Riding with Ruby

Riding in a car with a dog is an experience that’s new to me. In my childhood, I had cats. And I can tell you, riding in a car with a cat is not fun; it’s something only done when absolutely necessary. No, I did not know the experience of riding in a car with my dog until I became an adult. Pregnant with my third child, we decided our children deserved the joys—and yes, the responsibility—of dog ownership. Little did I realize that I was the one who would get a crash course in the joys and responsibility of raising a young family alongside a dog. And little did I know that this self-proclaimed “cat person” would be completely converted when we brought home Ruby, our spunky, playful and smarter-than-her-own-good Chocolate Lab. The tail wagging when she sees me—whether I’ve been gone for the day or gone to the mailbox—and her gentleness with the children has made me quickly consider her to be part of the family. It’s her exuberance that makes living with her so much fun. And the sheer happiness that happens when she hears the jingle of the leash that promises a walk does not compare to the absolute glee she exhibits when she hears me grab my car keys from off the hook that hangs by our back door. Ruby leaps and starts, imploring me with her eyes: Is the answer yes? Can we ride in the car?

Most of the time, the answer is yes. Driving my minivan back and forth between school and errands and piano lessons, Ruby is almost always invited to come along. In fact, I like her company, the way she listens intently while I chatter to her about my day or recite my to-do list while we wait for the kids to emerge from school. She never interrupts, and never once complains about the music on the radio. She sits quietly, and I wonder what she’s thinking as we pass trees and fire hydrants; when we pass other dogs on walks with their owners, she looks down at them regally. 

Once the initial excitement subsides and Ruby leaps up to her spot in the front passenger seat, she immediately takes on a much calmer persona. As I drive through town, I’ve taken note of other dogs who ride in cars. Some dogs bark and pace in the back seat, while others prefer to sit on their owner’s lap. I once saw a woman skillfully executing a left turn while balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and two chihuahuas, who scuffled on her lap, vying for the best view out the driver’s side window. Still other dogs prefer to hang their head out the window, their ears and tongue lolling in parallel ecstasy, eyes squinted, mouth in an open grin. But Ruby finds all that to be beneath her. On a cool summer day, she will allow her nose to hang out of an open window ever so daintily, where she sniffs the fresh air gracefully; I can see her nose wrinkle slightly. But for the most part, Ruby’s head is erect, looking straight ahead. On especially hot days, I turn the air conditioning vent toward her and she sniffs appreciatively.

We must look like quite a pair, the two of us. Whether by design or not, I chose a dog who matches me almost exactly in hair color. From behind, perhaps it just looks like I’m riding in the car with my sister, or a friend. Ruby looks through the windshield dutifully, nodding pleasantly to the school children who yell out her name; she’s become somewhat of a celebrity at our elementary school. She does not bark, and only wags her tail in a rhythmic thump, thump, thump when she recognizes her family or a neighbor.

Later in the day, I’ll take Ruby for a walk. The walk is that age-old ritual all dog owners adhere to; this in itself is a special time between dog and owner. But even as we end our walk, and Ruby and I return to our home and walk up the driveway, Ruby will pause by the parked car and look up at me imploringly. Her tail will wag hesitantly, as she searches my face for the answer: Can we ride in the car?