The Tale of Two Dogs (and How They Got to Newfoundland)

My Hero and I were warned. Getting our dogs to Newfoundland wouldn’t be easy.

"How could you even think of leaving us behind?"

“In February? Are you crazy?”

Maybe we are. Or were. 

“We’ll fly to St. John's, no problem,” we told everybody and, in case you have just tuned in, St. John's is on the Canadian island of Newfoundland. In the Atlantic. “We. Can. Do. It,” we said.

And we did. Will we do it again? Keep reading.

I quickly discovered Air Canada won’t fly dogs from Houston. Houston’s too hot. Never mind that we were flying February 1^st and Houston has experienced of the coldest winters in years.

My Hero informed me we wouldn’t fly Air Canada. We always fly United—gathering those air miles!

But then, we found out United doesn’t fly dogs to Newfoundland. Newfoundland is too cold.

So maybe we should drive.

After a long look at the map, we discovered there’s a nine hour drive around snowy Newfoundland after the overnight ferry ride from the mainland. We heard rumors that Newfoundland’s northern roads aren’t as paved as we think roads should be paved. And maybe they won’t be salted or plowed…

Maybe we will fly after all.

Turns out neither United nor Air Canada will fly dogs in cargo on anything but an “air bus.” Not many air busses fly into St. John’s. By the way, if you think ‘air bus’ means the plane is huge, you would be wrong.

My Hero spent an entire Saturday morning in December lining up our flights for the first weekend in February. It would take three flights to get us to St. John’s. The first, from Houston to Chicago via United. Next, a United flight from Chicago to Toronto. We’d have to spend the night in Toronto. Our third flight would be to St. John’s the following evening via Air Canada, ultimately landing around 1:30 in the morning. Essentially it would be a three day trip. If all went well.

The day before we left Houston, my heart stopped. United canceled our flight to Chicago. Before I could recover, another email informed me United had put us on another flight—not an air bus—and a flight leaving Houston at the same time our flight from Chicago was supposed to take off for Toronto.

Then, miraculously—and I DO believe in miracles—a third email arrived. The original Houston-to-Chicago flight had been reinstated. Just like that. Wow.

So here’s how flying Layla and Annie worked…

Layla, in Annie's crate.

United has a program called Pet Safe. I’m semi-impressed with it. The instructions on line explained what kennels/crates we needed, size-wise. I bought them at Pet Smart. The Pet Safe people over the phone and in person seemed nice enough. We dropped in to check it out. I’m glad we did—it didn’t seem so foreign when we dropped off the dogs.

The Pet Safe program is picky. The only thing you’re allowed in the crate with your dog, besides newspaper or some kind of lining on the floor for accidents, is a blanket—all for your dog’s safety, of course. United promises to keep the temperature in the live animal cargo hold humane.

Air Canada has no such program. You can put anything you want in the crate with your pet. They promise only to keep the temperature in the cargo hold above freezing.

Annie in her igloo

For the Air Canada leg of the journey, I packed an entire suitcase for the dogs. Layla is 40 pounds and has a double thick coat, and she’s loved Houston’s cold January. She’d be alright wearing a thick fabric coat and nestling up with a couple of fleece blankets. Annie, who is 12 pounds, has a nice little soft-sided igloo where she hides during Houston thunderstorms—it’s warm. I packed it in one of those “Space Bags” and vacuumed the air out of it so it would fit in a suitcase. For that last cold leg of the journey, I’d dress Annie in a knitted sweater and a wooly-lined coat I I’d stuff a blanket in her crate and wrap another around her igloo which I’d also jam in her crate. She’d be snug.

pony blankets

Right before we left Houston, a random girl in a random shoe store (who happens to love dogs) told My Hero we should place a horse blanket in the bottom of each crate for insulation. Wow. What a great suggestion! Last minute, I found pony blankets at Charlotte’s Saddlery in Tomball, Texas—and they are fantastic. (Both the pony blankets and the people at Charlotte’s.) The crates would definitely be snug. The dog paraphernalia suitcase weighed 49.5 pounds.   

On Saturday February 1 at 10am in Houston, we said goodbye to Annie and Layla in their minimally suited crates at United’s Cargo/Pet Safe desk and headed to our terminal for human/luggage check-in. We would not see Annie and Layla again until late that night in Toronto. I tried not to think about it.

The flight from Houston to Chicago was brilliant. We’d been upgraded to business, and business class on that particular flight was crème de la crème. I watched the movie of my choosing, wrote a bit, ate a decent meal, drank a gin and tonic. I envisioned Annie and Layla enjoying a doggie spa in cargo below.

Our Chicago-to-Toronto flight was delayed. This time business class upgrade merely meant more space—that was it. Nothing special.

Picking up the dogs in Toronto was a nightmare.

I lost track of time. My American iPhone now turned off, I now had no idea what time it was.   

Obtaining our luggage in Toronto took longer than the flight to Toronto from Chicago. I kid you not. I had no idea that Chicago was so close to Toronto (less than an hour,) but waiting an hour for luggage had everybody wondering… had luggage been put on the flight? My Hero and I were tired and anxious. We still had to go through customs, rent a car and drive to the cargo warehouse to pick up Annie and Layla.

Sounds way easier than it was.

When we finally had a car and our suitcases were in it, we had vague instructions on how to drive to the cargo warehouse and managed to find it. BUT before being reunited with Annie and Layla—and it was no surprise, we knew it would be like this—we were given paperwork for Annie and Layla which needed to be driven to Customs (another building) and approved. Once the paperwork was stamped, we would bring the paperwork back to the cargo warehouse and be reunited with the dogs.

Again, it sounds way easier than it was.

We were driving on snow in a strange minivan in strange city in the middle of the night. Toronto should probably blow the snow off some of its street signs. To get to the Customs office building, we drove the entire perimeter of the airport. Yes, we did. 

My Hero had a lovely chat with the officials in the Customs office. Everyone wants to know something about finding oil. After Customs, we drove the perimeter of the airport again, returning to the cargo warehouse for Annie and Layla, only to discover nobody was there.

The building was open, the door to the office unlocked, the door to the warehouse section locked. After ringing the bell a zillion times, it was all I could do to keep myself from jumping over the counter and helping myself. We pounded on doors. We pounded on windows overlooking forklifts in motion. Nobody seemed to hear us.  

Then finally a little man, who’d been running one of the forklifts behind the Nancy-proof glass, showed up at the desk. He glanced at the paperwork and led us to the dogs. If I hadn’t had fingernail clippers in my plastic bag of 3 ounce carry-on liquids, we wouldn’t have been able to cut the zip ties used to secure the crate doors. No, there were no scissors in the warehouse and crowbars were too big.

Annie and Layla were beyond happy to see us. Shocked by their first encounter with snow and ice in the cargo warehouse parking lot, piddle time was odd at best. 

We arrived at the hotel around four in the morning. Something like that. Annie did her business in the snow. Layla was like, “Are you kidding? I’ll hold it til I see grass.” (She would still be holding if she hadn’t gotten over it the next day. We have not seen grass since February 1, in Houston.)

I’ll plug the hotel, Town Place Suites near the airport in Toronto. We were willing to pay for a second night just to stay in the hotel beyond our noon check-out. They let us stay (for no more than our initial pet fee) until 6 pm. We slept, we ate, I wrote. The dogs were never happier. Layla finally surrendered to the snow and did her business. (By the way, I carry poo bags in my pocket everywhere we go.)

At the Toronto airport Sunday night, we checked the dogs in like luggage—after a two hour delay, of course. Even though it was not called Pet Safe, it somehow felt safer. Of course, the dogs now had all the gear added to their crates. We zip tied them in, said our good-byes and headed to security and then to the Maple Leaf Club where I should have had a second glass of red wine. 

Would we reach St. John’s Hertz Rental Car desk before it closed? Would we have to take two taxis from the airport to the house? Phil called the desk in St. John’s and offered a small fortune for the girl who answered to stay til we got there. And she did.

The Air Canada flight to St. John’s was crowded. We were not in business class but somehow wound up with the only empty seat on the plane between us. I slept.

Upon arriving at St. John’s small airport, Phil acquired car keys and I hurried over to baggage claim where I immediately spotted familiar crates. I ran right past the sign stating all dogs must remain in their crates until exiting the terminal. Didn’t even see it.

I broke through the zip ties with my trusty finger nail clippers, let Annie and Layla out, hugged them like Timmy hugged Lassie after Lassie came home, and I was promptly informed I was breaking the law.

Apologizing, I reluctantly put Annie and Layla back in their crate—until we exited. 

This is the way to travel!

Twenty minutes later, Annie and Layla were happily riding     in the backseat of another rental car, this time headed for Our New Home. I am pretty sure the sun was coming up as we climbed into bed.

Here’s my prediction: When Newfoundland Days come to an end, we will drive back to Texas.