I worry about Wilson. Is he happy? Am I treating him well? Is this a good life for him? He did not ask for this life. This contains a presumption that he has asked for a certain life – a little anthroprocentric.

A good friend tells me to stop worrying – “He is more resilient than you give him credit for. His happiness is to be with you.” Hard advice to take — hard advice to believe, or better, have faith in. Having recently been through some of life’s unavoidable speed bumps, the thought that a creature with emotion would choose to be with me is surprising. Me — he wants to be with me! 

I did not worry about Wilson when I lived in a sticks-and-bricks house. I could put him in his yard. Basically forget him. If I had to go to the store or a doctor’s appointment, I left him at home with “I love you bones” …. “I love you, I will back, here are two bones” dropped on the carpet in the foyer. I did not worry. My friends with dogs, very fond of their canines, performed similar acts.  

Sour days on the road are easy. First, Wilson is not one to play in the rain. At home, on a wet day, he would go out, do his business, and return. If we were not there immediately, he would settle on the deck and let his fur fluff with the moisture of the rain to mat into an outer coat. It was unusual for him to make noise to come in. Sour days he snoozes. Sour days are easy to leave him in the van. It will not overheat. He finds a place to snug down. I’ll go from place to place. Engage in my activities. He remains, nautilus shell like, curled in a ball. Looks up at my return, I am sometimes dripping with rain, he huffs, perhaps, and returns to his coil. 

Hot days are hard. Tesla has a pet mode that allows its AC to maintain temperature. I don’t have the battery capacity onboard for that. Can I keep him safe if I have a crisis on the road? 

I had a slip-and-fall; the consequence of a night walk, thinking Wilson needed relief, and I misstepped. I thought a clinic visit would be best. I scoped it out. No shade in the parking lot.  I do have an onboard generator and did discover it can run the air-conditioner on a Maryland summer day, in a parking lot, without shade. The van stayed at 73 degrees. 

See, Wilson, is my biggest worry, although Steinbeck’s Charlie, older and needing significant vet interventions, seemed better than OK. 

Wilson does seem to love our travel days. They are usually a full day of driving and he sits right next to me in the space between the driver and passenger captain’s chairs. I tried to get him to ride in the passenger seat – he would have none of it — I fashioned a platform over the passenger seat with enough space that he could curl up — but he would have none of it. Earlier, in the van with my wife, he often went to the benches in the rear – he could watch from the side windows or the rear windows. Now he has taken to the spot between the seats. Next to me, a copilot but not a navigator as he is in the back seat of a sedan, leaning forward to make sure I make the correct stops at lights and turns to reach our destination. Now he is just next to me, leaning into the turns, sometimes turning to me and putting up a paw for a pat on the head, or possibly to signal, it is time you took a break. Travel days we are together from waking until bedding down. Sleep tight good friend.

William and Wilson
on the Appalachian Trail
in Shenandoah Mountains.