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What you need to know about hiking and backpacking with a dog, a white dog!
Meet my golden doodle, who, despite her name, is more doodle than golden. In fact, she’s white. At least she starts out white. Let’s just say by the end of any backpacking trip, she’s the furthest thing from white.
Day 1: The Excited Cloud
When we get ready for a hike, my dog is a fluffy white explosion of joy. She paces by the door, tail wagging furiously, practically shouting, “Let’s GO! The TRAIL is CALLING!” Meanwhile, my boys? Not so much. Some days they are literally dragging themselves to the car at the speed of molasses, like they’re being sentenced to a day of hard labor. If enthusiasm for hiking was a competition, my dog would win gold, and my kids wouldn’t even qualify.
Day 2: Shades of Gray
By the second day, my once-fluffy white cloud of a dog is… not so white anymore. Dirt has claimed her fur like a proud conqueror, and she’s turned a shade of dusty gray that makes me question if this is the same dog we brought on the trail. We still know it’s her, but if we squint, we may wonder if someone swapped her out for a weathered stray.
Meanwhile, my boys have undergone their own transformations. The teenager, who started this trip at the pace of an ancient tortoise, now hikes at an Olympic pace and has become just a blur far ahead of us.
My tween has become a water source detective. Between looking for water, climbing rocks, and exploring every nook of the trail, he’s trailed faithfully by his grayish doggy companion, the two of them a perfect pair of curious adventurers.
Day 3: From Dust to Disaster
By day three, it’s official: my dog no longer resembles anything close to white. She looks more like a walking dust mop that got dragged through a charcoal grill. Her fur has layers of dirt, each telling the story of every trail she rolled in and every puddle she stomped through.
Yes, about that stomping through the river, her paws are now black! And she’s not happy about it. She marches over to me, plops down dramatically, and presents a paw with the unmistakable look of, “Fix this, Mom.”
Out come the wet wipes. I clean; she watches, clearly unimpressed. One paw, two paws… no, wait, the same paw again. And again. Eight times, as if saying, “Not good enough, Mom!” Finally, I get to the other paw and just when I think we’re done, splash! She’s back in the river, and the whole mess starts again. This time, my sleeping bag is the real victim.
The Great Tent Lockdown
After paw-cleaning attempt #7, we decide we’ve had enough. Into the tent she goes, where her mud-free reign can’t terrorize the rest of our gear. She gives us the side-eye but settles in, plotting her next escapade.
Home Again: Doggy Shower Showdown
When we get home, it’s doggy shower time. Except, my doodle doesn’t like water. So, picture two exhausted parent hikers and two goofy, dirt-covered kids bursting into fits of laughter as they chase a mud-caked furball around the house, trying to corner her into the bathroom. By the time we finally catch her, the house looks like a disaster zone, and her face is pure innocence: “It wasn’t me! You’re the ones who kept chasing me! Let’s play some more!”
In the shower, she looks at us like we’re the villains in her epic story of trail heroism. We scrub. She protests. Finally, her whiteness reappears.
The Blue Wall Incident
After her shower, she dashes outside, clean and white… for about a minute. Then she finds the wall.
You see, my teenager has taken to decorating our backyard wall with bright blue chalk drawings. It’s lovely, except for one tiny detail: my freshly cleaned dog thinks this wall is her personal scratching post. She rubs against it with wild abandon, and when she returns, she’s no longer a white dog. She’s blue. Smurf blue.
And so begins round two of the doggy shower showdown. Meanwhile, my teenager is frantically scrubbing the wall before it rains, and I’m stuck wondering how a single dog can produce so much chaos.
The Aftermath
Eventually, she’s clean again, really, truly white this time, and she flops on the floor as if she’s the one who survived the ordeal. My husband shakes his head. The kids are still laughing. And I’m contemplating dyeing my sleeping bag black to match her paws next time we hit the trail.
Until then, my golden doodle remains my favorite white (or gray, or black, or blue) hiking buddy, dirt and all. At least someone’s excited about hiking!
Ok, I admit it. I love having my husband and kids on the trail with me too. They bring the chaos, the laughs, and the best hiking stories. Adventures just wouldn’t be the same without them!