Packing for Japan (and Leaving the Dog With More Structure Than We Have)

Packing has officially begun.

Jen and I have entered that magical pre-trip phase where the bedroom looks like a REI exploded and your brain suddenly decides it's vital to compare seven different brands of travel toothpaste.

Naturally, I made a detailed Japan Trip Packing Checklist. It includes the essentials:

• Camera gear that weighs more than a small toddler

• Two lenses, multiple SD cards, backup batteries, and a charger that works on Japanese voltage (thank you, Google)

• A small tripod I’ll use once and carry around for eleven days because I might want a long exposure shot of a vending machine

• A hoodie, five pairs of underwear, and exactly one “nicer” button-down shirt in case we accidentally stumble into a Michelin-starred restaurant

It’s all very dialed-in. Organized. Reasonable. Until you compare it to Hoss’s list.

Yes, while we’re sweating it out in Tokyo, Hoss will be holding down the fort with a routine that rivals most Olympic athletes.

Each day, our son Garrett will:

• Feed Hoss exactly one cup of food in the morning and one cup at night

• Refill the water bowl with the urgency of someone managing a hydration crisis

• Walk him like clockwork

• Collect packages and mail like a part-time UPS employee

• Tidy up the kitchen, shut down the house, and basically keep the place running like a dog-themed AirBnB

If Garrett does any of these things, it will be the first time in recorded history. The checklist is less a list of expectations and more of a fictional screenplay called "Teen Becomes Responsible."

Hoss, on the other hand, has already reviewed the schedule, filed it under "acceptable," and is fully prepared to supervise from the couch.

Meanwhile, I just asked myself for the fifth time whether melatonin is considered a liquid under TSA rules.

The dog is living in a schedule-based utopia. We’re hoping to make it through Haneda Airport without sweating through our travel pants.

At this point, I fully expect Hoss to text us a mid-trip update that says, “Hope you’re having fun. I just had salmon and wiped down the counters. Love you.”

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