The Things I Carried Setting off on her first long reporting trip in years, beagle in tow, journalist Melanie Kaplan experiences the muscle memory of past travels.

Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of dispatches from the Knight Science Journalism Program’s 2021-22 Project Fellows.

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I left Washington, D.C. on a sunny Sunday morning in early November. Before I pulled onto the freeway, I stopped at my friend Scott’s apartment to pick up some of his dog’s kibble, a special diet I was supposed to start for my beagle, Hammy. Scott handed me the rolled-up bag of food and I wedged it into the back of my car, between the ukulele and foam roller. 

“I have such butterflies in my stomach,” I told him. After all, it had been years since I set off on a month-long reporting trip like this, and man was I rusty. I rattled off my list of concerns: my Honda, with its more than 200,000 miles; travel across the Canadian border, which required a COVID-19 test; Hammy’s gastrointestinal issues, which had prompted his internist to suggest this new food; and the day-to-day logistics of travel with a dog. As I chatted with Scott, I realized I was stalling.

“You’ve got this,” he said, reassuringly. “This is what you do!” He patted Hammy and hugged me goodbye. And then we were off, heading north into Maryland and west toward the Pennsylvania Turnpike. 

As a Knight Science Journalism fellow, I have been working on a book about the use of animals in research, testing, and education. Hammy, a sweet and stubborn hound who spent four years in a laboratory, is joining me on a trip across the country as I report, tour, and share his story. While this is my first time reporting for a book, Scott’s pep talk was apt: I’ve driven across the country and back a half-dozen times with a beagle and have written more than 100 travel stories; strangers often email me for advice on traveling with a pet. 

The car was well-organized, with one empty wine box filled with books and another filled with snacks. I’d packed vaccination records for both of us, a makeshift first aid kit, sleeping bag and inflatable mat just in case, and homemade sweet potato chips for Hammy. I brought an electric kettle and the AC inverter to power it from my car. If I had to leave Hammy for short stretches in freezing temperatures, I could heat water for a Nalgene bottle, cover it with a sock and stuff it in Hammy’s bed — a hack for humans I mentioned in a 2020 article about cold-weather camping.

But everything about travel feels topsy-turvy during a pandemic, and I worried that my in-person reporting muscles had atrophied over the prior months, which — naturally — featured Zoom interviews and elastic waistbands. What are hybrid workers wearing to the office these days, anyway? I brought plenty of face coverings but suspected I would run out of black ones before I had time for laundry. Could anyone take me seriously wearing a Snoopy mask?

In my hotel room before the first interview, I packed a shoulder bag for the day: a half-dozen pens, a couple notepads, my camera and iPad, and all the items Hammy and I could conceivably need — snacks, water, one sweater with holes for four limbs, another with holes for two. As we walked into the meeting, I laughed out loud — realizing here I was trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism while carrying the canine version of a diaper bag. 

Despite the challenging travel climate, I’ve been delighted how many doors have opened — for both of us. Hammy joined me at the Canadian Centre for Alternatives to Animal Methods in Windsor, Ontario, curling up on a chair in the director’s office. In Boston Common, I walked Hammy and chatted with a retired laboratory veterinarian, who agreed to chaperone while I stepped inside the visitor center. “Put your snout mask on,” he called out as I entered the building. Also in Boston, Hammy was invited to join me at Emulate, a company that makes organ-on-chip technology to study biology and develop drugs without animals. I hid carrot slices around a conference room to keep him occupied during my interview. And after touring a simulation lab at one of Harvard’s teaching hospitals, the director joined Hammy and me for a stroll and sniff around Harvard Medical School’s campus; he pointed out the neurology and physiology departments, where animal research is conducted. 

Of course, animal labs aren’t pet-friendly. As I toured one, Hammy waited in the car, nestled in his bed and covered in a soft blanket. But my driving companion was never far from my mind. At the lab, I was introduced to a new colony of naked mole rats — of interest to scientists because of their longevity and low incidence of cancer. My host explained how they operate like bee colonies, with a queen and workers. “And they don’t drink water,” he said. “They get all their water from tubers.” When I entered the warm, dimly lit space, a converted refrigeration room, I saw the furless and nearly blind workers scampering through clear plastic tubes and cages. Sure enough, several of them held cubes of sweet potato in their long incisors. “My beagle loves sweet potato,” I said. I was transfixed watching these industrious and determined little animals and could have stood there for hours. But my own determined animal awaited my return. Diaper bag hanging heavy on my shoulder, I returned to the car and peeked in to see  my slumbering hound. At any moment, he would wake and see me, and then it would be time for a walk and meal — and all the howling and excitement that comes with it. I thought of the naked mole rats and wondered what they looked like sleeping. Then I opened the door. 

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Melanie D.G. Kaplan is a freelance journalist based in Washington, D.C. She is a regular contributor to The Washington Post, National Parks and U.S. News & World Report.