The amount of dirt a dog accumulates remains constant, regardless of the size of the domicile in which they later distribute the load. The shaggiest dog can not, alone, make a castle dusty. In a tiny trailer, a dog of Roo's caliber, in a space this small, brings to mind Woody Allen's curse, "May all the sands of the desert fill your navel."
Greetings from northern Maine. A water pump gave out on us and we had to spend the day at a repair place called Mountain Road RV in Sabattus, Maine. These guys not only took on the job on a priority basis, they ironed everything out and billed a factory they don't even have a warranty arrangement with. On top of that, John, the owner, took the time to give me in-depth technical explanations, a virtual lesson in some of the trailer's components (our trailer is superb–completely worth the two years of looking and researching. The only thing about it that isn't good is the documentation). Thanks, you guys! What a great experience.
Tonight, we are in a tiny campground a couple of hundred miles from the Canadian border, over which we will cross tomorrow. I was hoping to make it to Labrador or Newfoundland, but it doesn't look like it's going to be possible. The ferry ride to Newfoundland (where Labs are from; Newfoundlands are from Labrador. The wires on that one got crossed years ago and it stuck) is 6-8 hours, and dogs have to stay in the car, and people can not visit the cars. What a pitiable reason not to be able to go, but unless there's another way (well, the have kennels, but there are picture of the crew leading muzzled dogs to them, and the shipping company says it is really, really not preferable, and I believe them), so much for Orville's ancestral homeland. One can drive to Labrador, but only trailers insulated as well as Labradors or Roo could go this late in the year. We're out of luck.