He’s only been there twice. The first visit was only a brief rest stop at my parents’ house during an almost twenty-four hour road trip, but the second visit determined this place was not worth visiting ever again.
The second time time he came with me to see my parents was when he was barely a year old. I had planned on boarding him at a kennel for the few days I was going to be home, since my mom had two dogs and they were questionable in how they would take to a newcomer. By the time I got to the kennel, though, it had closed for the night and no one would answer the phone. Stuck, I called my friend Megan and asked if she would mind dog-sitting until the kennel opened in the morning.
When we got to Megan’s house, she shut her Saint Bernard Maggie in an upstairs bedroom so Ares could check out the house. While we talked, Maggie barked and dug at the door, while Ares kept nervously looking at the staircase.
With a loud crack, Maggie finally worked the bedroom door open and galloped down the stairs, launching straight for Ares. Absolutely horrified that a dog this huge existed, Ares tried to cram himself under a table but ended up being pinned under a heavy, furry butt.
We decided this might not work out.
At my parents’ house, the resident dogs were closed inside while Ares had the run of the backyard to calm down. After half an hour or so my mom let them outside to check each other out. She was worried about the chow’s behavior, but Bear just ignored Ares. Instead Harley, the Australian shepherd, surprised us all by tackling Ares and holding him down. I had to pick his pathetic self up and carry him away. The next day I called the kennel, learned it was full, and so was forced to set up his things in my bedroom, where he spent the next four days cowering.
He never got over his fear of other dogs.
As if canine-induced trauma wasn’t enough, before we returned to Erie we stopped at Megan’s house to chat. Ares was kept in the backseat of the car by his folded kennel blocking access between the front seats. I had tied both sides to the seats with twine so it wouldn’t move while driving. 
Ares stayed in the car while we stood outside of it talking with Megan.
Suddenly Ares began screaming and yowling and panicking in the car. We threw open the door to find Ares flopped over into the passenger seat, flailing and pissing everywhere. He failed to clear the crate and got his hind foot stuck between the metal folds.
Thinking he broke his foot, I pulled him out of the car. The instant he hit the ground he ran up to Megan and danced around her for attention like nothing happened. The damage in the car was an annoyance – the fabric seats were soaked in urine, the car stank like panic, and Ares had gnawed a chunk out of the gear shift, all in the ten seconds he spent barely caught by his foot.
After that, I bought him a harness that straps him in by the seatbelt, but he nearly chewed through the entire seatbelt strap before I caught him doing it. Ares hasn’t been back to visit my parents in nearly three years which is just fine by everyone involved.
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