It starts every year around now.
Not with a conversation. Not with a plan. Just a feeling. A shift. The weather gets warmer, someone mentions a trip, and suddenly there's a weight in the room that wasn't there before.
What about the dog?
You haven't said it out loud yet. Maybe your partner hasn't either. But it's there. The low hum of summer logistics that starts in April and gets louder every week until someone finally says "so are we bringing him or..."
And that's when it splits. Every dog parent I've ever talked to falls into one of two camps.
Camp one: "We'll figure it out." This camp includes people who have brought their dog on a plane, people who are willing to learn, and people who refuse to consider any alternative because the last time they left their dog with someone, they spent the entire trip checking cameras and feeling guilty.
Camp two: "It's too complicated." This camp includes people who have googled it once, found seventeen contradictory answers, and decided that a pet sitter is less stressful than whatever health certificate situation awaits them.
Both camps are valid. Both camps are also temporary. I've watched people switch camps mid-sentence.
The part nobody talks about is that the question itself - "what about the dog" - isn't really about logistics. It's about the fact that you can't fully enjoy something if part of your brain is somewhere else. With someone else. Wondering if they're okay.
Non-dog people book a flight. One tab. Done.
You book a flight and open a second tab for carrier dimensions. That's the whole difference between your life and theirs. One extra tab. Open forever.
Bobby (and Sami)