The Long Haul.
The Long Haul.
Dogs, cars, and a love that goes the distance. Two years a spirit!
Petey Sellers loved car rides.
Most dogs love riding in the car, the freedom of getting from one place to the next with plenty of smells along the way. If the window’s down, it’s even better - ears flapping in the wind and a rush of scents flying in on the breeze. But with Petey and me, it wasn’t just the car, it was the car – a 1989 baby blue BMW convertible.
That car was pure joy – driving it, riding in it, top-up, top-down, all of it. I don’t have many photos from that time, my hard drive crashed a few months ago and I haven’t had the heart to search through old devices, but my memories are vivid. It was a vibe, and baby Petey was there for it. This was our car for the first year of his life, and we drove across the Freemont bridge to my shared office with the water below us and the entire world before us. It felt like anything was possible – and it was.
I had the car for about six months before Petey, but all my memories have him in it. Friends held him in their laps as we drove around town; I set up the back seat so he wouldn’t slide around on the two-tone interior on our way to doggy daycare; and I saw him grinning in the rearview mirror, a smile that was almost bigger than he was. We drove from one end of Portland to the next, top-down, nature’s A.C. in full effect. There was nothing like it.
When the timing belt broke on the way to a coffee date, and it would have cost more than the car to fix it, I decided to let it go. This was Portland! The land of the $3K car! The city was small, and bike and bus-friendly, so getting a cheap car, driving it until it quit, and getting another one was normal. That wouldn’t have worked in Dallas, but here, it was perfect Plus, I wasn’t finished with my love affair with BMWs, yet. I’m pretty sure Petey wasn’t, either.
The next BMW was even more fun: a cherry red, 1988 BMW 325i. It had my name written all over it! It was still a two-door, sporty model, but it wasn’t a convertible, which was good for Portland. The inside was beige, and the backseat was the perfect height for Petey, a short-long dog, to jump into. I hung a zip line from one side to the other and gave him a harness so that he could ride around town in style. We loved this low-to-the-ground car that was so cute, running errands in it felt like riding in a parade. People smiled. I waved! It was zippy, kitschy, and so beloved, we used it in my first author photos.
When I close my eyes, I can see Petey and me taking that car to the beach. Over the years, we drove to the coast countless times for adventures and writing retreats. The car, even at its age, was a classic luxury car and showed its prowess at higher speeds. It hugged coastal curves tightly and with such control, I always felt safe while driving it. It was built like a tank, and Petey liked riding in it, too. He looked out the side windows or in between the seats, staring ahead on the hour-and-a-half drive. As soon as we rounded the bend and saw water, I rolled down the windows, just enough so we could smell the sea. When we finally arrived, I always parked by the beach and we hopped out, ready for the beach. In the early days, Manzanita was our town and Petey knew it like the back of his paw. There was a cheap motel we loved, right across from the beach. Once, in 2014, I brought a friend and Petey showed him around. “This is where we get coffee!” his prancing seemed to say. “This is where we go for our morning walk! It’s nap time, now. Mom writes! This is where we walk again — and get a treat. And this is where we walk at night before we sleep,” Petey Sellers seemed to say. “Don’t you just love it here?”
After I bought a vintage writer’s cottage that needed work, the repairs on the BMW became too much. Right around the time it needed a huge fix, Petey tore his ACL and needed surgery. The BMW sat in the driveway and Petey’s Original Dad let us borrow his four-door Honda CRV so that I could easily transport Petey to surgery and carry him in and out of the car since he couldn’t walk for 6 weeks. Over time, this new car suited our needs. It was higher up, had AC, cloth seats that weren’t slippery, fewer miles, was 22 years younger, and much more reliable. Petey was growing up. We needed four doors and a ramp more than we needed glamour. Like a parent getting a minivan, I now had an SUV. But as long as Petey was in the rearview, I could adjust to anything.
After letting her sit for too long, the BMW had to be towed to the curb. She also needed so much work to get her ready to sell that I made another choice. I made a phone call, took a few last photos with Petey and the car, and wrote a note from both of us to go with her. The note said: “This car is for the animals. Love, Kari and Petey Sellers.” I put the note in the backseat. When the Humane Society showed up to tow her away as a donation, I knew I’d made the perfect choice. The car that had given us so much would now help other animals.
As they towed it away, I was flooded with memories of me and Petey, taking on the world. We crossed the Fremont bridge until I gave up that office; we made trips to the Gorge for hiking and the beach for hanging out; that car went to every park in the city, including our favorites, Mt. Tabor, Laurelhurst, Forest Park, and Tryon Creek, all trails he loved before his knee surgery and would learn to love, again. I was a girl with big sunglasses, an 80s BMW, and the best dog in the world! It was a car and a life begging for adventure – and getting it.
The adventures continued until the Honda got stolen in 2018. Eventually, it was returned, but trashed (no seats! no dash!) so it was time to shift, again. I shared a car with my then partner, but also used Car2Go, a car share service that used… small BMWs! I was thrilled! We had a new home situation, which was exciting for Petey, but I also needed my independence and link to my old life, the one with me and Petey on the road, wind in our hair/fur, on our way to an adventure. It was a part of my life. It would always be a part of my life, no matter who else showed up in it.
In the fall of 2019, our home situation returned to just the two of us, and I was ready to buy a car. With help from a friend (Hi, Rob!) I found a 2010 Mazda 3 hatchback in Vancouver. It had miles but was in great shape. It also had four doors, was low to the ground, and sporty. As soon as I lifted Petey into the backseat and we went for a spin, I felt us return to a different time, one before knee surgery and life worries. His smile in the rearview mirror confirmed it. So, I packed up the car and we took off. I wanted to make up for lost time, for that year we shared a car and stayed close to home, living on someone else’s schedule. We were Kari and Petey, on the road again! We were headed to the sea! We were free.
When the pandemic arrived in March 2020, we didn’t think it would last. But when I had an ER appendectomy two days into lockdown and a long recovery afterward, our adventures came to a halt. Once I had Petey back home and was recovered enough to drive, we went to parks again, but only close to home. Our new adventure was to weather this new storm together, making friends with our neighborhood and neighbors, in masks and at a distance, for a while. Sometimes we took drives at night, just to be out. We ventured to our old park haunts as I got stronger. I canceled our reservation at the coast but created adventures at home, the main one being that we were alive and together. But when Petey got diagnosed with lymphoma and started treatment, car rides came back.
For six months, that Mazda was the rocketship to our dreams. She was reliable and hugged the road, easy for Petey to get in and out of, but she also made it possible for us to drive an hour each way, once a week, for treatments that gave Petey an extra year of life. It was still early in the pandemic, and on those early mornings, the roads were empty. We played music and sang, watching the seasons change from winter to spring, spring to summer through those car windows. Since I couldn’t go inside the vet with Petey, we had to wait once we got there. To pass the time, I started taking car selfies. Now, these photos are a beautiful record of our time together, traveling and waiting, hoping and wishing. Even though he was there for chemo, Petey hammed it up, turned on the charm, and posed for his moment of fame. He did what he did best – he brought joy. Once he graduated from treatments and was in remission, we went to the beach, windows down with the smell of the sea. We’d go again, one more time, in July 2022, that little car carrying us the entire way.
When I started writing this piece, I laughed. “Oh!” I thought. “I’m such a car girl!” But now I realize it’s more than that: I’m a Petey Sellers girl. The cars were fashion and function, freedom and life, but they were also the container for our love for each other. It was as big as the open sky from a convertible, as wide as the backseat of a CRV, as bright as a cherry red BMW, and as happy as the front grill of the Mazda, which looks like a smile.
On August 24th, Petey Sellers turned two years a spirit. I miss him every day, but on that day, I drove to Mt. Tabor in his honor to take our favorite walk. This time, though, I felt Petey urging me to choose different trails, which I did. I paused at the top and wrote a poem, passed the secret spot to see if his sticker was still there (it was!), and sat on a bench overlooking the reservoir to shed a few tears and talk to my beloved. Then, I got in the car, rolled down the windows, and drove around SE, checking out parts of town I hadn’t seen, in a while. I could almost see Petey in the rearview mirror, a big smile, eyes shining, bringing the memories. Bringing the joy.
Maybe we’d get a drive-through coffee at his favorite place with the dog treats; maybe I’d go home and make eggies, his favorite thing, and share some with him. Maybe he’d nap at my feet and I’d write. His smile that fueled me for years, the one that lived on the outside, lives inside me now, shining brightly, mingled with mine, for all to see. Thank you, Petey Sellers, for everything. I love you! And I’ll always feel you with me, no matter where new adventures lead. Luckily, when it comes to us, it’s a love for the long haul.
Thanks for reading, sharing, commenting, and being here! I didn’t intend to write an anniversary post, I wrote this one weeks before, an August post dedicated to cars, dogs, and summer. But! As always, Petey gave me just what I needed to hear. So! Roll down that window. Take that drive! Peek in the rearview, but look to what’s ahead, always looking forward. In that spirit, please vote! If you feel so inclined, help get out the vote! Petey would have loved the Harris-Walz team. They’re very pro-dog and pro-people, too. Stay tuned for a pivot (and a pause) here in September.
Happy two years a spirit, Petey Sellers. I may have a broken pinky toe, but I love you so. Car rides, forever, buddy! Car rides forever.
Loved reading this. It brought a few tears… and warm recollections.
Love this!!