The pile started on the dining room floor on Sunday, eight days before we leave, which tells you everything about which one of us plans the trips in this house.
Next Monday we're driving up to a dog-friendly resort near Nisswa for four nights, July 14 to 18, and Hank is coming with us. It's his first real vacation: a week of lake, dock and pine trees. Mabel is staying home with a sitter (more on that when we're back). So this week the dining room is full of dog stuff, and I've been cutting the list down.
What we learned from last summer
We took Hank on a handful of day trips last summer, mostly to Mille Lacs, plus a few short outings in my father-in-law's fishing boat this spring. Every time, I packed like we were moving. And every time, half of it never left the car: the folding crate, a bag of six toys, a dog sweater (in July, I don't know either), a spare leash and a pop-up shade thing I'd bought on clearance. They rode up and back in the cargo area and came home exactly as clean as they went.
So this year's rule: if it didn't get used on a day trip, it has to argue its way into a four-night trip.
What made the cut
- His life jacket, the $45 one we bought in May for the boat. Non-negotiable around docks and deep water, even for a strong swimmer.
- A 6-foot leash and a 15-foot long line for the shoreline. No retractable leashes. I've seen what they do at work.
- Food portioned into zip bags, one per day plus two extra, so there's no measuring at a strange counter and no running out.
- A gallon jug of water from home for the drive and the first day. Mostly habit, but an upset stomach on vacation is nobody's idea of fun.
- A collapsible bowl, plus his regular bowl for the cabin.
- His thin travel bed instead of the big orthopedic one. He'll end up on the cabin rug anyway.
- One Kong Classic and one rope toy. That's it. He doesn't play with toys at the lake. The lake is the toy.
- Nature's Miracle enzyme spray and a lint roller, because the pet fee is $75 and I'd like the cabin to look like no dog was ever there.
- A copy of his vaccine records, plus our vet's number and the nearest emergency clinic's number on an index card in the glove box.
- A tick comb. He's on monthly prevention, but up north I still check him every night.
The towel math
Hank is a swimmer. Given a dock and a lake, he'll go in three times a day, minimum. Each swim takes two towels: one for the first big rub on the dock and one for the second pass before he's allowed inside. The resort asks guests not to use cabin towels on pets, which is fair.
So the honest math is three swims times two towels times four and a half days, which comes to twenty-seven towels. We own about twelve old dog towels, and I'm not buying fifteen more for one week.
The fix is a drying line. I've packed fifteen feet of clothesline and a bag of clothespins, and the plan is to string it between two porch posts or two trees and rotate towels as they dry. In July sun, a towel is dry in an hour or two. That means ten towels on rotation, two in reserve for the car and one big old beach sheet for the back seat on the drive home, when he'll be damp and sandy and very asleep.
The car, and the cat
Caleb packs the Outback like a game of Tetris and won't let me help. The hammock cover goes over the back seat for Hank, the cargo liner goes in the back for the cooler and bags, and the towel basket rides on the floor where we can reach it at a gas stop.
Mabel has supervised every stage of this from a dining chair, with the expression of a cat who knows she isn't invited and has decided that was her idea. On Monday night she climbed into the open duffel and fell asleep on Caleb's swim trunks.
The pile is now two duffels, a cooler and a laundry basket of towels. We leave Monday at 8. I've checked the list three times, so naturally I'll forget something obvious.
