On a recent road trip through Kentucky, my husband and I were leaving a tour of Mill Ridge Farm in Lexington, the scent of bluegrass billowing through our open windows on that particularly pastoral day. My dog, Finn, was perched in my lap, atop his makeshift throne of blankets, as he sniffed at the scenery, ears flopping in the breeze. In that moment, I thought to myself how proud I was to be able to show this little dog such a big world.
Twelve years ago, I brought Finn home with me for the first time. A two-month-old mini dachshund, practically the size of a Happy Meal toy, he changed my life forever that April day. I adopted him, along with his brother Huck, with an ex in Chicago, foolishly oblivious to just how seismic of an impact they would have on me. For the first four years, they were apartment dogs, bouncing around Chicago with me through assorted breakups and life changes. Shortly after my first marriage, Huck died unexpectedly. I remember it all too palpably, that May 13, and it took me years to be able to even look at old photos of him without hurting. Still today, eight years on, it’s still triggering. But one silver lining is how it helped spur a major life change, as my ex-husband and I decided to buy an RV, sell our condo and travel full-time — with Finn in tow.
Much like when I first brought Finn home, I was venturing blindly into uncharted territory. I had no idea how well Finn would travel, and how he’d adapt to life in an RV. Considering his Polly Pocket size, though, I figured he might thrive in a more confined space, with regular access to lap space and snuggles. For the first time in my career as a travel writer, I wasn’t traveling alone anymore. Ever since we said goodbye to Chicago in 2017, Finn and I have criss-crossed the U.S. countless times, from RVs to airplanes. I’ve taken him to deserts, beaches, mountains and metropolises, and to more national parks and states than many people ever see. It hasn’t always been easy, but the rewards of traveling with a dog who loves you unconditionally, and sharing the world with him, has truly been one of my proudest achievements. From road trips and RV life, here’s what I’ve learned from traveling with my dog for the past 12 years.
Comfort Is Key
When I first settled into my 26-foot Class-C RV, I tried to make it as homey as possible, both as a balm for homesickness back in Chicago, and just to make it look cute. For Finn, those comforts were as superficial as they were pivotal. Given that he’s a dachshund who underwent back surgery earlier in 2017, it’s important that everything I do, and everywhere I go, my dog is as safe as he is comfortable. In the RV, it was easier to manage his proclivity for jumping on and off surfaces, but I still needed to implement some safeguards, like adding a small ramp for him to walk in and out of bed (something I still recommend in home settings, too). I also used foldable gates to block off other surfaces he might try and access, and I made sure he always had a bed to curl up into, with easy access to food and water. I always joke that dachshunds are like little velociraptors; impossibly clever and crafty, they’re capable of more than their small size suggests, and they’re always looking for new ways to get into — or around — things. So, safeguarding our space became a jigsaw-like task that I’ve come to see as much as a mental exercise as a necessity.
Finn Is a Hotel Dog
Like me, Finn prefers hotels over campgrounds. Your mileage may vary here, and many hotels only allow breeds up to a certain size anyway, but Finn would much rather be cozily snuggled on a hotel bed than squirming around in a sleeping bag on the ground. Plus, he has zero interest in playing fetch, or being cold, or generally dealing with the elements in any way. In a lot of ways, we’re twins. And we’ve had the privilege of staying in some exceptionally dog-friendly hotels, where pets are not just allowed or tolerated, but so warmly welcomed that I get jealous.
For instance, the bourbon-themed Hotel Distil in Louisville offers dog beds in mini bourbon barrels, which are so comfy and cozy that I wish I could fit myself (and believe me, I tried). They also provided a bourbon bottle-shaped chew toy, which must be made of some kind of invincible material, as it’s the only toy he hasn’t completely destroyed in a matter of seconds. Similarly, the Four Seasons Vail has dog beds nice enough to rival the actual beds — especially when they’re positioned by the crackling fireplace. Again, I literally tried curling up on it, just to see if it fit. While staying at The Mills House, a historic, pink-tinted hotel in Charleston, dog statues on the front steps signaled a sincere dedication to pet-friendly travel, and Finn got his very own branded bandana. And at The Weston, a renovated country inn in Vermont, he was treated to his own fluffy dog bed, dog bowls and housemade dog treats that, frankly, looked tempting.
I’ve found, at these recent stays, that hotels nowadays are really going above and beyond, treating pets as equal guests, and not just something to up-charge. And with so many high-quality, accommodating options, I’ve become very discerning about where we stay with him. If language on a hotel’s website professes to be welcoming, but then rattles off a laundry list of restrictions and fines, then we’ll look elsewhere. Finn’s comfort is important to me, and that includes being treated with genuine respect.
He Loves a View (and His Fans)
Maybe it’s his small-dog complex, but Finn loves a vista. Seemingly unafraid of heights, he first developed his obsession when I spent a year in a loft in Chicago’s South Loop, where he’d frequently position himself by the floor-to-ceiling windows, monitoring the action 14 stories below. So when I checked in at the W Philadelphia this fall, and the front desk associate mentioned “floor 44,” I knew he’d be thrilled. Indeed, the views from up there (probably one of the highest hotel rooms I’ve ever stayed in) made me feel like Bruce Wayne in his penthouse, and true to form, Finn loved it. He made himself a little blanket bed by the couch, where he had a clear view of the Philly skyline through the floor-length windows. It’s rather rare that a high-rise hotel, in the middle of downtown in a big city, is as dog-friendly as this property is, and this place was perfect for a little guy like him — and it helped that every time we went in and out, he was met with a flurry of fans, like a floppy-eared celebrity.
In Columbus, he loved the window-side day beds at The Junto, and at The Liberty in Boston, he looked like an absolute king with his dog treat amenities and panoramic views of the Charles River. At the Thompson Nashville, our corner room was a concrete loft with more of those floor-to-ceiling views of The Gulch, reminding me of a far-fancier version of the loft I had back in Chicago. Here, not only did he have a rare corner view, where he could creep on the pool deck across the street, but he had house-baked dog treats that we picked up from Pink Door Cookies — the whimsical Nashville bakery owned by the pastry chef I first adopted Finn with 12 years ago. It was a sweet full-circle moment.
He Loves a Cabin, but Hates a B&B
Certain settings are much more comforting to Finn than others. For instance, as much as he loves a contemporary high-rise, he also loves a cottagecore moment. Destinations like Eureka Springs in Arkansas, Broken Bow in Oklahoma and Lancaster in South Carolina — all smaller places with wide-open spaces and greenery — lend themselves to more rustic-chic confines that Finn really enjoys. For all the same reasons that I love them, for their privacy and tree-shaded serenity, he feels right at home. Recently, we stayed at Thelma’s Garage, a Thelma & Louise-themed room at Wander Inn in adorable little Round Top, Texas, and not only did he love the space and the privacy, but it was way easier for us to take him in and out.
Conversely, I’ve noticed that B&Bs tend to make him restless. When we were at the InnBuffalo in Buffalo, he was so anxious that we wound up having to take him with us everywhere we went and just leave him in the car. Which is nothing against the property, a beautiful Victorian mansion built in 1898 in Elmwood Village, it’s just that when we’re staying someplace that literally feels like someone else’s home, where he can too-easily hear the creaky comings and goings of other guests, he tends to whine and bark way more than usual. When we were in the room with him, or relaxing in the backyard patio furniture together, he was happy as a clam.
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Traveling with Dogs Unleashes a New Level of Nostalgia
As an exceedingly nostalgic being, travel leads to some of my most heartfelt memories. It’s especially true when I get to return to places I’ve taken Finn. It’s not that I expect him to remember anything, but it helps connect me to these places on a deeper level. Like Congaree National Park in South Carolina, where my husband and I stopped for a hike on the Boardwalk Loop as we traversed the state in October. This marked the first national park Finn has been to twice, and his second time on that dog-friendly trail. For my husband, it was his first time there, so it felt special for Finn and I to show him a place we’ve shared together.
In Atlanta recently, we stayed at my favorite place in town: the Hotel Clermont. Built a century ago as an apartment complex, the historic boutique is adorably twee and pretty, to the point where I feel like I’m in an immersive Roald Dahl experience. And I mean that as a glowing compliment. This was actually Finn’s third time staying here, as my ex and I used to fly back and forth to Atlanta to record a podcast with iHeartRadio, located just down the street. Due to proximity, the studio would put us up here, and we absolutely fell in love. I doubt Finn recognized anything about it, but to be back there again with him unleashed a heartwarming torrent of nostalgia — of the best times from my first marriage, of the love I developed for Atlanta and of the fondness I felt for that dainty sanctuary of a space. I should also add that Finn has always been a far better flyer than I expected him to be, and apparently I was way more anxious about it on his behalf than he ever appeared to be.
Most significantly, though, was taking Finn back to my childhood home in New Hampshire. It’s something I never expected to happen, until I was living in my RV and suddenly able to move more freely. Who would have thunk that, as a kid sleeping on my bed underneath my Destiny’s Child poster, I would one day return with a dog of my own, and a life of my own. Walking Finn in the same yard where I once played fetch with our relentless springer spaniel Nikki, where my siblings and I used to build forts and where I would gayly gallivant around with a towel on my head, pretending to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid — it brought back all the feels.
The Most Dog-Friendly National Parks
Speaking of national parks, it’s important to remember that not all national parks are dog-friendly, and even those that claim to be can be extremely restrictive to what trails dogs can use, if any. So before you presumptuously load up the car and road trip to your next national park, it’s worth doing a little research in advance. All national parks are clear about their dog policies on their websites, so check first if they’re allowed at all, and if so, where you are permitted to travel together.
For instance, the pet page for Congaree communicates that pets are allowed on all trails (a rare treat!), as well as in campgrounds, as long as they are leashed at all times. In Arizona, Petrified Forest National Park is so pet-friendly that they actually have their own fenced dog park, which is something I haven’t seen in any other national park. Pets are also allowed on any paved road or trail, as well as in designated wilderness areas. I’ve hiked the Blue Mesa Trail here with Finn (among my favorite underrated trails in a National Park), and he was adorably baffled by the super-sized petrified logs.
Acadia National Park, in Maine, is so dog-friendly — with 100 miles worth of trails where pets are allowed — that a park ranger gave Finn dog treats as a welcome. And at New Mexico’s White Sands National Park, leashed dogs are permitted anywhere and everywhere (aside from inside the visitor center). It’s basically like one giant sandbox for them to scurry. Some National Parks are more dog-friendly than you might assume, like Mammoth Cave National Park. Unsurprisingly, dogs are not allowed in any caves, which is definitely for the best, but they are allowed on all surface trails — of which there are many.
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I’ll never forget when, as my husband and I were driving back across the Canadian border into the U.S. this summer, border patrol asked for our vaccination records for Finn, only to realize we didn’t have current documentation with us. The sheer panic of it all, worrying that we’d be stuck in Canada (which, based on current events, might not be all that bad) and simultaneously feeling deeply foolish. Sure, it would have been nice if border patrol mentioned this on the way into Canada, but still, we should have been way more prepared. Fortunately and mercifully, the border patrol agent let us through and reminded us to keep it handy next time, but it was a stark reminder. And not just when crossing borders, either, as we’ve noticed that some campgrounds and hotels claim to require such forms as well. Even though the vast majority of places we’ve visited never actually ask for it, it’s better to err on the side of caution and not risk having plans dramatically upended at the last second. And as much as I love Finn, I’d really rather not get detained at the Canadian border on his behalf.
Dogs Are Exceedingly Adaptable to Change
I’ll admit that, before taking the plunge into RV life, and deciding to leave the life I built in Chicago, part of my dread was worrying about how Finn would adapt — or not. At that point in my life, especially after the loss of Huck and Finn’s back surgery, his comfort was my utmost priority. It dictated everything I did, everywhere I went and for how long. But Finn showed me, right away, how adaptable he was. As I spent the first few weeks grappling with homesickness and depression, he was giddy with excitement. Not only did he travel well, content to curl up in my lap while en route to our next destination, but he made himself right at home no matter where we were. He was just as happy in an RV as he was a hotel or motel room, or staying at a friend’s house. He is as happy in a huge city as a small town, from my childhood bed to the one I moved into in Oklahoma City, where I met my new husband. Finn has experienced grief and loss and abrupt change, and he’s handled all of it far better than I ever could. When Huck died, he was my comfort blanket, and when I went through a divorce and we said goodbye to the home — and life — I shared with my ex, he was firmly by my side, every painful step of the way. He’s there for the good changes, too. I’ll never forget, after my second marriage, taking him with us on our honeymoon road trip through New Mexico, and him popping his head up from under the hotel blankets that first morning in Albuquerque. He was just happy to be there, along for the journey, as always.
My Best Friend
It’s a well-earned cliche, dog as man’s best friend. But 12 years in, and it rings truer than I could have imagined. I’ve never considered myself a “dog dad,” and I’ve never thought of Finn as my “child,” like some pet people do. For me, Finn has just been my best friend. He’s been the most consistent part of my adult life, by my side through the highest highs and lowest lows, showing me unconditional love and making me feel a fuller purpose. Traveling with him truly enriches everything I do and everywhere I go, adding another layer of connective tissue to carry with me. He’s always happy to be with us anywhere, but now, as I return to a life of semi-nomadism, I’m reminded of the simple joys that traveling with a dog can bring. He’s getting older now, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t terrified of my emotional reliance on him, and how much it’ll hurt not to travel with him one day. In the meantime, I’m doing my damndest to live every moment to the fullest, not just for me, but for us. Whether it’s watching a skyline through his eyes, or hearing his pitter-patter on a boardwalk or seeing his ears flop in the Kentucky breeze, giving thoroughbred horses some of that infamous dachshund side-eye, these are moments that only travel can bring. And traveling with a dog — my best friend —has truly been the most rewarding experience of my life.
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