Do you ever look back at your life and realize that a certain point in time was an abrupt turning point, even though you may not have realized it at the moment? That’s how I feel about the time when I first met my dog, Drake.
A little over nine years ago, I found myself moving back in with my parents after dropping out while trying to earn a second degree from college. I was feeling down in the dumps and, frankly, quite lost as to what direction to take next.
A journal entry from mid-January in 2014 reads, “Oh to get a dog or not get a dog?”
Who was I to get a dog at this time in my life? I felt like I couldn’t keep much together as my direction in life felt very much up in the air. And what would my parents think? I was living in their house, I’d have to get their approval.
I buried those questions and the unknown answers, completely ignoring all rationality.
I knew I wanted a German Shorthaired Pointer, but I also felt confident I did not want a puppy. Adopting a dog sounded nice and I figured my parents would be more on board with the idea. It didn’t take long to find a list of available dogs from the GSP Rescue of New England.
One bitterly cold January day, my dad and I drove south to Augusta to meet 6-year-old Drake. It was called a meet-and-greet, but I knew the minute he leapt from his foster family’s vehicle that he’d be jumping into mine to go home.
This was it. This was my new path in life — my dirt trail adventure with Drake. His need and love for the outdoors was the answer I didn’t know I was searching for.
Over the next six to seven years, Drake and I would hike many miles (he most likely covered at least twice the ground I did), summit mountaintops, paddle quiet stretches of river, explore the Utah desert, and spend nights under the stars in our tent.
He showed me how to love the outdoors and savor each and every moment.
There is no better example of how to be present in the world than watching your dog on a trail. Drake was incredibly tuned into his surroundings, it was remarkable.
The slightest ruffle of leaves, that I certainly didn’t notice, didn’t go unnoticed by him. He’d stop midstride, lifting a front paw, his body frozen in place, his gaze hard and strong. His ears would perk up and become even more alert, his nose twitching as he took in any and every smell.
On mountain summits and vista points, he’d love to sit or lie down for a break. We’d have a drink and snack, and then he looked out at the landscape, breathing in the view. It wasn’t like he was seeing it for the first time, but instead, almost like he’d taken in the view before and felt content to be back.
Even now, at his elderly age of 15 1/2, he’s still teaching me lessons and showing me the way — like the fact that there’s always a reason to get up in the morning and live. There’s something out there worth living for. And that something isn’t necessarily a tangible thing but a feeling or experience.
His body hasn’t taken him to a mountaintop or for a mile walk in quite some time now. Yet at his delicate age, he still enjoys spending time in the sun alongside people he loves the most. It’s that simple for him.
And I know there will come a day when he’ll wake up and not feel that way. As heartbreaking as that time will be, I hope to instill his simple ways of loving life into my days, even when he’s no longer by my side to remind me.
Adventure dogs are a special breed, and if you share your life with one, I hope you too can reap the lessons and wisdom they subtly and willingly share with us.
