Our sweet chiweenie (chiweenie = half chihuahua + half dachshund/a.k.a. wiener dog + half potato) and the world’s most amazing adventure dog, Pixie, died in October at age 15. She was starting to slow down and had let us know she wasn’t keen on going for bike rides anymore, but we thought she still had a couple stay-at-home “house cat” years left so we were taken by surprise and are still grieving her passing.

Pixie came to us by happenstance nine years ago while we were in a pet-free lull and contemplating a pet-free forever. As much as I miss my little Rootbeer Balonybutt (one of her many awesome kid-given nicknames!), I’m still thanking my lucky stars that she fell into our laps and we got to spend so much time with her.

Before she was ours and we were hers, we’d met Pixie many times on Kidical Mass Seattle group bike rides. Her moms, our friends, had two clashing rescue dogs they valiantly tried to make work together for a couple years, but after a huge dogfight left Pixie with dozens of stitches we answered their Facebook plea and became temporary dog sitters…though for the other pup while “Franken-Pixie” healed from her wounds. Pixie’s sister was not our perfect houseguest–she didn’t like kids, gnawed Lego bricks, tugged the leash with all her might in an attempt to attack any passing bus, and was twice as big as Pixie so she didn’t fit in the bike basket as well. Oh! Did I neglect to mention that our friends trained both dogs to ride in baskets and run alongside bikes? Hallelujah! It can take a lot of work to bike-ify a dog so it was a huge boon that Pixie came ready to ride.

Once Pixie healed we alternated between the two dogs, swapping back and forth every couple weeks while our friends continued slowly working on reconciling the two. Their research led them to animal behaviorists. They chose the best one and made an appointment. Obviously “the best one” meant “long waitlist,” but we loved having loaner dogs for a couple months, especially knowing the animal behaviorist would fix everything and this was just temporary. Due to the necessity of keeping the dogs separated I got to take Pixie to the behaviorist and it was fascinating! It was also far away–it took a three-mile bike ride + three buses + one-mile walk just to get there. The office abutted a veterinary clinic, lending it an air of legitimacy and the behaviorist had a prescription pad (also legit!)–both dogs left with Prozac scripts. My friends also received a choreographed plan for a face to face (muzzle to muzzle?) meeting after a month of built-up meds.

The medicated meeting was a bust. Our friends were heartbroken, but kept at it with more research, more dog swapping, and more attempted doggie playdates. Ultimately, they admitted defeat and Pixie became our permanent charge.

Admittedly, Pixie was only an adventure dog out of necessity. At heart, she was a homebody. If she had her way, her human pack would spend all day in the same room as her so she knew she and we were safe. For the first few years she had to sit on my lap to feel safe, but in time she just had to be in the same room. For a very long time–longer than the lap sitting years–she assumed anytime we visited a friend’s house she was being rehomed. Our friends got her from the human society when she was about four, making us probably her third home, but possibly her fourth or more.

She liked things quiet, no running or jumping allowed. Running might lead to roughhousing might lead to someone getting hurt, and she didn’t want to risk anyone getting dozens of stitches on her watch.

But as much as she liked chilling at home with little to no activity, she never wanted to be left behind and if given the choice, would always opt to come along on the bike so she joined us for countless adventures.

Pixie LOVED cats and while most cats fled her overexcited prancing and whining, there is one special kitty who tolerated her…and toleration is high praise from a cat! Houdi Joe Pie is a Maine Coon mix (and therefore twice as big as Pixie!) who lives 100 miles away in Eugene, but they got to hang out quite a bit. Cramming my Big Dummy into Jolene and Houdi’s van to accompany them camping along the Deschutes River Trail was my personal favorite dog + cat adventure because I got to carry both critters on my bike.

Pixie mostly traveled by bike basket. At nine pounds she fit very comfortably in a somewhat thick dog bed (I dunno the make or model—it was thrifted from Village Merchants) in the Linus Delano basket on my Surly Big Dummy cargo bike, but she fared fine in the slightly smaller and more universal Wald 137 baskets on my regular bikes. The enormous Wald 139 on our tandem was great because in addition to Pixie and her chunky dog bed I could fit lots of other stuff, like two sleeping pads plus all the stuffed animals for a camping trip.

The above photo shows my preferred way of basketing a dog (from bottom to top): 1) dog bed, 2) dog, 3) baby blanket, 4) cargo net.

Now Pixie wasn’t only a basket babe—she also had backpacks! I love our Timbuk2 MuttMover because I could bring her between Seattle, Portland, and Eugene on Amtrak (sub-20-pound dog + approved carrier ride for $24 any trip less than seven hours). It has zippered head holes at different heights on each side, though I always chose to unzipper the one of my left so people in cars could see my precious cargo, and because what’s the point of biking with a dog if no one knows you’re biking with a dog?!

The MuttMover was mostly just for train trips, but every so often Pixie and I would go somewhere on a basket-less bike and it saved the day.

I’m not a big backpack fan and suffer from chronic back pain so even little nine-pound Pixie wasn’t fun to wear for long spells. I’ve seen a lot of K9 Sport Sacks around and hoped that a snugger, higher dog might feel better, even if it wouldn’t work on the train. We never got around to using it much so I’m not sure it would have solved my back pain problems, but Pixie seemed to take to it.

Pixie wasn’t a good candidate for a bike trailer since she was a boss b*tch alpha dog and needed to be out front, leading the pack, not being dragged behind like an afterthought. If ever one of my kiddos zoomed ahead of me, she’d whine anxiously and try to climb out of the basket. In fact, she didn’t really like anyone riding ahead of her so the best group rides for Pixie were always the ones I (I mean, Pixie) led. We took one very short bike trailer trip to the grocery store with a sick kiddo. It worked OKish with the kid keeping her company inside the trailer, but had she been alone back there she surely would have scrabbled her way out.

Two years ago we added a Larry vs. Harry Bullitt (a.k.a. bakfiets a.k.a. longjohn a.k.a. front-loader) cargo bike to our family fleet. The plan was for it to be a unicycle-toting kid vehicle, but by the time it arrived from Denmark the kid unicycle phase had ended. HOWEVER, Pixie was starting to act fed up with #basketlyfe so the Bullitt found a new purpose and its spacious roost extended Pixie’s riding lifetime. We started out with her dog bed in the box which a cargo strap wrapped around the bike and through her harness to anchor her down, but eventually I invested in a doggie car booster seat (which I’m only aware of thanks to a chihuahua friend who rides in one on a bike’s front rack) and that provided a great, safe, comfortable vantage point for the old girl.

Enthusing over the the Bullitt makes me feel bad for the Big Dummy so I need to sing its praises, too. The beauty of my Big Dummy longtail cargo bike is that Pixie had her dedicated space at the front of the bike and I could load up whatever I wanted on the back and it didn’t impinge on her throne. This was not only good for camping trips with lots of stuff, but also little in-town adventures that required toting big cargo loads.

I’m not sure how to wrap this up because I’m not ready to close the Pixie chapter. And maybe I won’t–I should write a recap of our last epic bike trip in which we pedaled from Seattle to just over the Canadian border and back. Coming soon. In the meantime, hug all the members of your pack for me–human, canine, feline, etc–and remember: no roughhousing.