If you’re thinking about taking your dog to Europe and wondering what the ferry is actually like, rather than reading another bland list of “things to consider”, this is our experience.
We’ve done the ferry several times now with Luna, our Border Collie, and I can safely say it is very different to LeShuttle.
Not necessarily better.
Not necessarily worse.
Just… more of an experience.
Which, depending on your personality and your dog, could either sound lovely or mildly terrifying.
For us, we tend to do the ferry on the way out, when we’re in full:
WOOHOO! HOLIDAY!
mode.
Then we use LeShuttle on the way home, when we’re tired, grubby and very much in:
Please just get me back to my own bed.
mode.
Is the ferry cheaper than LeShuttle?
In our experience, quite often, yes.
Prices vary massively though, so timing makes a huge difference.
Prime travel times cost more, so if you’re flexible, you can usually make it work in your favour.
That said, you are trading some of the speed and simplicity of LeShuttle for a much more traditional travelling experience.
And I actually quite like that.
You’re not just disappearing into a metal tube and emerging in France 35 minutes later.
You get the terminal.
The waiting.
The boarding.
The sea.
The decks.
The slowly disappearing English coastline.
The enormous Toblerones.
It feels like you’re going somewhere.
Arriving at the ferry terminal with your dog
The initial check-in is fairly similar to LeShuttle.
Passports.
Paperwork.
Border control.
Occasionally getting waved into one of the little side areas while somebody asks if you’ve got anyone hidden in the van.
Or, if you’re travelling in a camper, whether you’ve turned your gas bottles off.
Standard stuff.
Unlike LeShuttle, we haven’t had to go into a separate Pet Reception. The dog paperwork has been checked at the drive-through booth.
Which is brilliant if you have a nervous dog because, in theory, you don’t even have to get out of the vehicle.
I say in theory.
You may still need to get out if you have a husband who likes to stop approximately eight feet away from every booth window.
Hmm.
I don’t mind.
Honestly.
It wouldn’t even be so bad if he didn’t deliberately choose the European side whenever possible so he doesn’t have to deal with the paperwork.
The same man also seems incapable of getting close enough to European toll machines.
Apparently:
“I can’t get any closer.”
Meanwhile I’m hanging halfway out of the passenger window, balancing my centre of gravity like an Olympic gymnast, convinced everyone in the queue behind us is admiring my incredible athletic ability.
This is what I tell myself anyway.
Rant over.
Ahem.
The waiting bit
The ferry involves more waiting than LeShuttle.
Or at least it feels that way.
You normally end up in a huge car park-style holding area with rows and rows of vehicles waiting to board.
If, like me, the idea of arriving late and racing towards a ferry as the gates close makes you feel physically unwell, you’ll probably arrive ridiculously early.
Which means waiting.
A lot.
But I actually quite enjoy this part now.
You get out.
Stretch your legs.
Walk the dog.
Look around at everyone else.
Try to work out where they’re from and where they’re going.
Look suspiciously at the tatty trailer behind the van across from you and speculate about what's inside.
Booze and fag run?
Are those still a thing?
It becomes part of the trip.
There’s a dog agility area?!
The first time we took Luna on the ferry, we were waiting at Dover when I decided to go for a little wander.
There are shops there, so naturally I thought I’d have a browse and probably buy a magazine I’d flick through once and never look at again.
Then I spotted it.
A small dog agility area.
Rubs eyes.
WHAT?!
I immediately hot-footed it back to the van to fetch Luna, praying nobody else would be using it by the time I got back.
This was our first big trip with her and, back then, she really struggled with open spaces.
She liked edges.
Walls.
Things she could follow.
So getting from the van to the dog area was an experience in itself.
I’m half walking, half running with her, repeatedly reassuring:
“It’ll be worth it, Loony!”
We get there.
EMPTY.
Whoop!
I can barely contain my excitement.
Luna, meanwhile, looks completely baffled.
I lead her into this small fenced area with fake grass, reach for her collar and…
Freedom!
She immediately patrols the perimeter.
Then looks back at me.
Now what?
I genuinely don’t know who needed that little session more.
Her or me.
But having somewhere safe for her to decompress before getting on the ferry was brilliant.
And I’m glad to say we’ve used it again since.
Boarding the ferry
Eventually you notice movement ahead.
This is it.
EEEK.
Time to board.
You drive towards the boat and get directed up the giant ramp.
No matter how many times I do this, driving a large vehicle onto a ferry always feels slightly wrong.
You’re convinced you are going to be that person who somehow manages to beach their camper halfway up.
You won’t.
Just take it steady.
Once inside, staff start waving you into position.
And I mean close.
As in:
Surely I’m going to hit that vehicle?
close.
You creep forward.
They wave more aggressively.
You creep forward again.
Still waving.
You start waiting for the crunch.
But they know what they’re doing.
They can see the distances properly.
You can’t.
Trust them.
Eventually they stop waving and you get those strange few seconds where you sit there thinking:
Right. What now?
You know what happens next.
But somehow getting out of your vehicle on the car deck always feels slightly naughty.
You weave between the tightly packed cars and vans towards the doors.
My main advice here?
Remember where you parked.
At least roughly.
Deck number.
Colour.
Something.
You do not want to return later and wander around a ferry car deck wondering where your home on wheels has disappeared to.
Can I stay in my vehicle with my dog on the ferry?
This was a huge question for us because Luna was very nervous on our first trip.
Short answer, from our experience:
No.
We could either take her upstairs into the dog-friendly areas or leave her in the vehicle.
No judgement whatsoever from me on either option.
Every dog is different.
I was genuinely torn the first time.
Part of me wanted to leave Luna somewhere familiar, but Rich took the view that if travelling was going to become part of our lives, she needed to start experiencing it.
Fair point.
So we took her upstairs.
And Luna had a meltdown
Yep.
A proper one.
The stairs were too much.
She was a newly rescued, highly anxious Border Collie in a strange place full of noises, people, smells, movement and echoing metal stairways.
And she absolutely lost it.
Apologies to any passengers temporarily deafened by an overdramatic 17kg ball of working-breed muscle.
It sounds awful written down.
It wasn’t quite as bad as that makes it sound, and Luna’s behaviour back then is a whole story in itself.
Adopting her taught me a lot.
Probably the biggest thing being:
Don’t judge other dog owners when you don’t know the full story.
We managed.
She managed.
And once we got upstairs, everything changed.
Finding the dog-friendly area
Once you’re out of the stairwell, you make your way through the ferry towards the dog-friendly areas.
Some boats are brilliant and have little paw prints on the floor showing you where to go.
I LOVE this.
Because otherwise you’re walking through what looks very much like a normal passenger area with a dog, thinking:
Am I allowed to be here?
It feels naughty again.
Nobody actually seems remotely bothered.
In our experience, staff have generally been lovely and quite often make a fuss of the dogs.
Eventually you find the dog-friendly area.
Some are indoors, which is great if the weather is rubbish.
And then there are outside areas or decks you can use as well.
The people who accidentally sit in the dog area
This is one of my favourite parts.
The dog-friendly sections we’ve used have sometimes been near the front of the ferry with decent views.
So by the time we arrive — delayed by getting the dog out, grabbing everything and negotiating the stairs — there are normally already a few couples sitting there enjoying themselves.
Beer in hand.
Cards out.
Lovely view.
Perfect.
Meanwhile the dog owners start arriving.
One dog.
Then another.
Then another.
Then the water bowls appear.
Then someone notices the vending machine sells dog treats.
Then they start noticing little paw-print signs everywhere.
You can actually watch the realisation happen.
Oh.
We’re in the dog bit.
My slightly wicked but completely harmless sense of humour loves this.
They look around.
The penny drops.
There’s normally a knowing nod.
Possibly a little laugh.
And then, eventually, some decide to quietly relocate.
Usually around the time a Frenchie starts overenthusiastically attending to its anal glands beside them.
Beautiful.
What do you actually need to take with you?
The first time?
Apparently everything your dog has ever owned.
Poop bags.
Food.
Treats.
Ball.
Tug toy.
Lick mat.
Water bowl.
Bed.
Blanket.
Possibly half the contents of Pets at Home.
By the third or fourth trip you calm down considerably.
For us, the essentials are really just the things Luna genuinely needs to stay comfortable and occupied.
Something to chew or lick can be useful.
Water.
Poop bags.
Treats.
And whatever helps your own dog settle.
What is the crossing actually like for dogs?
Once Luna settled, it was far easier than we expected.
The ferry engines create a constant vibration and low background noise.
For Luna, it almost seemed to act like white noise.
She relaxed.
The first and last bits of the journey can be slightly noisier because you can hear some of the vehicle movement below, particularly the big lorries, but it has never seemed to bother most of the dogs around us.
Luna hears a pin drop from approximately seventeen miles away, so naturally she notices everything.
But even she copes.
You settle into your glamorous metal chair, hope for a smooth crossing and briefly imagine the whole room sliding sideways like a collection of bowling pins if the sea gets rough.
It doesn’t.
Even when the sea is a little excitable, it has always been far less dramatic than my brain predicts.
Can your dog go outside?
Yes, on the crossings we’ve used there have been outdoor dog-friendly areas.
And this is where the ferry really beats the Tunnel for me in terms of experience.
You can stand outside.
Feel the wind.
Watch England disappear.
Look out across the water.
Hope to see some sort of rare, ancient or mythical sea creature in the distance.
Occasionally get lightly kissed by salty spray.
It actually feels like travelling.
If the weather is nice, it can be lovely.
If it’s choppy, you get the bonus entertainment of watching tourists walking around the onboard shop trying to hold onto various bottles and giant bars of Toblerone while insisting:
“We’re just having a look.”
What about dog toilets?
This depends on the ferry.
Getting Luna to actually use any artificial dog toilet area is another matter entirely.
Earlier this year we got an overnight ferry from Sicily to mainland Italy and they had a little astroturf dog toilet area.
Fantastic idea.
Lots of dogs clearly used it.
The smell certainly suggested so.
Luna?
Deeply offended.
Absolutely not.
Apparently toilets must meet very specific Border Collie standards.
If your dog won’t go onboard, don’t panic.
Once you arrive, you can usually find somewhere suitable fairly quickly.
We’ve pulled into grassy areas or services after disembarking when necessary.
Should I take a nervous dog on the ferry?
This is harder to answer because every dog is different.
For us, the first crossing with Luna was challenging.
Really challenging in places.
But that doesn’t mean it was a mistake.
We learned from it.
She learned from it.
And travelling became easier.
I think you have to know your own dog.
For some nervous dogs, staying with you in the vehicle on LeShuttle might be a much calmer option.
For others, the ferry could be absolutely fine.
And for some dogs, going abroad might simply not be worth the stress.
That isn’t failure.
It’s knowing your dog.
Arriving in France
Eventually you start seeing the coastline.
The announcements begin.
Everyone suddenly gets twitchy.
People start hovering around stairwells way too early.
Don’t.
There is normally plenty of time.
You don’t need to be first in line behind a retractable barrier for no reason.
Finish your drink.
Enjoy the view.
Mindfully make your way back down when prompted.
Then comes the mildly disorientating process of locating your vehicle.
Hopefully you remembered your deck number.
You get back in.
Wait.
Engines start.
Vehicles begin moving.
If you were one of the first on, you may be one of the first off.
Sometimes lorries get moved first.
Be patient.
Those poor buggers probably have a very long drive ahead of them.
Then suddenly…
You’re driving down the ramp.
Off the ferry.
Onto French soil.
And that’s it.
You did it.
Ferry vs LeShuttle with a dog?
For us, they serve completely different purposes.
LeShuttle is faster.
Simpler.
Less stimulating.
And Luna stays with us in the camper the whole way.
The ferry takes longer and requires more effort, but it also feels much more like part of the holiday.
So our unofficial system has become:
Ferry there.
LeShuttle home.
Going out, we want the excitement.
Coming back, we want efficiency.
Would we take Luna on the ferry again?
Absolutely.
We already have.
Several times.
That first journey felt like a huge deal.
Now it’s just another part of travelling.
And that’s probably the biggest thing I’ve learnt about taking your dog abroad.
The first time, everything feels complicated.
The paperwork.
The ferry.
The boarding.
The dog-friendly areas.
The worry about how your dog will react.
Then you do it.
And suddenly this entire map of Europe opens up in front of you.
You stand on that outside deck with the wind in your dog’s ears and realise:
We can actually do this.
And that feeling is pretty bloody good.
