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Watching the Rocky Mountains recede into the distance from the cushioned comfort of a Gulfstream GV, one can easily find oneself reconsidering the feasibility of a bicoastal commute. I turn to my companion, a stoic and stately blonde with a soulful stare. “This is totally doable, right? Like, we could do this regularly if we had to?” He exhales in response, a damp snort.
A flight attendant appears bearing a silver-domed tray and balletically lowers herself to lap height. Actually, kind of below. Well, now she’s on the floor. But of course, it’s not for me, this platter of temporarily hidden delights: She raises the lid and points its contents at my seatmate, who enthusiastically, and without much pausing for things like chewing or breath (let alone politesse), scarfs down far more than his designated share of cylindrical rolls of Beefy Meat Hunks. At the center of the platter is a brown leather loafer. This—like the bone-broth “champagne” service that preceded it—is not about me or what I might consider plane (or regular) etiquette. This is Bark Air. This is for the dogs.
Some background: I am a dog person of, I would say, exceptionally good standing, meaning I have been devoted to mine, Hugo (a wonderful golden retriever, my frequent subject, and the obliging blonde of the above paragraph), for the near entirety of the 11-plus years of his life. When we lived in New York, my partner and I drove many miles and hours out of our way over the years to ferry him to his (human) grandparents in Massachusetts and Michigan, respectively, and have driven many thousands more getting him back and forth across the country since we moved to Los Angeles four years ago. We three have driven cross-country at least five separate times, with stops in our nation’s wonderful national parks (pet-friendly up to a point) and some of its weirder roadside attractions. He has swum in all of the Great Lakes except one (Lake Erie, it’s just never been convenient) and has stayed in many of the finer hotels across our great nation—the perks of having an occasional travel writer as a mother.
Hugo loves people, food (either stolen or given), attention, and the windows down. He is the apple of our eye. He is also, not uncomplicatedly for him, about to be a big brother to a human sibling, due late next month. Sometimes I massage his ears and look into the limpid caramel-colored pools of his eyes and try to explain to him that things are about to change. Sometimes I catch my partner doing the same, except I hear promises like “you’ll always be my number one.” Either way, this summer felt something like a not-last-but-significant hurrah for Hugo, the swan song of his only-child-hood. And so when the human components of our triad planned our summer vacation—road-tripping through northern Spain, a diversion to London and Wales for the opening night of the Oasis tour in Cardiff, and catching up with friends and family on the East Coast—we knew we didn’t want to leave him behind for the entire month. But we also knew taking 10-plus days on either end to drive him to-and-fro my parents’ house for his own summer break wasn’t going to work either.
Of course, I considered commercial airlines first. Hugo has met certain specifications that have allowed him to fly with me and not as cargo, but these specifications seem to change all the time with little warning and rarely without stress (on my part). As a 65-pound dog, he is tolerated on these flights but not exactly welcomed on an institutional level, and neither of us is made particularly comfortable in the process. (Admittedly, this feels true for most human fliers these days too.) Also, and this is probably due to some indulgent pet parenting, he won’t use the pet-relief area in most airports, but especially not at LAX, where they are more often than not dank, airless rooms that smell to even a human nose like armageddon. So flying the five-plus hours (not including relief-break-less wait-around-the-airport time) from Los Angeles to New York is not always the easiest or the most practical solution, especially for an aging pup. Until, that is, I heard about Bark Air.
Bark Air launched in May 2024 as an offshoot of Bark; that publicly traded corporation that began its life as BarkBox, a subscription service for treats and toys that has since expanded into nearly all parameters of canine life. Really, pretty much all: They are slowly introducing a dedicated concierge arm of the company, Bark Air president Mike Novotny told me on a call this July, that will offer everything from road-trip itineraries and (truly) pet-friendly hotel recommendations to groomer advice and grief counselors. (Intriguing off-record plans are also afoot to partner with upscale hotels and travel agencies to help provide pet-friendly experiences and itineraries for guests on the go.)
Given that, post-pandemic, more and more people have been unleashed from regular office requirements—and have, in turn, chosen to prioritize both personal travel and the pets they now spend most of their time with—an airline that catered specifically to dog-doting global nomads felt like a hole Bark was built to fill. Their customer base was a demographic for whom the overhead compartment or the terrors of the cargo hold—where dogs have not infrequently, and as recently as 2023, died in transit—wasn’t going to cut it. Last year Bark founder and CEO Matt Meeker made a video of himself flying in a large dog crate between South Florida and New York to prove the misery of such conditions. “This really does suck,” he says as his crate is loaded into the belly of the plane. Later, in the dark of the cargo hold, jostled by turbulence: “No seat belts, no airbags—I don’t know why any person would choose to do this to their dog. It’s an absolute horror show back here.” Now, for around $6,000 and up one way, they don’t have to.
The price tag, which is almost the same per route as a seat on a shared private-jet charter like Aero, is about as low as it can be while keeping the operation afloat: The planes are chartered by Bark, not owned by them, and each seats an average of 10 or so guests. Each ticket is for one human and one dog, and it flies a limited schedule (i.e., four round trips from Van Nuys to Teterboro and back a month) between private airports in Los Angeles and San Francisco to New York, and from New York to London, Lisbon, Paris, and Madrid. (They will also, perhaps most notably, help you with all of the required paperwork for international travel with a pet—avoiding quarantine!—as part of their services.) Unlike other semiprivate charters, there are absolutely no size or breed limitations for dogs. Also, unlike other flight providers, everyone you speak to just really loves dogs.
Once I booked our flights, I was contacted by a concierge who asked about Hugo: his personality traits, his likes and dislikes, his vaccination records, his play style, his preferred music, and whether he likes the car windows up or down on the ride to the airport—which, in one of the many brilliant moments of minimizing pain points for the pet-toting traveler, they will also arrange. On travel day, we were picked up by a chauffeur (sign reading “Hugo,” radio playing the Beach Boys) and arrived at the treat-filled terminal in Van Nuys for check-in, where it was immediately clear where to go based on the wagging tails.
Inside the terminal a certified dog trainer kept an eye out, observing the attitudes and interactions of all the four-legged passengers in order to decide where they should be situated on the plane (dogs that show signs of overexcitement or aggression are separated, for example) and foster a seamless travel experience. “I take this flight twice a year, to take my dog to our place in Long Island and back,” one of my fellow passengers, an older gentleman with a small poodly type dog tells me, “and it’s the best, because everyone is so nice.” He waved his hands expansively. “You know, it’s all dog people.” I do know: There’s a certain camaraderie among the openly canine obsessed. You can really relax when you’re not worried your dog might rub up against someone who doesn’t want it or, ahem, drool on their leg while they’re eating their chicken Caesar wrap on board (not that Hugo or I know anything about such behavior).
Prior to boarding, passengers are given Bark Puppy Passports, preprinted with their dogs’ photos, and a handwritten ticket that has the order in which they will board the plane. We formed a merry parade of wiggling tails across the tarmac, pausing for a photo opportunity by the plane’s steps before a quick climb on board. All dogs are harnessed and seat-belted to their owners’ chairs for takeoff and landing, but if there is a nervous or snappy pup on board, one of the Bark concierges tells me, they have an array of fixes: calming treats, noise-cancelling ear muffs, a snoodlike pullover called a happy hoodie, and, in more extreme cases, gentle muzzles. Several of my fellow travelers (a mix of summer vacationers and those making more long-term relocations to the East Coast and beyond) confess that they have doped their dogs with a sedative, and we all discuss the merits of Gabapentin (lighter) versus the far more effective Trazodone. (Hugo, by nature mellow to a fault, has not taken any drugs, but happily accepts some melatonin calming chews during takeoff, likely because they are meat flavored.) A drugged shih-tzu-looking mix stares hazily into the middle distance between his owner and my seats for the next five hours straight, including for a photo opp in which he is adorned with a small blue captain’s hat.
“This is amazing,” his owner says, sipping Champagne. “He’s normally a lot more…reactive!”
“Honey,” the passenger across from us exclaims, “he’s high.”
This is not a conversation you would have on Delta, I don’t think.
During transit, the dogs are regularly served water and bone broth to minimize ear discomfort related to changes in cabin pressure. The humans are given a freshly prepared meal that they have picked out in advance; both have unlimited snack options. There are pee pads and a dedicated assortment of clean-up tools that the onboard attendants cheerfully handle should any unplanned canine bathroom breaks require, but on the two times I flew with Bark Air, including an extended weather-related delay, only once was there an accident, and it was a 12-week-old puppy. (Novotny later tells me that it happens surprisingly rarely, even on the much longer-haul international flights, like the off-schedule charter that Bark helps passionate regular passengers organize annually from Los Angeles to Tokyo. “I think the dogs know to lock it in,” he says.)
When we touch down in Teterboro, the flight team hands out zip-top Bark Air totes (look out, new status tote) stuffed with treats and toys specifically chosen for our dogs, and where traveling kids sometimes receive a pair of wings to pin to their shirts, our pups receive a small gilded wing charm to attach to their collars.
Off that first flight, bags in hand, our driver—well, Hugo’s driver—awaits, as does our hotel, The Mark, whose dog-focused programming (impeccable, pup-friendly service; a Jean-Georges canine in-room dining menu; beautifully branded dog bowls and beds; and prime park access) make it arguably the best and most dog-friendly hotel in New York. (It ain’t bad for humans, either.) Landing back in reality wouldn’t be so harsh after all. And for Hugo, it’s nothing but clear skies ahead.