Whatever ideas I had about taking my dog, Annie, with me to the mountains for hikes, drives, and the general killing of time have pretty much bitten the dust.
I took her with me up to Boulder the other day to visit my brother at his mountain home and it would not be an exaggeration to say the trip was a disaster for her. Sixty pounds of golden/lab mix — carsick. All the way up and all the way back, 45 minutes each way. Poor dog must have been absolutely miserable.
I was aware of the problem and had put one of those waterproof hammock-style covers in the back seat to protect my leather upholstery from her nails and … er … little messes. But on this day, despite a minimal breakfast, her problems were not little. She drooled and hurled enough to create actual pools of liquid, and on the trip home managed to pull the cover out of position and dump the puddles directly into the seats. (Sorry to be so graphic.)
She endured it all quietly, without complaint. No whimpering or trying to crawl into the front seat with me. But by the time we got home she was soaked, her leash was soaked, and the car seats were soaked.
I had tried open windows and fresh air, closed windows and cool air. Neither appeared to help. The smooth, straight expressway had a couple of frost heaves that severely tested my car’s suspension and the mountain road had enough switchbacks and S-curves to test any driver’s alertness. Unfortunately, it was the route I’d most likely travel on any trip to the mountains.
Unless someone knows a foolproof cure for canine carsickness, I’ll probably be leaving Annie home in her kennel from now on and traveling alone.