Dogs: We have a special bond with them. And yet, when you go out of town, you leave them behind, with only a semi-responsible fifteen year-old neighbor to see after then while you galavant around the wilds of The Hamptons or San Francisco or Miami or Tucson. A neighbor who cares only for his life of delinquency, who shall be shoplifting beer from the local 7-11 rather than tending to your beloved animal. Worse yet, you board them, leaving them in a wire mesh ghetto to suffer the barks and yelps of a dozen other pooches, equally abandoned who cry out without language and howl into the never-dark night of a fluorescent-illuminated concrete block prison.
Does this sound like you? It does? Then you are a terrible pet owner. A horrid person, unfit to hold the looped end of a leash. I loathe you. I curse you, and your firstborn. I shall dig up your corpse upon your death and cast it, swollen and putrid, into the streets of Kuala Lumpur. You should take your dog with you. Take him with you! He does not want to be alone! He will bark and cry. He will be sad. He will not understand. He will think you have abandoned him. And since perception is reality; you have.
Allow me to digress, and make a point with a story, which might prove dear to your heart.
A friend of mine once travelled from Charleston, South Carolina, to Houston, Texas, some 1,100 miles, with only his trustworthy dog, Bailey, to keep him company. This was a long time ago, in 1994. In those days, traveling with a canine was an arduous task. Yet Steve is an extraordinary fellow. By day, he drove his decrepit 1986 Bronco II (which had 185,000 miles at the time and no air-conditioning, only windows) as fast as it would go (which is to say, not very fast at all) until, exhausted with weariness, he had to stop for the night in Pascagoula, Mississippi.
And yet upon his arrival at the hotel, there was nowhere to lay his head. For he could find no innkeeper to take both himself (and it is not because he is in any way unacceptable, Steve is both an intelligent and a charming man, cultured and clean and fine to gaze upon) and his trustworthy labrador. And so on he drove. Through Pascagoula to Gulfport, where his problem was repeated. And so on he went, past New Orleans, over the Calcasieu River Bridge in Lake Charles, with its pistol-shaped ornaments, on through Beaumont and Baytown until at last he arrived, fatigued beyond belief, a victim of canid-discrimination, at his parents' home in Houston. His beloved Dog, Bailey, safely delivered, he passed out upon his childhood bed, and awoke days later, tears still in his eyes from the pain of species-ism.
I may have some of the details and facts of that story confused, but the essential truth of it remains. That is the way that it once was in this country.
Fortunately, today there is a better alternative, thanks to the Miracle of the Internet. All over the country, and globe, you can find Pet Friendly Hotels that will take you, and your little dog too. Many are high class establishments. In San Francisco, for example, The W, The Argonaut, and even the legendary Westin St. Francis allow pets. You shall never again have to suffer the indignity of the 17 hour road trip, nor the irresponsible neighbor who may or may not drink directly from the milk carton in your refrigerator while you are out of town, nor leave the howling sad mutt behind in a torture kennel. No! Instead simply log on to OfficialPetHotels.com and bring your dog with you.
He will thank you. Woof, woof.
This has been a sponsored post.
NOTE: This post was composed for research purposes for an article for Wired magazine.
