Growing up, I did not mind spending time alone. Unless I was in public. Then I suddenly felt like people were perceiving me as a loner or vulnerable. Between the fear of unwanted company disturbing me and worrying about others’ judgments, I seldom went out unless I had someone to accompany me. This was fine during my adolescence, but as my curiosity grew alongside my independence, this insecurity became a hindrance. It often felt like I was constantly waiting around for schedules or passions to align. All the while, life was passing me by, refusing to slow down for someone always waiting. (Cue: When Will My Life Begin).
The antidote for this inability (and unwillingness) to venture off alone was to bring my dog along. I no longer felt exposed; I was just someone out with their dog. So, when Maia came along, it felt as if my life finally began. And I was lucky that she had a taste for adventure just as I did, always eager to see where the next outing would take us. Over time, I developed self-assurance, and the thought of being out alone no longer felt daunting or restricted. If it were not for this newfound confidence Maia gave me, I would have missed out on innumerable experiences.
When the journey first unleashed
Maia walked into my life 10 years ago when I was working as a kennel tech at a dog shelter. At that time, she was known as Mocha. Still living at home, I was living at the mercy of my parents and their house rules. Rule number one upon starting this job: do not bring home a dog. I honored the rule for four months. You must believe me, I had no intention of bringing a dog home. Our family dog was already queen of the house, and while I fell in love with nearly every dog there, I was conscious of my parents’ wishes. That is, until I met Mocha. Suddenly, I knew that the rule needed to be broken. And I was relentless in trying to convince my parents to reconsider.
Upon her arrival at the shelter, she had just been rescued from an awful situation. Sadly, she has the typical bully-breed-rescue story of abuse and mistreatment. So, there she sat in her run, only 3 months old, covered in cigarette burns and rashes from a skin infection. As I approached the door to take her out, she made these adorable whines that sounded like a cross between a squealing piglet and a dolphin’s chirp. Her tail wagged profusely, and I could tell she wanted to greet me. However, her dark history prevented her from giving out trust too readily.
Witnessing this: an adorable, big-headed puppy with warm eyes, covered in evidence of her recent living situation. It evoked a maternal instinct in me. I bent down to her level and opened my arm, cooing to her that she could trust me. Within seconds of my peace offering, she surrendered and jumped into my arms. It was that moment when I named her Maia, and she became my dog. The day after I brought her home, we hit the trails. And the rest is history.
The not-so-solo traveler
As someone who has been a wallflower in solo female traveler internet groups, I have noticed there is a gray area in how to categorize those who backpack with their dog. Some would say that having a travel companion who cannot talk and takes a back seat for the decision-making qualifies as traveling solo. (Although anyone who has experienced the charm of a stubborn dog may quibble over this). Others disagree and argue that the comfort of a dog lessens the blow of true solitude in the middle of nowhere.
If you were to ask me what camp I belong in, I would say I lean toward the latter, but I do not totally abandon the former. I have done both— I have traveled with my trusted canine companion, and I have left her home to wander the trails alone. On the one hand, backpacking with dogs means added considerations, decisions, and pack weight. Plus, having your dog can sometimes isolate you from acquainting with others. Personally, Maia makes connecting with kindred spirits difficult when she warns off strangers with her bark and raised hackles. Yet, on the other hand, backpacking with dogs means never truly being alone. Thus, when the night sky blankets me in darkness, and I feel loneliness settle in and the seeds of fear sown, hearing my dog’s relaxed snores eases me out of my worries.
Happy Trails!
