Category: The Ravine

Little Sand creek area of West Michigan – where 99% of my adventures take place,

The Flutter Worth Following

Hello Friends!

I hope you have had a happy Dogust! As summer winds down, I’ve noticed more and more butterflies fluttering through our garden and along the trails.

My hooman seems to love them. She’ll stop whatever she’s doing to watch one float from flower to flower. My Gram loved them too, and seeing them float through the woods helps me remember she is not so very far away. I’ve even met a few butterflies before they had the whole fluttering thing figured out.

All these butterflies got me thinking about another kind of flutter. You know the one. That little flip in your belly when you hear the crinkle of the snack bag or the squeak of the treat cupboard opening. The kind that makes your ears perk up before you even know what’s coming.

I had one of those flutters recently when the boat FINALLY returned home. All summer long my hoomans have been growling about the boat being broken. Which meant I have been missing out on fetching Pinky in my traditional summer fashion, like I learned to do last summer in Dog Overboard: A Leap of Faith.

The day the boat came home, I could feel the butterflies banging against my rib cage. I couldn’t help but jump for joy. Now friends, I know a boat sitting in the yard might not look very exciting to you. But to me? That boat means wind in my whiskers, water cooling my paws, special boat snacks, and a guaranteed full day with my hoomans. All together with nothing else to do but be together.

That boat brings a whole new kind of canine adventure. BIG lake version!

So when that floating beauty pulled into the yard, I felt the flutter. Except..turns out, the boat was home because it was STILL broken. I circled the trailer and gave the tires a thorough sniff anyway, just in case the hoomans had gotten their facts wrong.

But my hooman was not packing boat snacks and dog towels. A bad sign. No lake. No wind in my whiskers. No BIG Lake adventure. Just a boat sitting in the yard. I won’t lie, friends. I was disappointed. I’d gotten my hopes up. For one glorious minute, I’d already been out there. Pinky flying through the air. Me launching into the water after her. My hoomans cheering from the boat. And now? Nothing.

So I did what any disappointed canine would do. I laid down and kept one eye on that boat. Just in case. A few days later, I heard my hooman rummaging around by the door. I didn’t pay much attention at first. Then I saw her lace up her running shoes. My ears perked. And then she reached for something I hadn’t seen in a while.

My running harness!

Wait a minute. I knew this routine. Running shoes. Harness. Leash. Before she even called my name, I presented myself at her feet – ready to be clipped in for a nice run.  And there it was. The Flutter. Not the BIG lake flutter. A different one. The kind that says something is about to happen and you don’t know exactly what yet.

We headed out the door and started down the road. My hooman ran. I settled into my trot beside her. Run a little. Walk a little. Run again. We did it again a few days later. And again. That’s when I realized – I was in training – another 5K is coming!

Suddenly I had something new to look forward to. Miles to cover. Roads to explore. A starting line somewhere out there waiting for us, with crisp fall air just over the horizon. And there it was again. The Flutter.

That’s when this world-famous canine explorer realized something. I’d been so busy staring at that broken boat that I almost missed the beginning of my next adventure. The boat hadn’t taken my flutter away. It had just shown up somewhere I wasn’t expecting it.

Maybe that’s the funny thing about a flutter. We feel it and immediately start imagining where it will take us. Sometimes we get so excited that we can already see the whole adventure before it has even begun. And sometimes…the boat is still broken. That disappointment is real. But it doesn’t mean there isn’t something else waiting to make our ears perk up.

As August winds down, I think that’s something worth remembering. Backpacks are being pulled from closets. Schedules are filling up. Back-to-school is upon us. And somewhere in all that newness, you might feel a little flutter too.

Standing on the brink of something new can feel scary and exciting all twisted together. There’s the pull toward something different and the wish to keep everything exactly the same. Maybe there’s a new classroom waiting for you. A new team. A new friend. Or something you haven’t even noticed yet. You don’t have to know where every flutter will lead. My flutter never did get me to the BIG lake this summer. Instead, it’s taking me toward another starting line. And I think I’m okay with that.

So friends, as we wrap up summer and head into our school-year routines, leave a little room for something unexpected to make your belly flutter. You don’t have to chase every butterfly. But when something makes your ears perk up and your heart beat a little faster, maybe it’s worth wandering over and sniffing it out. After all, you never know where your next starting line might be.

Stay curious, friends. Follow the flutter, and I’ll bark atcha in September. 

Your friend,

🐾

Trust the Trail

Hello Friends! 

As July continues to sizzle, I hope you’re finding fun ways to stay cool. Personally, I’m a big fan of a cool creek. There’s just something about letting the current swirl around my paws that slows the whole world down. So I trotted down my tree-lined trail in search of a cool place to relax. I settled my belly in the current and before long, I was daydreaming about a few summertime adventures that taught me some valuable lessons along the trail.

As the current swirled around my paws, my mind wandered back to a day when staying dry seemed like the better plan. It was the first time I discovered I could balance on a fallen log. I’d spent weeks watching squirrels scamper across logs and branches. One thing I noticed was they never rushed into a crossing. If a branch looked too weak or a log didn’t seem steady, they simply turned around and found another way. I figured there was probably a good reason for that. So I thought, if a squirrel trusted a log enough to cross it, maybe I could too.

The tricky part wasn’t the balancing. It was deciding whether the log could be trusted. I gave it a careful nudge with my paw, leaned in to test my footing, and only when everything felt solid did I make my way across.

What a sweet memory that was. A whole new world opened up once I learned how to cross those natural bridges! As the current gently rocked me, another memory floated to the surface. I remembered the time my hooman suddenly became fascinated with mushroom hunting. Every few feet, she would crouch down with her camera to admire another funny-looking fungus. I watched from the trail until something inside me quietly whispered, not this one. Before I knew it, I scrambled down the hill and slid right into that little forest hat, sending it tumbling before her hooman hands could reach it.

Now, I’m no canine mushroom expert. I couldn’t tell you whether it was poisonous or perfectly harmless. I just know that in that moment, every whisker on my muzzle twitched, telling me I needed to interrupt. My hooman wasn’t exactly thrilled at first, but eventually we both had a good laugh about it. Looking back, it still makes me smile. What a hilarious hiking adventure that was! 

Unfortunately, not every hike is as humorous – like the time when I went out exploring and caught a scent of danger. A stranger was on the other side of the creek and was calling me toward him. Normally I am happy to make a new friend, but that day something just didn’t smell right. Something inside me whispered Beware. If you’d like to read the rest of that story, you can find in my Deer Me adventure.

All these memories makes me wonder…why do dogs trust those quiet warnings so easily while hoomans spend so much time talking themselves out of them? Maybe that’s why we stop to test a log before crossing it or why we suddenly change directions. Could it be that’s why, every once in a while, something deep inside tells us to paws before taking the next step? I think there’s wisdom tucked inside those quiet warnings. Canines don’t spend much time talking themselves into BAD ideas. 

So friends, as we splash our way through the rest of July, let’s pay attention to the quiet warnings around us. If you ever find yourself talking yourself into a decision instead of feeling at peace with it, maybe it’s time to stop and reassess. Give the log another nudge. Take another look. Listen to that quiet voice that’s been trying to get your attention all along.

The more trails I explore, the more I realize every squirrel, every log, every mushroom, and every muddy creek has been teaching me the same lesson: slow down. Pay attention. Trust yourself enough to notice the quiet warnings…then take the next step and trust the trail. 

Stay cool out there and I’ll bark atcha ya next month!

Your friend,

P.S. Be sure to follow my path on Facebook and Instagram and keep exploring. I’ll see you out on the trail. 🌞🐾

Go with the Flow

Hello friends!

This month, I got caught in a current I didn’t see coming.

April has arrived in full force, and the rain hasn’t been messing around. The thunder still makes me paws at the porch, gathering just enough courage to make a run for it, but between the storms, something else is happening. The air smells different. Fresher. Like the earth is waking up and stretching in every direction all at once. The trees are reaching higher, the garden is beginning to pop, and even my hoomans seem to be shaking off winter and stepping into something new.

From the yard, it all looks familiar – same grass, same garden, same mud. But the light in the woods seemed a bit different, so I decided to take myself for a walk and explore what had changed. I trotted down my tree-line trail into the ravine. 

Before I could see the creek, I could hear it. It was roaring! Not the usual chatter, but something louder, stronger. The recent rains had turned my quiet creek into something… bigger.

I picked up my pace, excited to see what was going on. When I got down the ravine, I could not believe my eyes. My creek looked like a river. The shoreline had disappeared. My trusty log bridge – completely underwater. 

Challenge accepted! 

This new creek was inviting a big adventure! I ran in, ready to cool off and sink my belly into the water…but the current had other plans. Before I knew it, my paws lost the ground beneath them. The current lifted me, twisted me sideways, and started carrying me downstream. I paddled hard, trying to find my footing, but I wasn’t in control anymore. The water decided where I was going, how fast, and when I could stop. For a moment, I was just… in it. Then, just as quickly as it had taken me, the current pushed me onto shallow ground. I scrambled onto a sandbar, soaked, breathing hard, heart racing like I had just run a 5k.

I stood there, catching my breath, watching the water rush past like nothing had happened. That current had carried me farther and faster than I ever would have gone on my own. I checked myself over – four paws, two ears, one tail. I was okay.

But as I turned my tail back toward home, something felt different. My hooman greeted me the same way she always does. She toweled me off, rubbing my belly with her usual commentary on my thick, wet coat and impressive level of mud. To her, I looked exactly the same. And she was right. Nothing about me looked different, but I wasn’t the same dog who started out on that path earlier.

I suppose that’s what a strong current does. It doesn’t change how you look when you come out of it. It changes where you’ve been inside yourself while no one was watching. It also made me wonder… how many others look the same on the outside, but are still catching their breath from a current no one else saw? Maybe that’s worth remembering the next time we pass each other on the trail. It’s easy to miss what a current has done to someone else when all you can see is a fluffy coat.

So friends, if these April showers are finding you in a stormy season, or you are caught in a current you didn’t see coming, it’s okay to feel unsure. Just keep paddling – you will find your footing. When you’re in it, it’s hard to tell what’s happening or where you’re going. But you are still moving forward. You are changing, even if everything on the outside looks exactly the same.

And sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let the current carry you through – because the very thing that pulls you off course might be the thing that shows you a path you never would have found on your own.

So take a breath. Trust where you’ll land. And when the current feels stronger than you expected, just go with the flow.

I will bark at you next month.

Your friend,

Strolling Down Memory Lane

Hello friends!

March has been MADNESS in my neck of the woods! Not only are my hoomans glued to the boob-tube watching basketball, but they’ve also been racing in and out of the house bringing home boxes and books from my Grandpa’s place. The living room suddenly smells like old paper, sawdust, and a hundred memories I don’t quite understand. Something in the house feels different.

So I decided the best thing to do was flop on the couch and eavesdrop. That’s when I learned my sweet Grampa had taken his final walk over the rainbow bridge. 

Now I know a thing or two about that bridge. Once you cross it, you can’t come back the same way. I knew my hooman would miss Grandpa’s hugs. And then I realized… I would miss his cookies. Grandpa always had cookies.

But it wasn’t just the cookies.

I would miss the belly rubs too. Grandpa had a way of scratching right in that perfect spot where my back leg starts doing its own little dance. And the way he talked to me… well, you’d think I was the only canine in the whole world. He’d lean down close and say my name in that soft voice like we were sharing a very important secret.

A dog never forgets that kind of thing. That twisted my heart up in a knot. For a moment, I wished the trail could lead me back to him. So I did what any good explorer does when things get confusing. I headed down my tree-lined trail to think.

A pupper pic of me and Gramps after I got my licks in.

The first stretch of the walk is a blur. My mind was spinning. When Grams left us, the hole in my heart felt big and lonely. Her love was fierce, and I couldn’t imagine a world without her in it (read A Grand Adventure).

Grandpa was different. He was a quiet old dog. He didn’t bark about much, but when he walked into a room, he had big dog energy. Everyone gathered close when he told a story. He had a way of making my hoomans laugh, the kind of laughter that fills a whole room.

I’ll miss the joy he brought them. It wrapped around everyone like a cozy blanket, making us feel safe and loved.

As I trotted farther down the trail, I started thinking about all the places I’ve explored with my hoomans and friends. Sometimes when you wander far enough down a trail, you realize some of the ones you love aren’t walking right beside you anymore.

So I plunked myself down on the hillside and thought about all my hoomans. The ones who walked the trail before me. The ones still walking it now. And as I replayed the memories of Grandpa, something surprising happened. The ache in my heart started to lift.

I remembered the way he laughed while scratching my special spot that makes my leg run in rhythm. The gentle way he talked to me, like I truly understood every word, always ending by telling me I was a “good boy.” Words that made me feel extra proud… because they must be true if Grandpa says so.

I remembered the sparkle in my hoomans’ eyes when they tell stories about him now. Hearing those stories almost makes me feel like I was there for all of them. Like maybe, in some small way, I’m part of Grandpa’s story too. That made me feel pretty special.

By the time I reached my thinking log, I realized something important. Grandpa paved a trail I hadn’t noticed before. Not through the woods, but through our lives. He created a whole world of lessons, advice, and stories. He built me a Memory Lane that I can walk anytime I want to see him again.

Sure, I can’t jump in his lap or lick his face anymore. But every laugh, every hug, every belly rub, and every cookie we shared has been tucked away along that trail. Whenever I need him, I can stroll back down Memory Lane and find him waiting for my visit. And as I sat there on my thinking log, I realized something else…

Even though Grandpa isn’t walking this trail beside me anymore, the path still feels full of him.

So friends, as spring begins to wake up the woods again, remember to make lots of memories. Tuck away those giggles and treats. Go on the walks. Sit together. Share the laughs. Maybe even sneak a cookie or two.

Because every moment you share helps build a beautiful trail down Memory Lane…and love has a funny way of leaving the path lit so we can always find our way back to the ones who walked it with us. 🐾

Bark at you soon – your friend,

In loving memory of my Grandpa.

Operation: Outlast Winter

Congrats, friends! 🐾
We’ve sniffed our way halfway through February, and guess what? The sun finally remembered our address! I’m scheduling extra squirrel evictions from the bird feeders this week, along with maximum belly-to-sun charging, and at least three dramatic couch flops before Old Man Winter blows back into town and ruins everything.

Not so very long ago…January blasted in like a snow cannon with record-breaking subzero temps, high hopes, and big plans. The hoooman resolutions were whirling in full force, too. The trails were calling, and I was ready to paws-itively conquer every mile, just like I wrote about in The Adventure Clock Strikes Seven 🕖🐾.

But then February happened and… WOOF! We began to feel the pain of the longest of all the shortest months. The one where motivation curls up under the blanket and pretends it can’t hear the command ‘move’. When I caught my hooman staring out the window like she forgot what comes next, and the other googling Florida real estate – I thought, yep we need a survival guide to get them through the rest of this winter. If you live in Michigan, you know that February sunshine is nothin but a tease. March will roar in like a lion and sit on you long after the Easter Bunny has hippy hopped down the bunny trail. 

So to help us keep wagging through the sure-to-return gray sky, the slush, mud, and whatever else Mother Nature has in store, I’ve activated Operation: Outlast Winter… a Winter Survival Guide. It is guaranteed to keep us fur-ward thinking until spring arrives. Short walks still count, sniffing the same tree three times is valid research, and rest days are not considered cheat days but strategy!

Rule #1: Some Days, We Don’t Hike. 

I know this might shock you…some days, I don’t hike.  

The woods are right there past the yard. The air smells like adventure. And I choose rest. I protect my energy in the same way I would protect my hooman from an intruder. Which includes loud announcements and strategic couch repositioning. Here’s the important part: I do NOT call these “cheat days.”

When I plan a day to take care of myself, that’s not cheating. That’s strategy. Canines know this. Felines DEFINITELY know this. If you skip a big walk because your body or brain needs a break, congratulations. You’re being smart, not lazy.

Rule #2: Short Walks Still Count

Some walks are epic. Some are just down the block and back. I treat them exactly the same.

Fresh air is fresh air. Movement is movement. The ground still smells interesting. A short walk can reset a whole day. I have never once returned from a short walk and thought, “Wow, that was a giant waste of my time.”  Neither should you.

Rule #3: Keep Familiar Features  

I usually sniff the same tree three times. Just checking it for updates. Important information deserves a second look. Familiar things are comforting. In the cold winter months, comfort matters. If your routine feels repetitive right now, that’s okay. Repetition is how we get through hard things. It’s not boring. It’s stabilizing. It’s how we keep our paws steady when everything feels frozen.

Rule #4: Loyalty Runs Both Ways

Everyone knows dogs are loyal. But here’s the part hoomans forget: I am loyal to MY OWN NEEDS too. I drink water when I’m thirsty. I rest when I’m tired. I step away from things that feel unsafe or overwhelming. I don’t apologize for it. That’s called knowing my limits. And knowing my limits keeps my tail wagging and my spirit ready for the next trail day. Winter is a great time to practice saying, “not today,” without guilt – and without needing to roll over for approval.

Rule #5: Boundaries Guard the Good Stuff

If something drains my energy, I move away from it. If something feels good, I lean into it. I often back into my hooman and gently nudge her with my booty to let her know she should give it a little scratch – feels sooo good! Very simple system. Highly effective.

You don’t have to say yes to everything just because you might be home a little earlier on a winter night and you think you should be “doing more.” You’re allowed to protect your energy. Feel free to go lie down if you need to. Hibernation is real. Spring will still come. No need to chase it.

Rule #6: Adjust Your Pace

January brought excitement. Hope. New adventures waiting at the trailhead. That energy was real, and it still counts. February just asks you to carry it differently. This time of year really tests your endurance, so you may have to reset and check your pace. This is the part of the hike where you slow down, sniff the fresh air, and trust that the trail continues even if you can’t see around the bend yet.

Sometimes adjusting your pace means not charging down the trail at all. Sometimes it means standing at the trailhead, breathing in the cold air, and remembering why you love being out here in the first place. You don’t always have to hike the miles. Some days it’s enough just to gaze down the trail and know it will still be there when you’re ready.

So friends, there you have it, my winter survival guide. If you’re feeling a little frozen in place this time of year, just know you’re not alone. We’re all working our way through Operation: Outlast Winter together. Remember to take care of yourself, count the short walks, rest without guilt, sniff the familiar things, and keep showing up, even when it’s quiet and cold.

Now if someone could just point me toward the groundhog… I need to give his weather-forecasting skills a thorough sniff down.

I’ll bark at you next month.

Your friend,

P.S. I am always looking for new subscribers to my newsletter – feel free to subscribe and get my latest monthly adventure sent right to your inbox!

The Adventure Clock Strikes Seven

Wisdom from a Lucky Dog

Hello Friends!

So far this year, my Michigan woods have been dressed in fresh coats of white snow, coming and going like they can’t decide where to stay. Before it melts again, and before we forget all those New Year promises — I have an important announcement…this month, I celebrate SEVEN.

Seven winters exploring the West Michigan woods. Seven seasons chasing salmon upstream. Seven springs of hunting for wildflowers. Seven summers of splashing into Lake Michigan, belly rubs, zoomies, cuddles, and treats (so many treats)!

This year, I celebrate SEVEN amazing years with my hoomans. I will never forget the day I was brought home from Bellwether Harbor Animal Shelter. I was waiting with my litter sisters, my heart already packed and ready for a family. I was so unsure about the world back then – and somehow it feels like only yesterday.

My tail still thumps at the memory. I can’t believe how fast those years went by. Now that I’m older, I’m starting to understand more about time. The interesting thing about it is — it doesn’t slow down. In fact, it never stops!

Over the years, there have been plenty of trails, many lessons, and countless adventures. I don’t feel like an old dog yet, but something has changed. I can nap through the day when my hooman leaves for work. I’ve learned the important things — like I know the moment it is breakfast time. My eyes just pop open, and if the kibble is late – my patience is still optional. I’m braver too! The vacuum no longer terrifies me – though I still give it plenty of room, and I can jump off the boat into the big lake (read: Dog Overboard).

Now that I’m seven, I’m officially considered an adult. Not a young pupper anymore. I’m a seasoned explorer, with mud under my claws and a few good tails (see what I did there). In hooman years, I’m somewhere around my mid-40s to early 50s. That doesn’t make me sad — it just makes me aware. Time keeps moving.

And lately, I’ve noticed something about hoomans… they are OBSESSED with time. They try to chase it, pause it, they even count down the seconds, barking them out in a countdown 10…9…8…like the whole world depends on it. And then they make all kinds of promises: “We’ll hike more when it’s warmer,” or “We’ll explore when things slow down.”

But here’s the thing – things won’t really slow down. Now that I’m seven, I know I only get so many more winters. So many new trails. So many sunsets to stop and stare at before the light disappears.

After the howlidays, my hooman went back to work. Long mornings together turned into quick coffee sips and rushed goodbyes. Her boots still sit by the door, but the snow has long melted from them. I know when the routine changes, and I notice how the house feels quiet.

So yes, I pout a little. I curl up on the couch and look out the window. Some days the light fades, and I drift off to sleep, but I am always listening for the sound that could signal my next adventure. All this waiting has taught me something: time is not something you save. It is something you spend.

So friends, when our hoomans come home worn thin by the world, let’s meet them at the door with a wag that means business. Not “let’s rest,” but “let’s go.” Help them keep those New Year promises they made with big hearts and good intentions. Pull their eyes off the clock and back onto the trail, because too many adventures die on the calendar.

A short walk still smells like a whole forest. Ten minutes of fetch still feels like a celebration. A tired cuddle at the end of the day always fills my bowl. Give them a gentle nudge off the couch — not because time is running out, but because today is already here and it is waiting for us!

Now stop wasting time and get out there — your adventure is calling! 🐾

I’ll bark at you next month.

Your friend,

Home for the Howlidays: When the Pack Comes Back

I can always tell when something big is about to happen. The house smells different — a sweetness in the air like cinnamon sugar mixed with a faint whiff of anticipation. My hooman makes many trips inside and out, bringing in bags and bags of groceries. So many snacks that she has to store some on the back porch. Luckily, Michigan is basically one giant refrigerator this time of year, so we have plenty of space — bring on the treats!

I take my position on my stool to monitor the driveway. I don’t need a tracker or pinging reminder — I can feel the joy filling the air. When the cars rumble down our drive, the vibration sends excitement all the way to my tail. And when that door finally swings open and I hear, “I’m hooooome!” the house explodes with noise. I leap as high as I can, trying to get a lick at my brothers. The once-empty mudroom fills instantly with coats, boots, and shoes — all carrying new scents from the places they’ve been. Boxes and bags pile up behind them, signaling something even better than treats: the pack is back!

Magically, the house transforms in an instant, and I’m surrounded by all my favorite hoomans — all barking at once. It’s my favorite sound in the world. Tail-wag mode flips to maximum power, and my whole body wiggles. I’m smiling so big I can’t keep my tongue from spilling out.

But this year, things are a bit different. The pack… has grown.

My old sweetheart came home with my brother. She looks cuddlier than ever — and with her comes Disco. He’s all legs, wiggles, and unstoppable enthusiasm. He zooms in like a giant snowstorm and makes a beeline for my toy basket. He always chooses my favorite bone first. I’m overjoyed he’s here… but that is still my bone. A slow growl bubbles up in my belly, but I swallow it down.

Soon, the living room is a swirl of fur and toys. The house feels smaller (in a good way), and I push the irritation of sharing aside. Before long, Disco and I are chasing each other around the dining room wall. We romp outside through the snow, and I take him down my favorite hiking trail. I teach him how to sneak extra treats, and he shows me how to give a paw for extra “awwww.” The hoomans cannot resist us, and honestly… it’s more fun melting their hearts with my buddy beside me.

Later, when the house finally quiets, I try to squeeze onto the couch. Between my brothers, my sweetheart, and Disco, there’s hardly any room left. Disco has claimed my favorite pillows. I flop onto the floor with a dramatic sigh, feeling a little forgotten.

Just then, my sweetheart notices. She scoots Disco over and pats a spot on the couch. “Come here, Jack Jack,” she whispers. I jump at the invitation — and instead of the arm of the couch, I choose her lap. She’s just as warm and snuggly as I remember.

As I drift off to the sound of holiday music and hooman laughter, I replay the day. My paws twitch as I dream of racing through the snow with my supersized pack. The chatter of my favorite hoomans fills the house, and I hear Disco snoring softly. That’s when I realize…family doesn’t just come home for the holidays. Sometimes… it grows.

So friends, as your pack reunites for the howlidays, you may find you have to give up some of the things you’re used to. Just scooch over and make a little space. I don’t love sharing my bone (or my couch), but when the family grows, we have to grow too. Things won’t stay exactly the same as before — and honestly, they might become even better.

Soon enough, the house will fall quiet again. The mudroom will return to order without all those extra coats and shoes. The pack will split up and wander down their individual trails. But the memories of squeezing together and making room for new love will warm your heart long after the twinkly lights fade.

When the pack gets bigger, the love gets louder.

I hope your couch is full this howliday season.
I’ll bark at you in the new year.

Your friend,

Santa, Slow Your Sleigh!

Hello, friends!

Welcome to November, the season where we paws to be grateful. It’s also the time of year when everything seems to flip into zoomie mode. I try to keep my October lessons in mind (read Falling Behind), but as soon as those little puppers finish barking “trick or treat,” I can’t help but feel the rumble of Santa’s sleigh revving in the distance.

As the winds literally change direction, I decided to take a walk to put this new “holidays are here” lifestyle into perspective. My hooman came along too, and brought my favorite squeaky ball, Pinky. As she tossed Pinky along the ravine and I dashed after her, I realized that the game of fetch is a lot like the holiday season — full of surprises, tangles, and joy in the chasing. Sometimes I have to dig my way through obstacles, sniff out what’s hidden, all while keeping my tail wagging.

Paws at the ready for a November adventure!

Finding Pinky can be tricky. She sometimes hides under leaves or gets stuck in mud, and I have to work extra hard to track her down. Sometimes I get distracted, sometimes I drop her, but it’s all part of the game. And yes, my hooman sometimes pretends to throw her — hilarious, but also…rude!

Seriously…who’s she foolin?

As we trotted down the treelined trail, I usually run ahead in excitement, then double back to make sure my hooman isn’t lagging or distracted. With daylight saving time upon us, we have to stay on schedule before darkness sneaks in. Sometimes I get distracted too, digging in the wrong place and ending up with muddy whiskers before I find my way back on the tracks.

Oops! Got a lil distracted!

Before long, she was tossing, I was fetching, and Pinky was singing her happy little squeak. My hooman clapped and laughed, calling me her “good boy,” over and over — music sweeter than any treat. That’s when it hit me: the best part of the game isn’t finding the ball at all. It’s being out there together. Her laughter, the breeze ruffling my fur, the soft squeak of Pinky — they fill my heart in a way no biscuit ever could. It’s in those moments that the noise of the world — even Santa’s revving sleigh — fades into quiet joy.

So, friends, as turkeys get stuffed and Santa begins checking his list (twice), let’s keep our eye on the ball. Work through the obstacles that would stop you from gathering together, and don’t get too caught up in who’s bringing which bones where, or you might completely miss out on the game entirely. And if you find yourself competing with the neighborhood elves, take a minute to find your way back to those you love the most. I guarantee they’ll clap and cheer when you arrive.

Cuddle with the ones you love

Let the joy of being together lead the way through the holiday hustle. Take a moment to paws and feel grateful for the ones who toss the ball, cheer the loudest, and share your trail — because that’s the real gift of the season. Keep your focus on what’s important, the rest is just gravy, mmm… gravy….

I am thankful for being able to share my adventures with you.

I’ll bark at you next month!

Your friend,

Falling Behind

Happy October Friends!

This is one of my favorite months. Mornings are cool on my paws, but by afternoon, the sunshine warms my coat. Big oaks shoot down acorns like pellet guns for eager squirrels, and evenings creep in early — often before I’ve finished my after-dinner patrol.

October is funny that way – both hurried and hushed. Weekends roar with visitors from the big town, cars piled high with apples, pumpkins, and hay bales, only for the streets to fall quiet again midweek. Farmers follow a different rhythm: fields grow inch by inch under patient hands, yet when harvest comes, their work bursts forward, rumbling through the night and leaving the morning air sharp and crisp. Time seems to stretch and snap back all at once.

With all this paradox swirling around me, I needed to curl up on my cushions and think this all through. As my mind began to drift, I could hear squirrels rustling nearby — some frantic, some leisurely — each with their own rhythm. Similar to the trees, that let go of their leaves in their own time.

All that slow-and-steady push and pull reminded me of when I trotted alongside my hooman in the Oktoberfest 5K. My first big race. I was so excited that I watered just about every tree in the park. The music thumped, the energy crackled, and I stood side-by-side with my pack, unsure what to expect. The countdown began: 3…2…1…GO!

Some hoomans shot out of the gate like greyhounds, their long legs eating up the track. Since I’m a terrier-beagle-blue-heeler kinda dog, my legs moved, but I wasn’t covering much ground. My hooman seemed fine with the racers ahead, and soon we settled into a steady jog.

As the miles went by, I noticed that some pups slowed to a walk, then picked up again once they caught their breath. No two strides looked the same. Hoomans on the sidelines barked, “Keep going!” and “You’re doing great!” — which made my tail wag. I realized then that we’re all in the race together, no matter the pace. Each of us found our own rhythm and our own way to finish. No one was “late” just because they weren’t leading the pack.

I think that is October’s lesson for us, too. It’s okay to move at our own speed. Not racing to keep up. Not holding back when we’re ready to leap. Just trusting our stride, savoring our season, and remembering that what’s right for me may not be right for the dog beside me.

So friends, as we wag our way into October, let’s not worry if we fall a bit behind. Instead, let’s take cues from Mother Nature and the racecourse. Trust that our pace is the right one. Some days bounding, some days strolling, sometimes paw-sing for a good sniff — but always remembering: the goal isn’t to keep up with the pack. It’s to enjoy the run, the season, and the moment. 🍂🐾

Thanks for trotting along on my canine adventures. I’ll bark back atcha in November!

Your friend, 

Fetching Something New

Hello friends,

Well, as the leaves crunch beneath my paws and the cool night breeze ruffles my fur, I guess it’s time to admit that the sun has set on summer 2025. Sure, the weatherman may bark about warmer temps, but the smell of pumpkin spice has already replaced the musty stink of wet dog towels. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my dog years, nothing lasts fur-ever.

Just a few short weeks ago, I was begging for summer to hang around. The idea of my hooman ramping up her schedule and swapping long, leisurely hikes for the busyness of fall didn’t exactly make my tail wag. But now, I’m starting to savor the new scents of the woods and the sight of trees shedding their colorful leaves. Change, it seems, is just part of the walk.

I’ll admit—I don’t always leap for treats when change shows up. A new routine? A different route? Even the sound of geese honking overhead as they head south makes my ears perk with uncertainty. But just like summertime drifting away (like Pinky in the Big Lake) – I can’t stop change from coming. I’ve never heard a tree growl when its leaves fall – it simply lets go, trusting that something new will appear. Maybe that’s the lesson for us puppers, too.

As I trotted down my tree-lined trail, trying hard to lean into fall, I spotted a monarch butterfly fluttering in the grass. Could this be the same chunky little caterpillar I sniffed out only a month or so ago? Watching him flutter away, I was reminded that change can be ruff, but if you’re willing to hang in there, the universe sometimes rewards you with wings you never knew you had.

So friends, as we snack our way into apple-pie season, let’s try to trot along with the rhythm of the woods and not dig too hard for the past. Soon, frosty mornings will reveal paw prints we’ve never tracked before, and we’ll be off on a brand-new adventure. Sometimes we’ve got to shed the old to fetch the new, so let’s keep our tails up, trust the trail we have chosen, and wag through this new season together. 🍂🐾

Bark atcha in October!

Your friend,

P.S. If you’re a social pup and like to keep your paws on the pulse – follow me on Facebook and Instagram.