When snowbirds trek south, they often take along their best friends. Dogs, cats, chatty birds … we’ve seen them all in RV parks throughout the Southwest.

Sometimes the biggest dogs stroll out of the smallest rigs and it’s not unusual to see a handsome cat stretched out across the dashboard on or off the road.

Our cat Spike, a Garfield look-alike, was not as casual in his first snowbird trek. We allowed him to explore our motor home while it was parked in the driveway.

We bought him a beautiful new harness so he could go outside safely. We put it on and told him how handsome he was. That cat wasn’t buying anything we had to say.

As departure day approached he grew crafty about where he hid in the house. Only the sound of the vacuum cleaner could get him out from under our king-size bed.

Spike and I had been together for a long time and I understood he was set in his ways. Nonetheless, he was going with us.

On D-day, I turned on the vacuum and picked him up as he slithered out from under the bed. I held him close, talking softly the whole time and marched right to the motor home. My husband slammed the door behind us.

I showed Spike where his food, water and litter box were placed – all the comforts of home, I explained.

The engine turned over and Spike dove for the floor. He spent the three-day road trip under the sofa coming out only at night when we were parked and asleep.

When he finally did deign to appear in daylight, he was minus the harness, which he had chewed off and rendered useless.

A truce was reached. He’d go with us, but only on his terms: no harness, no leash, his favorite cat food, and permission to sleep on my bed during the day because it had a warm down comforter.

Pets are always good for happy-hour stories since they often seem to have more common sense then their people.

Certainly that was the case for Bud, an aging springer spaniel who was the best friend of a retired county sheriff from Moro, Ore. Sheriff Jerry loved to talk about Bud. We suspected if Bud could talk, the stories would be even funnier.

Bud had seen Jerry separated more than once from the saddle of a horse or the seat of his four-wheeler while they were off on hunting trips or fishing excursions. On one occasion, Bud’s body warmth saved his human from freezing through a long, cold night after a serious accident.

Despite the injuries he incurred, Jerry continued these misadventures. Bud, however, seemed to get a little wiser each time.

One day, the two set off on a fishing trip in Jerry’s old boat. The river was running pretty good as they set out, Jerry handling the small outboard; Bud in the front scouting for fish.

According to Jerry, the engine conked out early, but they were already in the current moving swiftly downstream. He reached for the paddle in the bottom of the boat. Oops, the handle was broken.

The boat was on a direct course with a set of rapids. White water splashed over rocks, seen and unseen.

Bud looked at the rapids and back at Jerry. Then he jumped out of the boat and swam to shore, leaving Jerry behind to ride the rapids alone.

A few hours later, a couple of fishermen spotted Jerry and the battered boat well below the rapids. They gave him a ride back to his jeep, where Bud was waiting. “How could you do that to me, man … leave me like that?” Jerry asked Bud.

Bud licked his hand and climbed into the front seat of the jeep.

Those of us around the campfire as Jerry told this story figured we might have done the same in Bud’s place.

My favorite happy-hour dog story starred Thor, a frisky young chocolate Lab who belongs to a retired Bellingham physician.

Thor was sent to weeks of field training to hone his hunting skills. When he returned home with his well-chewed training fowl, it was the doctor’s turn to test Thor’s newly acquired expertise.

The two attended a field event with dozens of other dogs and their owners. Thor reverted to every bad habit possible. He didn’t respond to commands. He disrupted the good behavior of other dogs. It was not a good day.

Back home, remedial training was in order. Thor’s owner put him through an hour of serious drill, sending the dog repeatedly into the water to retrieve his training bird. Finally, exhausted and frustrated with Thor’s response, he dropped the training bird on the patio and went in for a stiff drink.

Temper cooled, he went back out to talk to his dog in a more loving manner.

Thor had also chosen to express an opinion on the day’s events. Smack dab on top of the training fowl was a steaming pile of dog poop.

You gotta love it when a dog has the final “word.”

The happy-hour crowd did.

Linda Bryant Smith writes about life as a senior citizen and the issues that concern, annoy and often irritate the heck out of her now that she lives in a world where nothing is ever truly fixed but her income. You can e-mail her at ljbryantsmith@yahoo.com.