Crossing America - One Pet at a Time . . .

We return once again to our saga . . .

Driving across the entire country can be a trying and tiring experience as an individual, let alone as clan leader of assorted children and pets. Trying to organize not only the clothing and other assorted gear that must be part of the package, as well as which dog or cat rides where and for how long only adds to the fun.

We seriously considered flying everyone out ahead of us - accompanied of course by the proper amount of adult supervision - but the cost, summer heat, and the consequent issues of transportation from the airport to our eventual new home all worked against that plan. Of course, the death knell (so to speak), was the release only weeks before our departure, of an annual report on animal deaths during air flights. Who knew?

Regardless, our plan was thus: transport five dogs and two cats cross-country in two vehicles - a Chevrolet Tahoe and a Volkswagen Beetle. While not requiring the quartermaster skills of supplying Patton's army, the logistical questions seemed daunting. Which dogs in which car? How many times will we have to stop for "rest breaks"? Finally, how many hotels/motels accept pets - let alone seven of them?

As it turns out, all of our questions were answered more easily than we first assumed. Through a deft combination of good luck, solid potty training, and a little subterfuge in dealing with our arrangements for lodging - all eventually ended well, but not without a few memorable instances.

Driving arrangements proved the least of our worries. The two largest dogs rode in the VW's backseat. Remarkably, they sat up most of the way and like most tourists, took in all of the scenery America has to offer - though unlike most tourists, always panting. If you didn't know any better, your first glance at the yellow Beetle might reveal four passengers - albeit two strangely misshapen ones in the rear. Had we been daily commuters to D.C. on U.S. 95, we might have even snuck them by as fulfilling our requirement to be in the HOV lane for multiple passengers . . .

As to the rest of the brood, the three Chihuahuas (yes, I said three Chihuahuas), and two cats rode in back of the Tahoe. The dogs were confined to a cage, but the cats - as is their wont - roamed free in the rear seats, only occasionally taunting their captive compadres. Every once in awhile, one of the cats would place their paws on the front seat headrest and peer over the top for a better view of say, Wyoming; but for the most part, all remained quiet and content simply to ride along.

Rest stops however, were another story. While each state-sponsored rest area has a designated space for pets, it soon became obvious which were designed by pet owners themselves, and which were designed by those who had negative childhood experiences with four footed creatures. From the lushest of lawns in Virginia and Nebraska, to the barren and rocky soil of the Russian high tundra - excuse me, Utah and Nevada - the quality varied greatly.

While quality varied, it seemed that our Keystone cops routine of harnessing up each of the dogs, varying their path, waiting patiently and then cleaning up, painfully remained the same. Add watering and a one-time feeding at night (spaced appropriately from each pet to avoid any "issues"), and I can develop a real sympathy for the guy in the old westerns (always named Cookie), who ran the chuckwagons on the cattle drive. At least his clientele bussed their own trays . . .

Finally, there was the question of where to stay each night. Thankfully, there are numerous pet-friendly motels in virtually every city. Unfortunately, they differ greatly in quality (read cleanliness), and in extra fees. Also, most of these locations have a more reasonable limit on the number of pets allowed than I seem to be able to muster in my home. As a result, we were legally able to declare only four animals - all of the dogs - and I resorted to sneaking in the remaining miscreants.

Our plan seemed doomed from the start when our first abode provided us a room on the third floor - with the elevator inconveniently located in the lobby and thus unavailable for my planned covert operations. Add to this the 107 degree heat of a Louisville summer, and let's just say I worked up a good sweat - and not from nerves. Future locations improved floor-wise, but the truck stop locale we stayed at in Carlin, Nevada sans grass - does Nevada have any lawns at all? - proved to be a near traumatic experience, perhaps for the dogs as well.

All in all, we had none of the much feared disasters we thought might come our way - car sickness, runaway dogs, or constantly meowing cats - all of which have been experienced on simple trips to the vet. On the contrary, after a little whining in the beginning, every pet settled down and seemed to enjoy the ride. Though not wanting to ever do it again, I realize it could have been much worse. After all, we left the fish, the rat, and the Cockatoo behind . . .