howl and hiss and make himself sick almost instantly. He would froth and foam at the mouth like a rabid wild animal. The cat needed a bath one hundred percent of the time upon reaching our destination. The worst trip ever was a visit to my parents’ home when I was living in Charleston, South Carolina. It was more than two hours to their house in my small single cab pickup truck. Madison was hissing in his typical fashion from the cage on the seat beside me. On this trip he graciously waited forty minutes before becoming ill in his cage. I was too far from my apartment to turn around and too far from my parents’ to continue with an agitated cat kicking bits of puke out of his cage.
I pulled over at the first rest stop I could find. There was a long row of empty parking spaces and I selected a space furthest from the bathrooms so I could have a bit of privacy. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I reached over and released the latch on the cat cage door. Madison emerged; dry on one side and sticky wet on the other. As I attempted to locate a paper towel to clean him with, he jumped into my lap and began to rub himself dry on my shirt. My shirt was completely soiled, it was a hot and humid summer day and I had a long drive ahead of me. Great. I pushed Madison away and climbed out of the truck. The parking lot was still empty. I fished a clean shirt out of my suitcase and climbed back into the truck. I decided to change my shirt in the truck by pulling my arms inside the filthy shirt and using it to shield myself while twisting the other shirt on. Good plan and I had one arm pulled inside when a minivan pulled into the space next to me. Thirty empty spaces in the parking lot and they had to pull right next to me! Madison was now perched on the dashboard of the truck. I waited for some privacy but no one exited the minivan.
As I pondered a Plan B, I was startled by a knock on my window. I looked up and saw the rest stop attendant, broom in hand, giving me the thumbs up signal. “Nice Cat!” he yelled. I looked at Madison; his fur stuck to him in clumpy matted piles and realized that the man could only see his good side. I forced a smile and thanked him, praying that he would move on. He shuffled away, inspecting a few trash cans along his route. I eyed my clean shirt again and the minivan. Sighing, I decided to go for it. Another vehicle pulled into the other space. I was surrounded and gave up the clean shirt idea. Glad that I had a full tank of gas, I yanked an old sweater that was behind the seat and pulled it on to cover my shirt. Needless to say, at the end of this journey, both the cat and I needed a bath!
Charlie has never been as bad as Madison but I have had to clean my car more times than I wanted after a road trip with him. Recently I discovered calming pet treats in my favorite store to spend all of my money: Pet Smart. While a bit pricey, Nutri-Vet Pet Ease 
soft chews are the miracle I have been seeking. Now before any trip, I give Charlie a treat and he has no problems whatsoever. He also is very happy to get in the car and enjoys his rides just like the other dogs, looking out the window before curling up to sleep.
It was time. Six years overdue. Chase's first official haircut. A Kodak moment for certain and I was unable to take him for his scheduled time so I had a friend drop him off at the local groomer. The "stylist" would call me when Chase was ready which would take an estimated four hours. That suited me because then I could pick him up. I was more than ready when the groomer called. The GPS in my car had the address programmed and very soon I discovered "where the sidewalk ends"...literally. Dilapidated , faded clapboard homes with patches of clay and weeds lined the pot-hole abundant road. I actually passed the groomer's because I couldn't believe that it could be housed in the crumbling duplex that was a combination liquor store and pet couture. And it only got better. As I entered the pink and green garishly decorated waiting nook, Chase detected my presence and utilized his counter-surfing skills in an escape attempt. A wiry man with a mullet was brandishing a hair dryer at a poodle client. He deduced that Chase belonged to me and shuffled on over. I paid twenty-five dollars…a bargain considering Chase’s ears were completely puffed up in an eighties AquaNet bulky shoulder pad style and he smelled like he had been rolling in a Designer Imposters perfume. He also sported a Pennsylvania Dutch patterned bandana around his neck. I buckled Chase in the car and fled the ghetto. Back at home, his dog posse greeted him with growls and wary looks. I suppose he smelled funny.
Several days later when all of the styling gel wore off, I realized that the groomer had simply washed and fluffed my dog. No hair had been cut as requested and his style wasn’t even close to a traditional English setter. It was time for the bright lights and big city of Atlanta and Pet Smart. Yes…Pet Smart. Since they already had most of my money on pet products I figured that they might as well take the rest of it too. Seventy-five dollars and three hours later, my dog had his first haircut, pedicure and teeth cleaning. His orange spots were no longer hidden jewels and a report card detailed all products used and the fact that he was a “happy dog”. They even set a follow-up appointment out of courtesy. In order to continue to see his hidden colors, I would need to keep that appointment.
Back at home, the dog posse greeted Chase with their usual indifference. And for this tale of two groomers, the one at Pet Smart was definitely a cut above!
Pet stores are smart. You can bring your well-behaved on-a-leash pet inside the store. This is why I tend to stop at Pet Smart when I travel as opposed to using a rest stop. I can’t bring Chase into the rest area bathroom and during the warmer months I can’t leave him in the car. But there is no problem if I bring him into the pet store.
This afternoon, I stopped into Pet Smart to buy a new bed for Chase. I had basic requirements: the bed must be large enough for him to stretch out on, it should fit in with the décor and he should not be easily able to hump it. I brought him into the store with me in order to test the first requirement. I would have been mortified if he disproved the third requirement in the middle of the store.
The beds are kept toward the back of the store. Customers and dogs that are inclined to shop must pass by displays of plush dog toys. 75% off dog toys attracted the bargain lover in me and I stopped to shop for next year’s Christmas toys. My non-bird dog owning friend grabbed Chase’s leash while I loaded my arms with snowmen and candy canes. I assumed I would find Chase by the beds. Instead I discovered him in front of an aviary. Twitching. Trembling. Completely focused. I thought I spied a bit of drool on the floor in front of him. Society finches, zebra finches, brightly colored parakeets, and other downy song birds were happily flitting around the aviary oblivious to the dangers on the other side of the glass just inches away. Tugging Chase out of his trance-like state and admonishing my friend for giving my dog a taste of “Reality TV”, I attempted to select a bed matching all criteria. With the first two requirements checked off my list, I proceeded to the checkout counter. My sneaky dog had snagged one of the Christmas toys off the counter unbeknownst to me. Alerted by a squeak, I snatched the toy back and apologized for the drool as I handed it to the less than enthusiastic cashier.
Back at home, I clipped the tags from the dog bed and pushed Chase into the center of it. I held him prisoner for a few moments, then proceeded into the kitchen to make dog biscuits. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted him dragging the new bed around in his mouth, trying to find a corner…of course he was foiled because the bed was round. I intervened and the jury is still out on whether this bed will meet requirement number three. It is also yet to be determined if Chase will actually sleep on this bed at all. George, who is half the size of Chase, has been blissfully sleeping away in the center of the bed all evening. And Chase? Well he is hanging out in the kitchen dreaming of dog biscuits.
