When I think about the places we’ve been over the years, I don’t just think about the landscapes, the cities, or the roads between them. I think about the companions who have been there with us—sometimes human, sometimes not—who quietly become part of the rhythm of how we move through the world.
Scout has been one of those companions.
He came into our lives when he was only six weeks old, small and full of energy, with more personality than he knew what to do with. We didn’t know then how many seasons of life he would move through with us, or how many different versions of “home” he would come to understand.
In those early years, our world was shaped by long walks and open trails. In Utah, we spent countless days in the Wasatch Mountains, where Scout learned the freedom of running ahead and the habit of always circling back to find us again. Watching him disappear up a trail and reappear moments later, ears bouncing and tail high, became part of how I understood those mountains.
Then life changed, as it does.
When our daughter was born, we wondered how Scout would adjust to sharing space, attention, and routines that no longer belonged only to us. But what we found instead was a kind of quiet companionship between them that we didn’t expect. They grew into each other’s presence—tolerant at first, then inseparable in their own way. Snacks were shared, toys were exchanged, and somehow, without needing instruction, they became a pair.
Travel changed too. We moved from Utah to Florida, and Scout made the long road trip with Brad and my dad, settling into yet another version of life on the move. The mountains became the ocean, and instead of trails, there were beaches—waves he never quite trusted but eventually learned to chase anyway.
Later, Tennessee became home, and with it came a new landscape to explore together. State parks, winding roads, quiet overlooks—places where he could still run, still explore, still find the edges of whatever space we were in and make it feel familiar.
Over time, I’ve come to realize that travel isn’t only about where you go. It’s also about who moves through time with you as your life changes shape.
Scout is nine now. The white around his eyes has started to show more clearly, and the pace of his days has slowed in small but noticeable ways. He still runs when the moment calls for it, still lifts his head at the sound of a door opening, still listens with that unmistakable tilt of curiosity that only he has. But there is also more resting now, more watching than running.
And I find myself noticing time differently because of that.
There is a kind of awareness that comes when you realize a companion has been with you through so many versions of your life—and that one day, the rhythm you’ve always known will shift again.
So for now, we keep taking him with us. On the drives. On the walks. On the small everyday adventures that make up most of a life. And we pay attention to the details: the way he settles into a familiar seat, the way he leans into a hand, the way his presence fills a space without asking anything of it.
Because travel isn’t only about seeing new places.
Sometimes it’s about recognizing the ones who have been with you all along.
Many of our hikes, road trips, and outdoor adventures were shaped by this same traveling companion.
Head of the Crow State Park, Tennessee
Follow along for more adventures near and far!
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