On the Road

People who travel a lot say, "It's not about the place. It's about the people."

So true. We recall who hiked with us on the Grand Canyon trail, and the words we gasped to each other when we reached the rim, though memory of the colored rock layers and the geologic era they represent has faded.

But for some of us, it's not about the people or the place, it's about the dogs. No matter how many dogs we have at home, we get excited about meeting new ones when we're away.

My friend DeeDee came home from a dream-come-true trip to Greece raving about a wonderful Rottweiler she played with every morning on the beach. I recall an extraordinary art exhibit I saw in Central Park, though I remember better the dogs I saw there who wore bonnets and rode in baby carriages.

I'm off on a road trip with two of my dogs--Shakespeare, a German shepherd/Malamute, and Mick, a Border collie. My Pontiac Vibe has plenty of cargo area for dogs, tent, and camping supplies. My third dog, Mimi, also a Border collie, can't go because she is too infirm and it would ask too much of her. She will stay with a kind friend.

I will visit back-road bookstores to promote my book, A Dog for All Seasons, St. Martin's Press. I know the project will bring unusual dogs and their people into my life, because on the short trips I've taken so far, I've met or heard about dogs who have altered the lives of their human families.

Hunter, a reddish chocolate lab, wiggled up to greet me at an event. He allowed me to pat his head for an instant, then pushed through my legs. Finding myself straddling him, facing his tail, I asked his owner if Hunter believed himself to be a pony.

"He doesn't like to be petted on the head. He likes to be scratched on the butt."

When I honored his preference, Hunter came unhinged--hindquarters and tail swung in a dramatic arc. I didn't have to see Hunter's face; he smiled with his read end.

Hunter, his owner told me, flushed lots of birds. I asked if the pair of them brought many down. No, the man confessed. Hunter played his part, but the man couldn't shoot well. Hunter tolerates only two tries; after that, he won't flush more birds. On a recent hunting trip, Hunter disappeared, and when his human companion found him, he was flushing birds for someone who was a good shot. Hunter likes success.

Another large lab named Moose stayed busy greeting passersby. A survivor of neglect, Moose showed few negative effects of his earlier life, but his new parents said he panics and gets destructive if left at home. The solution: take Moose along. Fortunately, Moose's easy personality makes him welcome nearly everywhere.

At book signings, I've been surprised and touched when people asked me to sign copies of books to their dogs. More than once, the cherished dog had already died, but still the person wanted the book personalized to that dog.

One woman, who with her husband has rescued numerous dogs and has had as many as five in their home at one time, asked with damp eyes if I'd sign her copy to "all the dogs I've loved before." With Willie Nelson's voice playing in my head, singing to all the girls he'd loved before, I penned the words she requested. Maybe the woman got tearful remembering grand times with the dogs; maybe she remembered how much it hurt to lose them. Probably both.

A person would have to be hopelessly asleep not to notice the giant hold dogs have on our hearts and culture. Those who don't have dogs wonder what they're missing; those who have them love to trade stories.

For the next months, I'll bring you reports of the dogs I meet while driving the back roads of the West. Some canines will be impressive, some absurd, some unruly, some heroic. For every dog, there will be a person nearby who can't speak about the animal without exaggerating.

Meet ya at the dog dish.