At one particularly beautiful spot, we stopped for a break and a closer look.
Here I am at the Hollywood Walk of Fame, celebrating my miniature—but still just as respectable—star.
“This is a nude beach, right?”
Something in that moment felt special. You know, being “on tour,” cruising the California coast in a convertible, happy and healthy, and all of us together. I needed a photo to commemorate the moment for the three of us to remember. And to post to my Instagram.
Continuing our drive, we paused at Paso Robles for the afternoon to finally visit some wineries. A dog’s powerful sniffer makes us automatic sommeliers.
I took a hardy sniff.
Then I took a sip, swished it around in my mouth, then gave my evaluation. “The taste is long and full-bodied like my brother Oakley in his pajamas, the bite short and mild, like he just gave you a quick nip on the butt.”
The wine maker looked at me incredulously for what felt like a long moment, then shook his head and walked away to help other customers. *Phew* I bull’ed my way through that one pretty well.
I was out of commission to continue the drive, as was Dad, so Mum took over while we napped in the back together for the rest of the evening. By the time I woke up again, it was the next morning and we were in the spectacular San Francisco.
After a nice walk on the beach by the Golden Gate Bridge, where Mum even applauded me for not taking my shirt off despite it being technically a nude beach, we headed over to the iconic Hyde Street cable car turnaround.
“I’m getting undertones of oak stick . . . coupled with the smokiness of charred bacon on a summer breeze. . . . And ah yes, the subtle funk of Dad’s stinky socks.”
As Mum held me for a better look over the fence I observed, “Mum, this ride does not look very exciting. . . . A children’s merry-go-round moves faster than that thing.”
“Crusoe, it’s not an amusement ride,” she replied. “It’s just where the cable cars turn around so they can go back up the track. It’s a piece of their history.”
“Well, I’d still very much like to ride the history ride then.”
*Ding ding* Away we went!
Well, it didn’t go too fast, but I’ll admit there was something magical about it. I almost felt like I was in a classic old film.
Another cool way to see the city and to especially learn about its history is to take the open-top vintage Fire Engine Tour. San Francisco has a long history “in fire,” as earthquakes are common here, but it was the ensuing fires that were the problem. So, firefighters have always been a very important part of society.
When I asked if I could drive the truck, the guy said, “Whoa, wait a minute—aren’t you that wiener dog that crashed his firetruck in that viral video?”
“No, no, that was not me,” I reassured him. “That was my brother Oakley. Don’t worry, his license has long since been revoked.”
For the afternoon, we decided to just walk around the famous Fisherman’s Wharf. “What is that strange sort of barking sound?” I asked as we approached the side of the pier. “And phew—that smell!”
That’s when I saw them, piled up over each other on the docks, barking like madmen, and stinking up the place worse than the dumpster out back a fish restaurant.
My mind raced through the possibilities of what they could be until I settled on the most likely answer I could think of. “Are those . . . Portuguese Water Dogs?”
“Yes, yes they are,” Dad replied.
Strange. Not quite as I pictured them.
We ended our visit to San Francisco having dinner on Pier 39, enjoying the sunset as all the lights came on and illuminated the place with that magical feeling once again.
Keep cruisin’,Crusoe
"Nothing to see here. Just labradoodles being labradoodles."
“Two of Mum’s favorite things!”
Tulum, Mexico
Aside from the expected sombrero and poncho, you might be wondering why I’m standing next to a Volkswagen Beetle. Well, interesting fact—Mexico was the last place to manufacture the classic cars before they finally went off the line, and it’s essentially become a piece of their cultural heritage!
So away we went, cruising down to Tulum, a place of beautiful beaches, ancient temples, amazing food, and a very respectable movement of eco-friendly boutique hotels.
The first day we hit the beach. Mum and Dad had barely walked two steps when they looked down at me and gasped.
“Crusoe, what are you doing?” Mum exclaimed. “You weren’t even alive in 1999! And this isn’t Cancun, no one wants to party—”
“I’m in!” Dad interrupted.
“Great!” I told him. “Now, grab yourself a beer and tell me what it was like in 1999 so I know what I’m in for!”
As Mum tromped away pretending like she didn’t know us (this happens a lot lately), we felt bad, so followed her up to a quiet spot by the bushes where they laid out a beach towel. When they had finished putting out their things, they turned around to see me powdered in sand.
“Who’s ready to party like it’s 1999!?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you not want your towel buried? I thought you said you wanted your towel buried.”
With towel pleasantly half-covered in sand, I stretched out liberally to begin my sunbathing, a pose that Mum and Dad cutely call “frog legs,” or “chicken drumsticks,” and sometimes, Mum even says I’m so cute that she could just “eat me up!”
Come to think of it, it’s somewhat worrying that all their terms of endearment for me seem to be food-related. . . .
Now, on a trendy beach like this, there’s a fashion statement to be made. However, having such fashion-backward parents (mainly Dad) always cramps my style.
It seems Mum is always looking for a reason to cuddle though, so as soon as she found herself a hammock she snatched me up and pulled me struggling into the depths of her web while bludgeoning me with kisses.
Which quickly made me realize I needed my own hammock.
The next day we embarked on what was likely one of the most unique experiences of my life. Not far from Playa del Carmen is a place called Rio Secreto, which offers tours through a pristine underground river-cave system.
This is not something you’re typically allowed to do with your dog, and in fact, because of the accessibility to the caves, no dog has ever been inside! Until now! I was to be the first and only dog to have ventured within.
I had no idea where I was going, yet I still stubbornly insisted I lead our party. It was a world unlike anything I’d ever seen. Mum and Dad were worried I might get scared, but I was calm and observant.
Stalagamagamites or whatever they’re called, hung from the ceiling, delicately formed over millennia. Yet, all it takes is one little slip to easily destroy thousands of years of nature’s work in an instant.
I continued to lead our party deeper and deeper through the chasms and tunnels, sometimes over hard ground or through shallow water, and sometimes swimming. However, my worry was building, for I had no idea where I was going, and I couldn’t let the team know that.
“You might want to put this book down and go fix yourself a tea or something, because this is about to be the best nap of my life.”
The fact that the underground cave systems in Mexico are some of the most unexplored places on earth wasn’t exactly reassuring.
After several hours of wandering, I finally gave up and turned to the team and said, “Sorry guys, I’m lost.”
A sense of doom fell over everyone. “How long have you been lost for?” Mum demanded.
“Since we started.”
Mum threw up her hands. “Why did you insist you lead the way if you don’t know where you’re going?”
I didn’t understand the question. A dog never truly knows where he’s going. . . . He just . . . wanders!
Luckily, the guide pointed out that there are ropes through the caves that we could follow to the exit.
We finally emerged from the underwo
rld (the Mayans considered these caves the underworld) to the light of day. Although relieved to make it out alive, it was an incredible adventure I’ll never forget.
“Behold, the intrepid, awe-inspiring fictional character after whom I was named, Robinson Crusoe!”
Speaking of the ancient Mayans, I had to find out more about this mysterious culture, and having now discovered Mexico’s caves for all dogkind, my thirst for discovery turned to that of long lost cities.
So off we went, slashing our way through the untamed jungle for hours, sweat glistening down our skin (and fur), and covered in bug bites when we finally emerged in awe at a towering Mayan temple before us.
“Crusoe!” Mum blurted through heavy breaths. “There’s a road and walking access right over there. . . .”
“Yes, I know that, Mother. But do you think Indiana Jones stumbled upon ancient temples via the ticket booth and concession stand?! I don’t think so!”
Mum rolled her eyes.
We continued onward across stonework thousands of years old, crouched through strangely small doorways, and peeked into dark crevices that could still hold undiscovered secrets to this day.
The Mayans’ whole idea of building these temples was that it would bring them closer to the gods up above, so naturally, one must climb, and we headed to the only temple you can still hike up; that of Coba.
As Dad and I climbed up together, Mum clambered on behind us. Occasionally, I’d stop to ensure she hadn’t fainted and tumbled down.
Dad of course carried me since I can’t do stairs, and when we reached the top, he was dripping sweat and light-headed. Pathetic. I wondered how many Mayan god-points I’d receive if I pushed him off the ledge as a human sacrifice. . . . Would the gods grant me eternal life? Superpowers? Even just a sandwich? I was very hungry. . . .
“Can I interest you in some locally grown produce? Everything’s freshly licked from this morning.”
“Us dogs don’t like breaking our routine, especially when it comes to dinner.”
I pondered over the tough decision as Dad toed near the edge taking photos when we heard Mum’s voice from below. “I’m going back down!” she called. “I’m getting dizzy.”
Dad and I were both shocked. “You are so close, just come to the top!”
Yet, she couldn’t do it, which was a shame. I probably could have gotten two sandwiches for the both of them. Now I might as well just wait for lunch.
Normally I only have tacos on Tuesdays, but since I’m in Mexico I guess I could make an exception this one time. . . .
Keep wanderin’,Crusoe
“Hey fella, there ain’t no wiener dogs allowed in this here bar.”
“Who you callin’ a wiener?”
On the Farm(Oxford County, Ontario, Canada)
Oxford County in Ontario is a quiet little place known for its farms and cheese making. So, while there, I visited a local farmstead to lend them a paw with some of their chores in return for some of their cheese! (Since I didn’t get any in Switzerland.)
The owner asked me upon arrival in the typical straight-to-the-point farmer talk, “So, what are ye’ good at?”
That was a loaded question if I’d ever heard one, but I decided to keep it simple. “I can dig!” I said.
“Great, take the tractor to the edge of the field over there and plant me some corn, will ye’ kindly?”
“I will kindly!” I replied.
I hopped up onto the John Deere tractor and puttered over to where she said.
I didn’t waste any time getting straight to the diggin’. I didn’t need any tools, for dachshunds are born with two front shovels!
With my hole dug, I took out a few kernels from my overalls pocket and tossed them into the hole.
The farmer lady came over to check on me, and, as expected, she was beyond thrilled.
Which made me think, if only Mum and Dad were this appreciative of all the holes I dig for them back home, maybe I’d be more willing to help out around the house.
“Maybe you could help me feed the goats next?” she asked.
“They do look like they want something. . . .” I agreed, uneasy having my back turned to them. I thought back to how Mum always uses food-related terms of affection for me, so I worried they might be in the mood for some dachshund.
“They probably want to eat your hat,” she said. “Maybe bring them some hay instead?”
So, I rushed to go fetch some hay. I could only find this dinky little wheelbarrow so had to make like 100 trips back and forth.
*Phew* This farmer stuff is hard work. I was about to throw in my hat for the day (and by that, I mean throw it to the goats), when the farmer lady asked me if I’d like to be introduced to a “chick.”
“Heck, yes!”
Although, it wasn’t the type of chick I was expecting.
I couldn’t figure out why Mum was holding me so tight, and was about to tell her to buzz off when I noticed I was . . . drooling? What the heck? Next thing I knew I was licking my chops and mumbling things about Tweety Birds and cute little chicken drumsticks! This was very odd indeed.
I realized this was my hunter instincts kicking in. Luckily, the farmer lady noticed it, too, and said, “How about some cheese for him, instead?”
No one knows cheese better than a dog, and especially a dachshund!
I could literally describe each kind of cheese here in such exquisite detail that you would be slobbering all over yourself worse than I was, but my willpower is about maxed out by now, so if you don’t mind I will be devouring this in 3 . . . 2 . . .
Keep droolin’,Crusoe
Vancouver, Canada
My impression of Vancouver is that it’s like San Francisco in that it’s progressive, techy, and artsy—but greener. Vancouver is known for its beautiful gardens and lushness in the midst of the city, and still, you need only step out of downtown to be in some of the most enchanting wilderness around.
The Capilano Suspension Bridge Park features a long, springy suspension bridge across a steep valley to a towering forest on the other side. This is where I first learned that I’m not too fond of heights. I walked steadily across, feet apart like a cowboy, slow like a turtle, and never stopping to look down.
A huge sense of relief overcame me as I reached the other side. That is, until it dawned on me: “Shoot, now how do we get back?!”
Yet, seeing this sign on the other side, I knew I was in the right place.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some nature to pee on.
Keep movin’,Crusoe
“Is it okay if I squeak during the flight?”
Atlanta, Georgia, USA
“Do I have ketchup on my face? Because if I do, I better wipe it off before someone gets the wrong idea.”
While in Atlanta, we followed the recommendation of visiting the famous Krog Street Tunnel in the eclectic neighborhood of Cabbagetown (Who the heck came up with that name?). This graffiti-filled underpass is truly a work of art.
I was also told that, somewhere in and around the tunnel, I should try to find the “tiny door”; a new trend going around that’s got people trying to find all these tiny doors hidden around the city.
With my expert sniffer, it didn’t take me long to find it. “Hey Mum, I think someone’s cooking cabbage in here. . . .”
I didn’t bother knocking to avoid any sort of impromptu dinner invitation.
It also seemed I had no choice in the matter of visiting the iconic The Varsity, the world’s largest drive-in restaurant since 1928, and known for their impatient greeting of “What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?”
Keep knockin’,Crusoe
Dinner and a Movie
One thing they don’t tell you about being a celebrity on the road all the time is that it’s very hard to find time for dating.
So, I gave Paisley a call to go out for dinner and a movie; a cute girl I met once before while at one of my epic bikini pool parties.
“Knock her socks off!” Mum said as
I left for my date.
So with a rose in paw, I patiently awaited my date on the edge of my chair, a keen eye on the restaurant entrance.
The door swung open and in walked Paisley. She trotted over to the table and hopped up onto the chair across from me.
“Oh, thanks,” she said, barely acknowledging my gift, her nose held high, casually sniffing the place out as if the stinky bum of the waiter was more appealing than my rose-soaked skin and man-musk cologne.
I quickly texted Mum under the table: MUM—Paisley barely seems interested. Why is she not swooning over me? Why have her socks not been knocked off? Why is she even wearing socks to begin with?!
Mum texted back: Don’t worry, just be a charming gentleman and she’ll come around.
I popped back atop the table. “Ahem, excuse me, I was just—uh, admiring your lovely socks. But you do look stunning in your red dress and pearls I might add.”
“Oh, thank you.” Finally, she blushed and flashed a smile.
I felt the time was right to order drinks, so I had the waiter bring us a bottle of their finest.
With drinks poured, I asked Paisley to tell me a bit more about herself.
“Well, I’m 4 years old and a quiet country girl. I like walks in the woods, trying on new outfits, and posing for my Instagram.”
“Oh lovely! That sounds a lot like me. So, are you an aspiring star yourself, because I could make you an overnight celebrity if you like?”
Crusoe, the Worldly Wiener Dog Page 2