A Trip for the Girl Who Deserved the World
There’s a certain kind of electric hum in the air just before a trip, a thrum of anticipation that every dog seems to sense. For our rescue pittie, Maya, the day before our big glamping getaway to Big Bear was no different. You could see it in the extra wag of her tail, in the way she followed us from room to room as we started to gather our things. She knew something special was happening.
Before we could even think about packing our own bags, though, our first priority was Maya. We’d only had her in our lives for a few months, and every day we were still learning the depths of the gentle soul who had been through so much. All we knew about her past was that she was found abandoned in the woods, a story that felt impossibly cruel for a creature so full of love. So, we made a silent promise to her: from now on, her life would be filled with nothing but comfort, love, and the kind of gentle adventures she had always deserved.
This trip was the first grand gesture in that promise. It was going to be her first real vacation, and we wanted it to be perfect. With the cold November air of the mountains in mind, our first stop was the pet store. We were on a mission for the perfect jacket. Maya, ever the patient princess, stood calmly as we tried on five or six different coats. Some were too tight, others too flashy. And then we found it—a cozy, blue jacket that fit her perfectly. She looked like a seasoned adventurer, ready for whatever the mountains had in store.
Back at home, the packing began in earnest. We laid out matching pajamas for Maya and her mama, a silly but sweet touch for our first family trip. We gathered piles of extra blankets, her new jacket, and of course, plenty of her favorite food. Every item we packed was a small token of our love, a tangible piece of the promise we had made to her. This wasn’t just going to be a glamping trip; it was going to be the most luxurious, cozy, and love-filled getaway a rescued pittie could ever dream of.
A Whole New World of Firsts
We hit the road bright and early on Friday, leaving the sprawl of Los Angeles behind for the crisp mountain air of Big Bear. Maya was a natural traveler. From the very first day we brought her home from the shelter, she had a way of making herself comfortable in the car, claiming her spot as if she’d been our co-pilot for her entire life. She watched the city give way to rolling hills and then to towering pines, her nose twitching, taking in all the new smells.
When we arrived, our little cabin was everything we had hoped for. It was a cozy sanctuary with huge windows that framed the stunning mountain landscape, allowing Maya to enjoy the view even from the warmth of the indoors. The company we booked with had clearly understood that Maya was the VIP of this trip; they had left out bowls of fresh water and a generous stash of treats just for her, a welcome that made her feel right at home instantly.
The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring. For a dog who had known the fear and uncertainty of the woods, this was a different kind of wilderness. This was a place of adventure, not survival. She took it all in with a quiet confidence—the scent of the pine needles, the vastness of the sky, the crunch of the earth beneath her paws. As the sun began to dip below the peaks, casting a golden glow over the landscape, we built our first campfire. We laid out a special blanket for Maya, her own spot by the fire, where she curled up and watched the flames dance, her coat warm and toasty.
Saturday was Maya’s day of firsts. After a cozy morning, we geared up for a hike. She had never been on a real trail before, and her excitement was boundless. She bounded up and down the path, her nose to the ground, sniffing every new and fascinating scent the forest had to offer. And then, we reached a clearing, and she saw it: snow. She stopped, her head cocked in confusion at the strange, cold, white powder under her paws. After a moment of hesitation, she took a tentative step, then another, before breaking into a joyful run, kicking up little clouds of snow behind her. Seeing that pure, unadulterated joy was a moment we’ll never forget.
After our hike, it was time for another first. We headed into the charming little town, and Maya, ever the social butterfly, greeted every person and dog we passed with a happy wag. We stopped at a local coffee shop, and while we got our lattes, we ordered Maya her very first puppuccino. She slurped it down with gusto, her face covered in whipped cream. It was an instant obsession. To this day, every time she sees a coffee cup, her eyes light up with the hopeful excitement that it might be a special treat just for her.
The Coziest Night and a New Tradition
Back at the shelter and in her first few weeks with us, Maya had her own bed. It was a rule we thought was important, a way to establish boundaries. But up in the mountains, in our tiny, cozy cabin, there was simply no room for a separate dog bed.
So, on our first night, we explained the situation to her. With a heavy heart and a dramatic sigh, Maya, much to her feigned disappointment, was “forced” to abandon her lonely bed on the floor. Her only option was to find a spot in the big, warm, comfortable bed with her two favorite humans.
She quickly discovered the coziest, most premium spot available: right in the middle, nestled between her mom and dad, a furry, warm hot water bottle with a gently snoring engine. She burrowed under the covers, a picture of pure, unadulterated bliss. For a dog who had once slept alone in the cold woods, this was the ultimate expression of safety, warmth, and belonging.
That night, listening to her soft breathing between us, we realized that our old rule about her having her own bed seemed silly and arbitrary. This feeling of family, of being a true pack, was something we all needed. The second night was a repeat of the first, a new routine that already felt like a cherished tradition. She didn’t wait for an invitation; she just knew where she belonged—right in the heart of her family.
Bringing the Mountain Magic Home
All too quickly, Sunday morning arrived, and it was time to pack up. The weekend had flown by in a blur of happy memories and new experiences. We loaded our things back into the car, but before we left, we let Maya have one last run, one final sniff of the crisp mountain air.
The drive home was quieter. Maya, exhausted from her adventures, slept most of the way. When we finally pulled into our driveway and opened the door, she showered us with grateful, happy kisses. As much as she loved her mountain adventure, she was happy to be home.
That first night back, as we got ready for bed, we looked over at her own little bed in the corner of the room. But Maya wasn’t even looking at it. She just sat by our bed, looking up at us with the same expectant, hopeful eyes she had in the cabin. The new tradition, it turned out, wasn’t just for vacation.
Without a word, we lifted the covers, and she hopped right in, curling up in her now-permanent spot right between us. We never looked back. That trip did more than just give our sweet girl a few days of fun. It solidified our bond, broke down our old rules, and taught us that sometimes the coziest place in the world is all together in one bed. The mountain magic had come home with us, and our little family was all the better for it.
