When I first knew I was getting a dog, I didn’t really think of myself as someone who would be the dog mom who took her dog everywhere. I mean, sure, we’d take long walks, we’d hit the park, our amazing local hiking trails, maybe we’d even make a beach day once in a while. You know… normal dog mom stuff. 

But then Tavi came into my life. And all that changed.

She had just turned seven months old and we were already inseparable. We took long walks on the soft grass of the park outside my apartment every morning to wear her out before I left for work. I came back on my lunch break for another walk and some treats.

When I got home from work, she had dinner and we took another long walk, sometimes stopping by for a five-dollar house wine and fresh focaccia bread special on the patio of the Italian restaurant down the street, or a cup of tea outside the Mediterranean cafe. She came with me to see friends.

I started a list of every dog-friendly patio in town. When I stage managed live comedy events, she came with me. For a six month old, she had shared the stage with some impressive names. I’d officially become That Dog Mom. 

So when I found out I’d been accepted to a writer’s retreat I’d applied to several months before meeting Tavi, I was torn. Of course I wanted to go, but let’s be real… I could barely make it four hours away from her. How was I going to be gone for a whole week? 

Tavi was a rescue who had already gone through a lot for such a young thing. She’d spent the first part of her life in a shelter, bounced between a family returning her and a rescue group that fixed her broken legs. It had taken her weeks before she started to trust me. I could tell that she didn’t think it was worth bonding with me for the first several weeks we were together. She’d gone from a skittish, stand-offish puppy with a pronounced limp to my affectionate little girl who ran laps in the dog park and slept curled up against my neck. If I left her, would I be undoing all of that? Would she think she’d been abandoned again?

That night, watching her shred a braided rope toy to pieces on my lap, I realized that at some point, I was going to have to go somewhere without her. Thankfully, she was an independent spirit who’d never shown much separation anxiety – as long as I left the TV on for her and a pee pad in case of emergencies, she was fine.

On some level, I could recognize that she was an independent spirit who’d never shown much separation anxiety – as long as I left the TV on for her and a pee pad in case of emergencies, she was fine to snooze on the couch and enjoy the air conditioning. I accepted my retreat invitation and accepted that this would be Tavi’s first adventure away from me. I knew that the longer we waited, the harder it would eventually be for us. Plus, the retreat was only two and a half hours away. Worst case, I could hightail it back home. This was the perfect maiden voyage away from each other.

I got a paper bag for some deep breathing, and set out to find Tavi’s temporary staycation.

Growing up, when my family traveled overnight, we took our Basset Hound to a boarding facility. I remember my mom selling this as a cool place where Matilda got to hang out with her dog friends.

I don’t know what I pictured, but when I finally caught a glimpse of it, I was horrified. It looked like something out of a Scared Straight program. Concrete floors and chainlink fences separated into holding-cells with a thin mat on the floor and government-issued kibble. No wonder she always came home with tummy troubles. 

Times have changed. Now my local boarding facilities are somewhere between an all-inclusive resort and a backpacking hostel. One of my favorites had lagoon pools, private tiki cabanas, and rolling grassy hills and a cage-free concept where dogs had free range of a sprawling house with futons, mattresses, couches, and beds.

While I was tempted to ask if the gorgeous lagoon resort would ever consider taking me in as a human guest, I wasn’t quite comfortable with Tavi’s water abilities yet. She was a skinny puppy with no buoyancy and while the lagoons were shallow, it wasn’t something I was ready to risk.

One had cozy private dog pods for overnight guests (oh yes, they all called the dogs “guests”) with a Smart TV, a little bed with pillows and sheets, and socialization and enrichment programs during the day. I liked the pod hotel and they seemed well-prepared for my questions.

What would happen if she got tired or cranky during the group social hours? How often did they check in on the dog pods? Would she be able to take a walk on grass or would she be left to handle the hot summer sidewalks on her feet?

I liked that they had stringent requirements for vaccinations and vet check-ups, especially for the Bordatella vaccine and flea, tick and worm negative results. I was relieved Tavi was a prize pupil on being up her shots and was able to at least go through the tour. 

But in the end, it didn’t seem like the right choice for Tavi. She loved being around people, but her social battery for other dogs was limited. Forcing her to be in close quarters with dogs she didn’t know seemed like a bad time for her. Honestly, I get it. I was already feeling a little anxious about sharing a room with other writers. 

I signed up for Rover and discovered that the arts district we lived in was a hotbed of willing in-home sitters. I traded emails with a few and landed on someone who seemed like a perfect fit: an earnest young dancer named Melissa who took classes at the hip-hop studio next to our focaccia spot and lived just on the other side of the park. Tavi liked her instantly. I was thrilled. 

I left a novella’s worth of instructions for Tavi. She usually watches Law & Order: SVU when I’m away, and the dun-dun sounds are soothing to her. She’s friends with the old man at the bodega who likes to give her cheese crackers.

She knows some of the comedians outside the club down the street. She likes her toys put in the freezer if it’s hot outside. I realized my list sounded more like the rider for a spoiled child actor than a rescue puppy who’s been pulled from a kill shelter.

At the retreat, I checked my phone compulsively. Melissa sent photos daily and updates throughout my five day trip. “Took Tavi to do yoga in the park.” “Tavi sat in on dance class.” “Tavi got free rosemary breadsticks because they said it’s her favorite.” I could cry, I was so happy. 

Melissa got a fancy dance company dream job and moved to New York shortly after. (Still not over it, Melissa! How could you?) But thanks to her, Tavi and I had successfully managed our first week away. 

The next year, Tavi and I moved to a neighborhood on the west side of the city. We were closer to my new job, closer to the beach, and just a mile away from a state park with beautiful hiking trails. But with my new job came longer hours and more after-hours schmoozing, which meant more time away from Tavi than I was willing to leave her alone for.

This brought in a new wave of anxiety. I didn’t want her around large dogs that might play too rough with her. I wanted her to have outside time, but I didn’t want her to be stuck outside when the weather got too hot. And I needed staff that would get to know the dogs and really keep an eye on them.

After auditioning a few, we found our clear favorite at what I lovingly called Punk Rock Doggie Daycare. The technicolor-haired, heavily-pierced, face-tattooed staff loved her and she danced like a maniac when she saw them. I trusted them instantly.

These were not people who minced words. They’d happily tell me when “she was kind of possessed today and sassing anyone who got too close” or “got into a screaming match with a mini poodle, but they worked it out.” I appreciated the way they seemed to really understand and embrace the personalities of the dogs. 

The next time I had to travel away from Tavi, this time on a work trip to Sacramento, I gave it a shot with Punk Rock Doggie Daycare. She already knew them, she already knew the other dogs, and they seemed to be attuned to when Tavi was over-stimulated and needed a little chill out time. Plus, I loved that their staff slept in huge California King beds with the dogs in a big slumber party.

I got text updates from them the whole weekend. It was a chilly January weekend (by SoCal standards, anyway) and they decided to keep her soft pink bunny fleece on her the whole time.

It was a brilliant move on their part – it kept Tavi warm, it attracted welcomed attention from the humans and other dog parents, but most of the dogs she didn’t know well weren’t interested in her when she was wearing her costume.

When I picked her up they said she had a good time. I asked about how the slumber party had gone. Nina, my favorite daycare worker, said that Tavi had joined a tiny dog gang of the strongest personalities.

This mean girl group of my Tavi, a Chinese Crested, a Chihuahua, and a Mini Dachshund, decided the bed was for closers and relegated the other dogs to the mats on the floor. I immediately apologized for her Regina-George-like behavior. Nina shook her head. “Nah. They always work it out. They’re pack animals. We just make sure no one gets too psycho.” 

I was in pieces when Punk Rock Doggie Daycare closed the next year due to rising rent costs. A few of the staff tried to set out on their own briefly, but it was never really the same. Tavi and I moved again, buying a home closer to our old Valley neighborhood, and we were in the market for a sitter once again. 

We tried a few other doggy daycares, but after a few brief daytime visits, she didn’t seem interested. I asked the staff how it went: “fine.” Fine, like she behaved herself? Fine, like she had a good time? Fine, like she’s alive, isn’t she? I know I was spoiled, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax having so little information to go on.

By the time I went away again, this time to Hawaii, Tavi and I had a few years of dogsitting her Chihuahua-Pug best friend, Chico. Chico’s family was in between cats (Tavi’s mortal enemy) and the timing was perfect for her to stay with them for a week.

I wouldn’t have trusted a new sitter to stay with Tavi so long, when I was as far away as Honolulu, but I obviously trusted them completely. They got to see the comedy stylings of Tavi and Chico, affectionately known in my house as Crazy and Lazy. Tavi adored playing with their kid and sat patiently to model construction paper haute couture. I knew Tavi loved them and was having an amazing time with her friends. 

Soon after, they got a new cat. I came over just once with Tavi, just to see if maybe she could put aside her species blood feud for the sake of friendship. While she stayed technically on her best behavior, she mad-dogged the new cat in a staring contest hard enough that the cat peed in fear on the couch and then once more on their bed, just to make sure the point was driven home.

Since then, I’ve gotten lucky. For a few years, Tavi had a sitter with a big house and a sprawling gated yard, just a few miles away. The sitter family had a pool and Tavi would spend her days sunbathing poolside, solar charging as the sun dappled in through palm trees. This particular sitter also had a two year-old son with a penchant for dropping pieces of chicken nuggets and rice that Tavi was only too happy to help clean up. 

When that sitter moved to Florida, we cycled through a few students from the nearby college. “She’s very easy,” I told them, “she really just wants you to be here with her. I’ll give you my DoorDash account, whatever you want, just make sure she’s comfortable.” 

When I was away on a weekend trip to Las Vegas, I’d forgotten to turn off the Eufy Camera. I’d purchased it just for security peace of mind on the rare instances I left her alone to see friends at night, but never meant to leave it on, so blatantly recording my living room. I worried that the dogsitter would see the camera and feel spied upon.

When I realized I’d left it on, it was getting late. I decided that in the morning, I should say something, tell the sitter that it would be okay to turn the camera around or unplug it. I wasn’t running a surveillance state over here.

But the Eufy camera kept dinging with activity. Finally, I gave into temptation and checked it out. My anxiety crept in. What if Tavi had somehow opened the door and was coming and going as she pleased? What if the door had been left open? A million increasingly unlikely scenarios played themselves out in my head.

Finally, I gave in to temptation and checked it out. There was Tavi sitting between her dogsitter and three other college-aged students. There was a pizza on the table and they passed around a joint while they watched a movie. I laughed in my hotel room… Tavi looked like she was having the time of her life, scoring little pieces of pizza crusts off her new friends. I decided not to mention the camera to the sitter. I figured that we could extend a little “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” energy back home. 

The college kids came and went, as they tend to do. By now, Tavi was 10 years old. While she’s chosen an admirable “you’re only as old as you feel” approach to aging, her custom-blended dog food, heart medications and joint supplement schedule was better suited to a regular sitter that we could really get to know and trust. I needed someone who would know Tavi and know right away if anything was out of the ordinary… and would know me well enough to be comfortable calling me without hesitation. 

We finally found our current dogsitters, once again through Rover. A married couple with a lovely house with a backyard, out in the suburbs of the city. They have big, gorgeous parks with mature trees to walk Tavi. They adore how she insists on snuggling with them on the couch and burrowing in with them at nighttime. And they have two big Golden Retrievers that delight in letting Tavi boss them around.

Now at twelve and a half years old, I’m exceptionally grateful that Tavi does so well with her sitters. She’d always rather travel with me and she almost always does, but she seems to genuinely enjoy her staycations. She doesn’t pull on the leash when I leave her. She looks back once, almost for my benefit, and then bounces inside their house.

I realize that in the years to come, there may come a time where I will no longer feel comfortable leaving her. Her heart condition is stabilized, but even after surgery and daily medications, it’s something we monitor together, adjusting day by day to keep her comfortable, healthy, and happy. 

I’ve made peace with the idea that our lives have seasons— she’s thoroughly enjoyed her solo adventures and I’ve been able to relax during the times when I’m away from her. I think it’s been good for both of us. And if we enter a season of us only traveling together, I welcome and cherish that time too.