Frisbees, snow slides, rude moose, and a steaming pile of poop made this one of the most unforgettable walks of my life.
I grew up in Alaska. Not city Alaska. Real Alaska. Out in the middle of the state.
We lived in a cabin in the woods. No neighbors. No traffic. Just Mom, Dad, my older sister, and me. I did not need a leash unless we went to town. The woods were mine. Every tree. Every trail. Every smell. I made sure everyone knew they belonged to Karl. You’re welcome.
A lady moose lived nearby. She strolled through like she owned the place. I was not allowed to bother her. She did not even ask permission. Rude. I would have given her the stink-eye but Dad said no. Fine moose. Your crown remains intact for now.
Winter was my season.
Playing frisbee in the snow is superior to all other sports. You can slide across the ice, refuse to let go, and Dad can spin you like a snow tornado.
When the snow got too deep near our cabin, we drove to local winter trails. Some were for skiing. No dogs allowed. Snooty. Others were for mushing and walking, which obviously includes me.
One day on the trail, I smelled something magnificent.
Sister smelled it too. She had a little gasp. I didn’t. I have standards.
Mom and Dad did not notice at first. Then they did.
A pile of poop so big it deserves its own zip code. Still steaming. Epic. Impressive. I gave it a respectful sniff from a safe distance.
Dad immediately freaked out. “We gotta go.”
Excuse me?
They turned around fast, shoving us toward the Jeep. I had investigative work to do. Big sniffing responsibilities. Important tree marking. But no. They hustled us back like we had an appointment to get to.
Back at the Jeep, Dad sighed. “That’s as close to a bear encounter as I ever want to be.”
A bear.
I still have not met one. But if that is what they leave behind, I remain impressed.
Cabin life taught me many things. How to supervise wood chopping like a pro. How to chase frisbees and be an expert snow-slide technician. How to sniff, watch, and judge everything with dignity. How to tolerate rude moose and snooty ski trails. Most importantly, it taught me patience with humans… sort of.
I later became first mate on a sailboat. Now I travel full time in an RV. New adventures, new smells, new chaos. I still supervise everything. I still slide in the snow when possible. I still make sure my humans know I am here, watching, judging, and loving every second.
But here is the real deal. Wherever Mom and Dad go, I go. Across snow and seas, forests and highways, I follow them without question. Their path is my path. That is the adventure I am most proud of.
Karl out