No More Lifting: Our Tailgate Ramp Story

Juniper used to jump into the back of my Subaru Outback like it was nothing. One hop, maybe two, and she was in, nose at the window before I had the door closed. Then last spring I noticed her standing at the open tailgate, front paws up, back feet planted, doing the math. She could still make the jump. It just cost her something.

I'm 61 years old, and I've been lifting 48 pounds of Australian Shepherd mix into that car on camping mornings for longer than I like to admit. Juniper is 11 now, with arthritis in her hips and a stiff left elbow, and we have nine years of road trips behind us, collecting rocks for the garden art I build. I wasn't ready to give up the camping. She wasn't either.

A friend mentioned the PetSafe Happy Ride Folding Dog Ramp. I'll be honest, I had already tried a couple of ideas that did not work. A step stool that slid on the gravel. Me trying to lift her while she braced against the seat, which was hard on her hips and worse on my back. The ramp was the thing I kept circling back to, so I finally ordered one.

This is the story of how that ramp changed our routine. It is not a cure for arthritis, and I would never pretend it is. Juniper still has slow mornings and a vet who helps us manage her joints. But the worst part of every trip, the part where she hesitated and I strained, is just gone.

The ramp weighs 10 pounds and holds up to 150. Those two numbers are the whole story.

The first time I set it up, I expected a production. It was not. The ramp unfolds in two sections, and the safety release latch clicks it into place. I laid it from the tailgate to the gravel, and the rubber feet held steady. The high-traction treads gave Juniper something to grip, and the side rails gave her something to aim for. She walked down like she had been doing it for years.

The going down was the easy part. Going up took her a minute. She stood at the bottom, sniffed the treads, and looked at me. I did not push her. I just stood at the top with a treat and waited. When she finally walked up, she did it slowly, one paw at a time, and I have never been so proud of a dog for doing something so boring.

Here is what I learned over the course of a summer of trips. At 10 pounds, the ramp is light enough that I can carry it in one hand and set it up without thinking. It folds down flat enough to slide behind the back seat of the Outback, or under the camping gear. It also came with a one year warranty, which mattered to me, because I planned to use it hard. At 62 inches long, it is long enough to make a gentle slope instead of a steep climb, and that matters for a dog with a stiff left elbow.

The honest cons: it is plastic, so it is not a piece of furniture, and I keep it out of the sun when I can. It takes a little practice to angle it right on uneven ground. And it is not for every dog. A very small dog might do fine with stairs, and a very large dog needs to know the 150-pound limit is there for a reason. For Juniper, at 48 pounds, it is the right tool.

Last month we drove out to the high desert to look for stones for a dry creek bed I was building. Juniper rode in the back, head out the window, ears pinned, the way she has done since she was a puppy. At the first stop, she walked down the ramp, did her slow morning circle, and then stood at the edge of the gravel watching me pick up rocks. She was not jumping out of the car anymore. She was just getting out, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

What I'd Tell You If We Were Sitting at My Kitchen Table

If we were sitting at my kitchen table, I would tell you this. Do not wait until your dog stops jumping. Do the ramp when the hesitation first shows up, because the hesitation is the dog telling you something. I would tell you that the PetSafe Happy Ride is not fancy, and that is the point. It is a 10-pound piece of plastic with good treads and side rails that gets a stiff old dog into the car without anyone getting hurt. I would tell you to talk to your vet about the rest of the joint plan, because the ramp is a tool, not a treatment. And I would tell you that the first time your dog walks down the ramp at a campsite, with the morning light on the gravel and the whole day ahead, you will wonder why you waited so long.

Juniper still hesitates some mornings. She is 11, and no piece of gear fixes that. But she rides along, and we still camp, and I still collect rocks for the garden. The ramp did not give us a younger dog. It gave us more trips, and that is the same thing.