This means three main things: 1) We now live next to an impossibly turquoise ocean, 2) we’re about to spend our longest time in a single location since we first moved into this yellow van all the way back in early 2023, and 3) we interact with more people and pets in a typical morning than we used to average in a whole week.

Those of you who know Scout or have read a handful of my Paws and Reflect posts over the years understand that she is not a social butterfly. I thought she was ready for this new challenge—if I didn’t, we wouldn’t have willingly put ourselves in a position where strangers walking into your campsite is the norm—but my stomach still fizzed with trepidation-tinged excitement (or maybe excitement-tinged trepidation?) the whole drive down.

There’s a difference between being ready in the sense of “can handle this without causing a major scene; will survive” and being ready in the sense of “will actively enjoy herself with no regrets.”

As we settled into our new normal, how much help would Scout need from us? How able would we be to provide that help when stretched in more different directions, trying to maintain existing remote work obligations on top of volunteer duties? Startling situations have always been our nervous cattle dog’s kryptonite. Were we waltzing into an environment where each and every day would put her through an adrenaline rush?

Before we arrived, I wrote “recovery from stress” on my calendar as a top priority for the month. Now that we’re officially two weeks in, I’m thrilled to say the stress itself has basically been a non-issue.

How Scout used to be in campgrounds, in the olden (read: very reactive) days

Our cattle dog’s fear reactivity has always been worse when she’s stationary but triggers are moving. Sitting still in a campsite—trapped in one location—while other dogs passed in close proximity was one of the hardest situations we could put her in, up there with relaxing at a dog-friendly patio.

The first time we took Scout tent camping, long before our van-life days, we had to:

• Keep close watch on her at all times (like, actually holding the leash)

• Always have treats on hand to immediately reward (and admittedly distract) her

• Be hyper aware of the environment in case someone was going to walk into our campsite to say hello, especially if they had their own dogs in tow

Her self-regulation around prey was also still in the works, so we stayed on the lookout for squirrels and lizards wandering too close. She could resist the urge to chase with reminders from us, but left to her own devices? Gal sure knew how to sprint after critters.

Scout’s campground baseline before we arrived for this volunteer position

Thanks to full-time living in the van, Scout’s camping finesse improved. I credit both natural exposure and continued management/training on our human end of things.

A little over a year ago (after staying in this very state park where we are now volunteer hosts!) I put together a post of ways our cattle dog was an excellent campground neighbor. “Instead of working on Scout’s skills each time we park somewhere new, mostly we get to sit back and enjoy those skills,” I began.

The list included things like her increasing environmental confidence (not taking so long to get comfy in a brand-new spot), how much she genuinely loves just resting outside, her overall neutrality to people and pets not in our own space, her ability to play just about anywhere (which drastically improves our fulfillment opportunities!), and her fairly quick bounce-back when something does catch her off guard.

Also this: “She likes to have her own lawn chair. This belongs on the list because it brings a lot of joy into the world: to herself, to me and Sean, and definitely to the friendly folks who walk by and tell us how cute she is.” 😉

But still. Just because I thought she was one of the world’s best campground dogs didn’t mean she’d be one of the world’s best campground hosts, you know? My biggest worry was this: With so many more people actually entering our space to ask questions and chat and get help, would she be able to stay so neutral? I think a big part of her confidence in van life has come from the fact that she knows Hermes is always a safe space. She’s able to ignore much of what goes on around her because she trusts it’s not going to affect her. Would that change when she realized that this time around the circle of comfort was smaller? We still wouldn’t let anyone actually enter our van, of course, but they’d much more often come up right next to it.

And then there was the whole “she is adorable and interested in affiliating with humans but also doesn’t want strangers to touch her” thing, which gets more complicated if she’s outside with us when somebody approaches. If the new person is open to it, all she wants to do is take a cautious-curious sniff from afar. But friendly strangers often interpret that mild interest as a bid for full-on head and belly rubs, which 1) she hates and 2) erodes her confidence that she can investigate people in the future without her boundaries being violated.

How would I manage my role of community-minded, open-and-welcoming campground host without feeling awkward about simultaneously advocating for my reserved dog?

What Scout’s days look like now

I don’t want to over-romanticize anything about our life living in a van, and particularly not this new chapter with all its nuances, so let me say right away: Scout has gotten startled a couple times. Once she was asleep in our site when a fellow volunteer came to say hello, and she woke with a bark. If we holler to someone she can’t see in the campsite next to us, she might low growl a little under her breath. Mostly she wants to know what’s going on. (This is natural, especially for a herding breed.)

But when she does know what’s going on? Holy hell, my friends. I can’t believe how excellent she’s been at processing—and dismissing—it.

A typical day looks something like this:

• We wake up before sunrise and take Scout on a walk when the temperature is still cool enough for her to comfortably explore.

• She eats breakfast while we work out, either in the van if we leave her behind for our own jog or outside with us as we stretch and strength train.

• If we’re on camp host duty, she spends most of the morning napping in the air conditioning while we clean the bathrooms. If we’re off, she lounges outside as we start our computer-centric work.

• When someone without a dog comes to talk to us, we try to greet them in front of the van, closer to the road than the back of our site. So far Scout generally stays where she is—either sunbathing outside or napping inside—and simply observes. (Most of the time she doesn’t even lift her chin off the ground.)

• She’s gotten bolder with some of our fellow volunteers and now approaches them to sniff. They have unanimously been perfect when we ask them to not reach for her. She even took a treat from a very tall, very deep-voiced new friend!1

• If someone with a dog comes over, we just preemptively tell her to “go away” (her crate cue) so we can focus on our guests as needed.

• She sleeps deeply in and outside of the van. I like to think the ocean’s constant hum helps here.

In many ways Scout’s world has gotten smaller these last weeks—we’re staying in one place with less driving than usual, we talking the same walking route most mornings, she isn’t allowed on the beach, there’s less novelty in the passive sense we’ve all come to take for granted—but she doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

Allow me to celebrate that this whole thing is going even better than hoped, for all of us.

Other notes and news

Oh gosh, where to even start?! First, thank you so much for being here. I will never be over the fact that hundreds of kind creature-loving people care to read about my life with Scout (and musings on tangentially related things). Amidst recent chaos, I have one big thing to shout about:

THE DOG LOVER’S BUCKET LIST comes out in just over a month!!

Five weeks from now I will officially be able to call myself Published Author. I still can’t quite believe it?! This week we finalized plans to donate some copies of the education-inspiration-journal book to Scout’s humane society—where I adopted her in 2019 (although I maintain that it can’t possibly have been so long ago)—which brings me great joy.

I can’t wait to open my box of author copies and probably sob.

In my perfect world, all dogs would be biologically fulfilled.

They’d have opportunities to perform natural behaviors and act on innate instincts. They’d be honored as complex social creatures. We wouldn’t expect them to fit into our modern human society without meeting their canine needs.

In my perfect world, we’d have far more off-leash legal spaces

where the cultural norm was for unfamiliar dogs to briefly sniff before moving on (or simply not greet at all).

These areas would be large enough to facilitate natural social interactions—no cramped half-acre dog park fences—and full of interesting terrain to keep people and pets exploring.

In my perfect world, leash laws would actually be followed.

If a park’s signage said dogs must be tethered? Visitors would respect the rules! People who were afraid of dogs could then enjoy these areas without worry—and dogs who were reactive, fearful, injured, elderly, or otherwise in training could too.

This goes hand in hand with the above fantasy. If there were more accessible designated spots to “let dogs be dogs” the way many owners enjoy, it would be easier to block off other areas as truly on leash.

In my perfect world, we’d have widespread education about how our pets can impact wildlife.

Owners would balance meeting their dogs’ needs with preserving the natural habitats around them. We’d work alongside each other—handlers, trainers, park rangers, biologists, additional experts—to come up with alternatives where instinctual behavior (like chasing endangered species or roaming over cryptobiotic soil) wasn’t a safe option.

In my perfect world, no one would expect domestic dogs to be indiscriminately social.

Strangers would always ask before reaching towards a pet they didn’t know. Kids would be taught from a young age not to grab dogs without permission.

In my perfect world, that respect would go both ways.

Owners would prevent their dogs from approaching anyone new—person, dog, cat, livestock, whoever—if they weren’t clearly invited to say hello.

In my perfect world, everyone would know basic canine body language.

Our dogs’ stress signals and signs of discomfort would become common knowledge. And when we noticed them, we’d care enough to try to figure out their cause—to improve our companions’ comfort and confidence and sense of security in the long run.

In my perfect world, dog bites wouldn’t just be preventable… they’d be successfully prevented.

No one would expect their dog to act like a small human. We’d better understand prey drive, natural territorial inclinations, and the ways our species communicate in fundamentally different ways to reduce conflict.

In my perfect world, ethical breeders and rescues would band together

to reduce the homeless pet problem. There would be more curiosity and thoughtful conversation about how intentional breeding impacts our modern world. There would be more understanding that rescue dogs aren’t inherently damaged or “less than”! There would be more foster initiatives designed to keep pets in their current homes rather than simply find them new ones.

In my perfect world, unethical breeders wouldn’t exist.

Everyone who bred dogs would be doing it with a well-understood purpose—and only after health testing and temperament screening. Breeders would take full responsibility for their dogs, throughout their entire lives, so that they’d never end up in shelters.

In my perfect world, rescues and shelters would have adoption criteria free from discrimination.

Approval would be less about surface-level details like having a yard—and more about understanding the commitment, and wanting to experience the true joy, of an inter-species bond.

In my perfect world, everyone who was able to and excited about sharing their life with a canine would get the chance to. We would support each other instead of judging.

In my perfect world, dog training goals would be tailored to individual teams

based on lifestyle factors like immediate environment, personal preferences, and long-term plans. Not on arbitrary lists of what makes a “good dog” across the board.

In my perfect world, owners and trainers would spend more time focusing on shared core values than arguing over messy semantics or internet controversies.

In my perfect world, we’d live in harmony with our dogs.

And our dogs would live in harmony with us.

In my perfect world, this wouldn’t be some magical utopia that simply sprang into being. It would come to fruition because we worked for it. Because we opened our minds (and hearts). Because we learned about our canine companions. Because we learned, too, about ourselves.

Tell me what your perfect world would look like!

This morning we had to pass a dog on a narrow boardwalk, maybe three feet wide. The other handler stopped to let us go by, which I found thoughtful (I appreciate any recognition, ever, that not all dogs just want to rush into on-leash greetings! This man was extremely kind) but also more difficult (his dog stared pretty hard at Scout while we walked by, and it would have been easier on our nervous gal if everyone kept moving to make the whole interaction shorter).

Anyway, it was really no big deal, except that at the very last second Scout growl-barked. A small reaction. A reaction she shook off in seconds. A reaction I understood given the specific situation on its own and even more so with the surrounding context: We’ve been in the midwest for Sean’s work and now family visits (both celebratory and chaotic), dealing again with colder temperatures, changing up our usual routines, asking her to tolerate more both physically and mentally.

But even with all that great logic—hard-won logic, honestly, thought processes I’ve spent ages building and practicing since our early days—I still felt the old emotions rise in my stomach. Settle back in the spot they used to live full time when my dog’s reactivity was the single greatest stressor in my life. Refuse to budge for a few gray hours.

Today Scout’s behavioral problems are nowhere close to that all-consuming calamity. But we never fully “cured” them, either. Is there more we could have done? (Could still do?) Undoubtedly—I am not the tiniest bit ashamed to admit that. I think we need to talk about marginal returns and individual situations and the deeply personal decision of what “finished” looks like for us, as individuals, a lot more.

But once in a while, on a narrow boardwalk at sunrise through tall grasses full of cardinals, I run into a bit of residual grief. Small but stubborn. The kind of jagged emotion that forces my palm open to hold it even when I really, really don’t want to.

I am so proud to know this dog better, and to love her so deeply, and to—most importantly—no longer beg her to be different in order to deserve that love. The last years have held all these highs scattered across the country and continent living in a converted van: chasing sunrises and laughing on beaches and thinking my morning coffee view looks like something out of a movie montage made even better by Scout’s speckled fur at my feet. By her eyes, the second I turn to look into them, having always already found my own.

Life together is so damn great. It’s just still not always easy.

And I suppose I’m still learning that it was never supposed to be.

Related reading

Welcome to a very long “related reading” section! 😉 Because the vast majority of what I’ve written about on this blog over the years has touched on 1) Scout’s reactivity, 2) my emotions about said reactivity, and 3) finding joy and connection regardless.

As always you can find the whole Paws and Reflect archive at pawsandreflect.blog, and you can sort posts by tags if you’re looking for something specific!

Some of these books are explicitly about dogs. Some are about the larger nonhuman animal kingdom—and our species’ complicated interactions with creatures beyond our anthropocentric lens. Some are directed solely at people. But all have impacted my dog ownership philosophy, relationship with Scout, and approach to love in general.

So here’s a running collection of books I recommend to dog lovers, listed in no particular order.1

You can also find specific excerpts and annotations from a smattering of these titles in my Books, Books 2, Books 3, Books 4, and Books 5 story highlights2 on Instagram—as well as a longer list of titles I’ve read (including ones I don’t necessarily recommend) here if you want to compare notes.

Why do I believe in reading so much, anyway?

I’ve learned a lot about emotional intelligence and the complexity of creatures, relationships, and the larger world from books. Getting into a character’s head is an excellent exercise in empathy! Growing up, my favorite titles were novels that bounced back and forth between different points of view. Those stories let me practice looking at situations from several perspectives with the luxury of mental distance (because I wasn’t directly involved in the story situations myself, I could set aside my own biases more easily).

As I’ve gotten older and gravitated toward nonfiction, I love the opportunity to build nuanced opinions based on multiple data points instead of just what I myself have gone through. I was once told to “be careful basing opinions off books instead of life experience,” and I’ve gotta say: I’ve scarcely disagreed with someone’s take more. The value of external perspectives and personal anecdotes are not mutually exclusive—and a true effort to make sense of the world requires more than any one being’s experiences.

So one of my favorite ways to both 1) acquire anecdotes beyond my own (what I find in a lot of fiction and memoir) and 2) put those in context with larger sets of data (yay for research-grounded nonfiction) is reading!

Dog-specific books I recommend

Dog is Love: Why and How Our Dogs Love Us by Clive Wynne

Wynne’s practical approach to understanding our dogs’ affection for us echoed some of the traits I love in Frans de Waal (my all-time favorite animal author; more on him soon). Full of research made accessible!

I wasn’t thrilled with the way the author talked about dog training tools at the very end—dismissing anything commonly considered “aversive” out of hand without nuance—but I recognize 1) he isn’t a professional dog trainer so in-depth discussions of those topics are beyond the scope of his book, 2) we’re aligned on all the important things, 3) in works for wide audiences it can be helpful (and less potentially harmful) to focus on “force free” training, and 4) his discussion on the Training Without Conflict podcast was more measured.

The Genius of Dogs: How Dogs Are Smarter than You Think by Brian Hare and Vanessa Woods

I loved Woods and Hare’s encouragement of skepticism and sharing differing perspectives, particularly in infant fields of research like canine cognition. The Genius of Dogs overlapped a fair amount with Dog is Love. If you’ve got time for both, they’re each worthwhile!

Dog Smart: Life-changing Lessons in Canine Intelligence by Jennifer Holland

Dog Smart pairs well with The Genius of Dogs if you’re most interested in canine cognition. It’s modern (came out in 2024) with a combination of research and narratives.

I was also fortunate enough to interview Jennifer shortly after the release of Dog Smart for The Juniper Podcast! She’s lovely.

Inside of a Dog: What Does See, Smell, and Know by Alexandra Horowitz

Make sure to read the updated version. This book is all about the canine umwelt: our dogs’ unique experiences of their surrounding world. It naturally delves into canine cognition too, making it a nice title to read alongside The Genius of Dogs and Dog Smart.

Pit Bull: The Battle Over an American Icon by Bronwen Dickey

Canine and human history, breed-specific legislation, nature and nurture, and more. You can read some of my initial Pit Bull takeaways in this old Instagram post and see my full-length review article here!

Rethinking Rescue: Dog Lady and the Story of America’s Forgotten People and Pets by Carol Mithers

Rethinking Rescue is one of the most important books I’ve read in the last couple years. It’s nuanced, thoughtful, and grounded in one story—that of Downtown Dog Rescue in Los Angeles—while speaking to larger concepts critical to the animal rescue movement. The book’s focus on community and the relationship between human and animal welfare pairs well with Pit Bull.

For the Love of a Dog: Understanding Emotion in You and Your Best Friend by Patricia McConnell

Despite being nearly two decades old, For the Love of a Dog is still a great read. While some of the specifics are a little outdated (just in the sense that we’ve learned more about nonhuman animal emotions in the last twenty years) McConnell beautifully touches on two of my biggest passions: 1) avoiding unproductive anthropomorphism while embracing our shared traits / coevolution / similarities, and 2) balancing accepting who our dogs are with helping them grow.

While we’re talking about McConnell: The Other End of the Leash is another oldie-but-goodie helping explain some common miscommunications between canines and humans.

Bones Would Rain From the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs by Suzanne Clothier

Great emotional insights on seeing our dogs as more than just “robots”. You can read my initial reflections in this Instagram post. What I loved most? All the passages on living well with our dogs and the exploration of how deeply we can connect with another species!

The Happiest Dog on the Block: Canine Enrichment Activities to Keep Your Pet Young and Healthy by Taylor Finton

An accessible conversation on our dogs’ enrichment that I think works especially well as an introductory guide for people new to the idea. (Plus Taylor is a true gem of a human! You might know her as @bindisbucketlist on social media.)

A Dog’s History of the World: Canines and the Domestication of Humans by Laura Hobgood-Oster

I read this book in one sitting. It’s a lovely dive into the history of dogs and people, together, featuring fascinating mythology and more. If you’re looking for direct insight into modern dogs (say, you’re really trying to improve your training game right now) it’s not going to be as impactful as other titles on this list—but I think reorienting ourselves in our ancient canine-human bond is always prudent.

Animal-specific books I recommend

Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? by Frans de Waal

My favorite book of all time. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Frans de Waal changed my life. Although he was first and foremost a primatologist, his ideas have strengthened my relationship with my sensitive cattle dog and rekindled my childhood fascination with the animal kingdom in general. De Waal gave me permission to see myself in nonhuman animals—and, maybe more importantly, to see them in me, too. Because of him I am a better dog owner and trainer. Because of him I am more empathetic across species lines. Because of him I am able to fully embrace the magic of the canine-human bond without dissolving into folk nonsense.

In particular, this book encouraged me to push past strict behaviorism to see the animals around me less as a mere product of reinforcement or punishment and more as fellow creatures. You can read an Instagram post I wrote right after finishing it here as well this article that dives deeper into my three favorite De Waal books for dog owners.

The Arrogant Ape: The Myth of Human Exceptionalism and Why It Matters by Christine Webb

Oh, what to say about The Arrogant Ape?! My love for Are We Smart Enough is rivaled only by this more recent book—which was, not-so-conincidentally, penned by de Waal’s student Christine Webb. Please, please, please read it with an open mind and heart.

Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us about Ourselves by Frans de Waal

Also by Frans de Waal, a nuanced conversation about both human and animal emotions.

An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us by Ed Yong

This book has many themes in common with Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are, with a more specific focus on nonhuman animal senses. If you’re only going to read one? I recommend Frans de Waal. But in a perfect world? Read both!

Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat: Why It’s So Hard to Think Straight About Animals by Hal Herzog

A philosophical read without as many direct applications to day-to-day dog ownership as other books here—but it really got me thinking about my relationships with nonhuman animals overall. You can read my full reflections on Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat in this blog plus some higher level thoughts on Instagram.

Pests: How Humans Create Animal Villains by Bethany Brookshire

Pests is like a more modern deep dive into the “some we hate” section of Herzog’s above book. Well researched, well written, well worth a read!

Kingdom of Play: What Ball-bouncing Octopuses, Belly-flopping Monkeys, and Mud-sliding Elephants Reveal about Life Itself by David Toomey

Play has been my obsession for many years now. (It’s the single most important piece of Scout’s reactivity training and our relationship growth.) So I naturally felt like this book was written just for me… and also kind of wished I’d written it myself 😉

Good Grief: On Loving Pets, Here and Hereafter by E.B. Bartels

This can be a heavy read—it is, after all, about losing the animals we love—but as long as you’re ready for that when you pick it up, I think you’ll love the heartfelt exploration into so many different ways people memorialize their pets. Society often takes pet grief less seriously than human loss, and it helps to know we aren’t alone.

Poets Square: A Memoir in Thirty Cats by Courtney Gustafson

This book is ostensibly about cats—but really it’s about care. You might feel like concepts centered on feral cats don’t apply to domestic dogs. You would be wrong. Poets Square will make you reflect on themes relevant to our relationships with all creatures!

Animals Make Us Human: Creating the Best Life for Animals by Temple Grandin

You can read my full book review of Animals Make Us Human in this article. The conceptual framework of blue ribbon emotions was particularly enlightening for me as I started addressing Scout’s fear-based dog reactivity more holistically. My initial reflection Instagram post is also linked here.

Human-directed books I recommend

Psych: The Story of the Human Mind by Paul Bloom

I felt that Bloom was unfair to nonhuman animals at points (please tell me why an author in 2023 would cite a study from 1998 about chimps not having theory of mind when there have been other studies since suggesting more nuanced results??) but still find Psych worth recommending. The book leaves us with two attitudes about psychology that apply well to many other things, too: humility and optimism. It’s accessibly written, sometimes funny, nuanced, and well intentioned.

Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead by Brené Brown

Perhaps the vulnerability conversation is overdone at this point, but Brené Brown’s work helped me develop more confidence and become a steadier guardian for Scout. I found her “square squad” idea and marble jar analogy particularly useful in my earlier (read: much, much, much harder) days with my sensitive dog’s fear reactivity.

The New Behaviorism by John Staddon

This is a lengthy, textbook-esque foray into the foundations of behavioral science. It’s not light reading. I wouldn’t recommend it across the board to every dog owner! But depending on your interest level in science, particularly operant conditioning, it can be interesting to at least skim.

John Staddon was also a guest on Ivan Balabanov’s Training Without Conflict podcast.

The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman (podcast dive)

Okay, huge disclaimer here: This book is based on generalizations, arbitrary distinctions, and questionable gender stereotypes. I hesitated to include it. But the overall ideas have helped Sean and me think more critically about our relationship (here’s an Instagram post discussing that) and I’ve been able to apply those insights to Scout.

If you need a basic intro to the concept that not everyone interprets our love the way we intend it (especially our dogs—another S/O to Patricia McConnell’s The Other End of the Leash here), maybe check it out from your local library for a quick scan. Or, better yet, listen to the If Books Could Kill podcast episode for a solid summary that also addresses its issues.

Scout was trotting along a street near my dad’s work when the Humane Society of Marathon County picked her up in late 2018. A little under a month later her stray hold had expired—no one came for her—and she lived in a kennel on the adoption floor. When my family dropped off some holiday donations, I fell in love with the “shy but sweet” blue heeler’s pointy ears and speckles. (It took her a little longer—and was less about superficial attributes, thank goodness—but eventually she fell in love with me back.)

Now we’ve been together for seven years!

But thanks to her murky past, we’ve never known how old Scout is. Our guiding pieces of information included:

• She had all her adult teeth when she was found. This means she must have been at least eight months old.

• Those adult teeth had some wear. This suggests she wasn’t a fresh adolescent.

• Aaand that’s pretty much it.

The shelter estimated Scout was between one and two years old. Our first vet guessed two to three. Our next vet concurred with the first. I decided we just had to pick something, so I accepted “one to three years old at adoption” as the overarching range and put “two years” on her official records. (Right in the middle, you know?) We celebrate her “birthday” on her gotcha day, January 13th, which means she could be anywhere from eight to ten right now.

I never thought much about how old Scout actually was until she started slowing down. She seems to have aged enough in the last year and a half that I’ve started reminding myself of our high-end estimate—it’s possible she’s already ten?—because I’d rather think she’s older than she is (and thus be pleasantly surprised by how much time we have left) than be blindsided thinking she’s younger.

Let’s test her DNA

Our first spring together, I did an Embark DNA test to determine Scout’s breed makeup. (Although it is hard even for canine professionals to visually identify dog breeds1, Scout is mostly what you’d think she is: 95 percent Australian Cattle Dog.)

Embark has since introduced a Dog Age Test (that’s an affiliate link, by the way!) that had me intrigued. “Age can be notoriously difficult to judge in dogs based on visual cues alone,” notes science writer Mimi Padmabandu on the company’s website. No kidding, I thought, wondering not for the first time how our guesses were so up in the air. Maybe this test would let us narrow our estimate down?

Well, maybe. As it stood, we had a two-year range—Scout was somewhere between one and three when I brought her home—and Embark’s methylation analysis returns a result within 18 months of a dog’s true age 90 percent of the time and 22 months of a dog’s true age 95% of the time. In short: We’d generally accept that Scout is plus or minus 22 months (nearly two years) from the estimated age of her test.

But I was hopeful that 1) Scout’s result could help us lean to one side or the other of our estimated range, and 2) her DNA methylation profile might tell us something about how she’s aging. “DNA methylation is the most well-known type of epigenetic marker,” explains Padmabandu, and epigenetic clock predictions might be associated with physical capabilities. A 2022 Frontiers in Psychology article suggests methylation might also be correlated with fear-related behavior. (More research is needed to even start drawing any real conclusions here, but of course this caught my eye because Scout’s baseline is so much more fearful than most dogs.)

So we decided to do the test. We picked the small package up from a post office in California (S/O General Delivery services for van-life nomads like us!), swabbed Scout a couple days later, and sent it off in the mail.

Her results came back surprisingly quickly. Based on email updates throughout the process, Embark received Scout’s DNA sample on 12/10—and they had the reveal ready for us on 12/23. (A fun lil’ early Christmas present!)

When I clicked through, though, I did end up having to stifle a laugh. Scout’s estimated age is 7 years, 2 months, the website proclaimed. Scout’s estimated birthday is: October 21, 2018. (Below that was an “orient yourself with the times” tidbit: In the year 2018, the song “God’s Plan” by Drake was topping the U.S. pop charts.)

When Scout was picked up as a stray on November 28th, 2018, she definitely wasn’t five weeks old! 😉 But we knew we’d be getting a prediction interval with this age test—not an end-all-be-all accurate calendar date—so it was easy enough to shake off the initial shock. “The test is designed to predict calendar age and is most helpful when interpreted alongside what’s known about a dog’s background and history,” Embark reminded me. “There can still be a natural margin of uncertainty from dog to dog, influenced in part by biological differences and environmental factors that may affect methylation patterns.”

Based on Embark’s statements of accuracy:

• 77 percent of dogs have a true birthday within 12 months of their Embark Age Test result. Scout could have been just over a year when she was found.

• 90 percent of dogs have a birthday within 18 months of their result, which could make her as old as eight years and eight months.

• Or she could be in the 90 percent who have a true birthday within 22 months, putting her at nine years old when she was found.

• And it is unlikely (though not impossible) that she is already ten. You know I love seeing that!!

If I was really determined to narrow down Scout’s age, I’d want to run a bunch of these tests and graph how all the results came back. Of course, that is cost prohibitive (not to mention just plain unnecessary even for someone as over-the-top as me) so this is good enough! Her test largely matches our initial estimates, and I’m feeling pretty content to stick with our initial range: Scout was probably between one and three at the time we adopted her. Plus I’m not complaining that her methylation profile potentially looks like that of an even younger dog than we’d expect.

I think this age test is most beneficial for dogs who were adopted as fully grown adults in situations where vets had a particularly hard time estimating how old they might be. If your existing guess is around a two-year range, the test won’t tell you much more than you already know (unless that initial estimate happened to be way off to start with). If you’re working with a much wider spread, though? It could be fun (and useful) information to have!

There are a couple affiliate links to Embark in this post. They sent me their Dog Age Test in exchange for me sharing my experience—it’s a product I’d have bought, and a post I’d have written, regardless (a core tenet of any partnerships I partake in). Importantly, the brand had no creative control over this blog. All thoughts are my own!

As always, I am here for any and all questions you may have. And as always, please don’t feel pressured to buy anything you don’t actually need. You will never find a hard sell here (unless I publish my dream Paws and Reflect memoir someday, in which case I will be begging you to preorder in all capital letters 😂)

Around 9 am on January 13th, 2019, I walked into the Humane Society of Marathon County to complete adoption paperwork for a “shy but sweet” blue heeler named Zip. With me I carried a yellow floral-patterned collar and a basic black nylon leash and a custom-made metal tag with my phone number inscribed. I signed and initialed and promised to do right by this creature; I paid a modest adoption fee to support the shelter’s operations; I attempted to get my new dog to pose for our first family photo.

Then I led Zip—now Scout Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird—outside, convinced her to jump into my car, and put on the “calming classical” playlist I’d planned a week earlier. (“Studies show that shelter dogs benefit from slow-paced music in the background,” I explained to my boyfriend of five months, “particularly jazz and classical.”)

And then, I sometimes think, I finally started growing up.

That first afternoon I brought Scout to a third-story apartment in downtown Madison, Wisconsin. We shared the space with one of my old college roommates, and it was thanks to him that the living room was adorned with a dramatic poster of Nicolas Cage (a sight that made it into the background of hundreds of our early-days training videos). Here, in this little home, I started trying to Do Everything Right as a dog owner: I hand-fed Scout her meals through engagement exercises and began teaching door manners and started conditioning her to be comfortable wearing a muzzle, just in case. Despite my best efforts at (read: my desperate insistence on) perfection, my new companion developed severe fear-based reactivity anyway. Another dog attacked her on a walk just a couple weeks in, pinning her to the sidewalk while she screamed, and our lives changed all over again.

That summer we moved across town to the first apartment I’d ever lived in on my own (except I wasn’t alone, of course, because I had her now). It was here that we started to make some real training progress in a quieter neighborhood. It was here that we started to catch glimpses of what a life could look like with more joy than worry. Every day at lunch I came home from my marketing job to take Scout out and practice her skills: down stays, loose-leash walking, lots of impulse control.

Come spring the world found itself in a global pandemic and Sean—now my boyfriend of almost two years—found himself with a job offer he couldn’t refuse. Scout and I followed him across the country in a rented SUV packed with all our worldly belongings, complete with a portable toilet so I wouldn’t have to go inside a single gas station on the drive down. At the time, it was the scariest and most thrilling adventure of my life. I watched Scout sleep in a sunbeam on the passenger seat for thousands of miles, from Wisconsin to Florida, until we settled on the Space Coast.

Here we got to live with Sean for the very first time. What a treat! I imagine both my dog and I thought when we fell asleep that night, all three of us together on the full-sized bed. The warmer weather offered easier training opportunities—and the support from a “bonus human” enabled Scout to experience her most consistent dog reactivity wins. Sean and I pioneered Wacky Training Wednesday in this apartment. We fell in love with sunrise beach trips. When it seemed safe, Scout and I attended morning workout classes at a nearby outdoor mall to practice her ability to settle in public. Soon she was confident enough to play outside, too, to truly let loose. I felt our world expanding.

The night Sean proposed to me—a question I knew he was going to ask but was still delighted to answer, heart pounding and hands shaking like all the clichés—we came home and held Scout and felt more like a family than ever. The next morning we played three-creature tug on our favorite stretch of beach and laughed about how, when I first adopted our cattle dog, Sean wasn’t sure he could ever be a dog person. (“But it didn’t take me long to become a Scout person,” he said.)

A year after we arrived in Florida, we had the opportunity to buy a house and give Scout a yard of her own. It was here, in this home, that we built a makeshift wall climb for her to scale. We set up food searches in the living room and designed obstacle courses outside and filled the freezer with frozen enrichment toys. When we got married, our blue heeler joined the celebration, staying in a rental house with 30 of our loved ones and jumping on the floor for our first dance.

We fostered five dogs in that house of ours, and hosted dozens of bonfires, and earned Scout’s Canine Good Citizen and Advanced Trick Dog titles. We read books on the back porch with our feet in a yellow kiddie pool and our dog baking in the sun between rounds of fetch and tug. We treasured that property because of how much work we put into it, because of the joy we filled it with, and because it was Scout’s.

But a couple years later we made an even bigger dream come true. On January 26th 2023, almost exactly four years after I first welcomed a timid Australian cattle dog into my who-knows-where-it’s-going life, we backed out of our driveway for the last time—no longer our driveway, really, soon to belong to a mother and two kids we hoped would love it as much as we had—and hit the road in our converted campervan.

It’s been three years since then. We’ve been to 49 states and 9 Canadian provinces and 30-some national parks. This is the longest Scout has lived in a single housing unit—and the longest Sean or I have either since we were baby-faced high schoolers beneath our parents’ roofs, ages away from first meeting.

This spring, in our eighth year all together, we’ll tackle a new adventure: acting as campground hosts (and protecting sea turtle nesting areas!) in the Florida keys.

“The dog you get in your 20s,” I’ve heard, “is with you through everything: the job changes and the moves and the heartbreaks.” I can’t help but think that Scout has been with me through even more than most.

And oh, I love you for it, cattle gal. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“She’s the very best dog nowadays,” Sean agreed. The words were nothing new—we probably have a version of this conversation two or three times a day—but my heart still swelled.

Now, a couple hours later, Scout has started huffing under her breath when other dogs go by. She’s regulating her reactions pretty well overall, but we’ve needed to intervene twice. She is undoubtedly more on edge than she was at 8 am.

What changed? We had a couple unpleasant experiences—“campground chaos,” I call it—and as a herding-dog pattern-mapper extraordinaire, Scout can’t help but hold onto the stress.

The first was when the adorable-but-should-not-have-been-off-leash corgi from across the road darted into our campsite. He thankfully wasn’t too intent on actually greeting Scout, and both Sean and his owner stepped in to grab him quickly. I was able to tell our heeler to jump on the table out of the way, and following a couple under-her-breath growls the whole thing was over. (Totally appropriate when you are surprised in your own space.) She watched the corgi and his Australian shepherd sibling more closely after that, but soon we all moved on.

The second was when Sean and I had started our work days. I smiled over my computer screen at an older man walking by with his two dachshunds; I think he took it as an invitation to come say hello. He and his dogs walked into our site toward the rug where Scout was lounging. I wasn’t able to step in soon enough—she huffed at their approach then progressed to a few full barks. Still, the man and his dogs kept moving closer. “Is she friendly?” he asked me over her growls. (I did not find this funny at the time, but in hindsight, the sheer obliviousness holds some hilarity.)

“No, she isn’t,” I replied. “She’s scared.”

“Okay, I won’t come closer,” he said. But he also didn’t leave. He stood there, dachshunds pulling at the end of their leashes, waiting for who knows what to happen.

Eventually Sean (who is much better at any sort of socially awkward situation than I am) said politely but firmly: “If you don’t mind, I’m on a work call.” The now-visibly-disgruntled man dragged his dogs away.

And after that—two separate experiences of unfamiliar dogs coming all the way into her space—Scout stayed wary. I’m confident she’ll return to her baseline soon. (As I write this, she is flopped on her side in the dirt next to my lawn chair, seeming to settle more fully under the late morning light.) But I’m also not surprised those situations shook her. Usually we prioritize lots of repetitions of “dog walks by, nothing happens, all is calm”—and those stack atop one another, year over year, enabling her to continue feeling comfortable in the presence of triggers. Once in a while, though, we can’t avoid the chaos—and then those experiences stack atop one another too, threatening all our confidence just a bit.

No one meant any harm this morning. The corgi’s owner was apologetic; they’ve diligently kept both their dogs on tethers ever since. The older man probably thought he was being friendly; although I stand by the fact that walking directly into someone else’s campsite is rude, it is plenty common to say hi to new folks in campgrounds.

For my part, I’m feeling a familiar mixture of emotions: Proud of Scout! While these situations do stress her out, I don’t expect the effects to last longer than a few hours at most. Frustrated? by the unpredictability of the world we live in. Bewildered, a little, by some people’s very different expectations of social norms. And hyperaware, all over again, of how easy it is to impact someone else’s experience in a shared space—even, and maybe especially, when you don’t think what you’re doing is any big deal.

Related reading

• Why I’m extra proud of Scout and how her annual vet appointment went

• Details of our converted van’s heating issues

• Dispatches from driving 27 hours across the country and sleeping in seven different states seven nights in a row

• My December reading log

• A request to help me pick books for a dog rescue’s foster home library

• My big secret project is secret no more: Next year I’ll be a published author!

• How I set up a DIY writing retreat the week before Christmas

• Additional bits and bobs!

In an attempt to be more organized, I also link to about a dozen past posts here on the Paws and Reflect blog (most from before I converted it to a Substack nuance-letter). This email might be a little long to read in your inbox, so I recommend clicking the headline to open it in a browser instead if you can!

🐺 Scout shenanigans

My timid dog fell asleep at a truck stop

Once upon a time we spent hours each week working on Scout’s comfort and confidence and calmness in public. In the middle of December, she took a proper nap at an interstate truck stop.

I would love to see “glow ups” like this be as widely rewarded as fun, flashy trick videos. My dog fell asleep here? On a long day of driving where she had basically zero fulfillment?! Past Me, setting up relaxation protocols in places where we wouldn’t see another person or pet for hours at a time, would have shrieked with joy.

Annual vet appointment

We also had Scout’s vet exam with the incredible team at Rolling Paws Pet Care. Sandra and Garrett drove their mobile clinic to my parents’ house (where we reliably find ourselves at some point during the holiday season) for the third year in a row.

• Scout did not enjoy her vet appointment—no surprise there—but everything went as smoothly as expected. Our vet thought it was the best yet. I’d say it was much like last year’s.

• Sean and I restrained Scout for the exam and bloodwork, and he administered her oral vaccine. Being trusted to handle her ourselves—as her people, her teammates, the family she moves through the world with day in and day out—makes a massive difference for everyone. (I can never thank our veterinary team enough for giving us that trust.)

• She had her first seizure in a while at the beginning of the month. It sucked as always, but she came through it well and her blood work looked solid. We aren’t making any changes to her epilepsy treatment. (Still twice a day phenobarbital.)

• We finally got some as-needed pain medication for Scout’s sorest days. (A low dose of gabapentin to start.) I don’t plan to use it often at this point, but having it on hand is peace of mind: She’s aging, she’s slowing, and I don’t want her to also be hurting.

🚐 Life on the road

Hydronic heating system headaches

After multiple attempts to fix our hydronic heating system, we dropped Hermes at an RV mechanic on December 1st. They insisted the issue was a dud fuel pump (even though it was brand new). We ordered another pump to pick up along our route. Woohoo, we thought! We’ll have heat by the time we’re in the midwest, no problem.

Except installing that pump (which we tested beforehand to ensure it was not also a dud) didn’t fix our issue. Instead, the newer brand-new part also broke. (In hindsight, we were a little naive not to push back more on the mechanic’s assessment.)

Long story short: We had a hard deadline to arrive in Illinois so couldn’t take the van in again, temps were plummeting, and despite our best efforts—purchasing a small space heater and waking up at set intervals to run the engine/cab heat overnight—our water pump froze. So did Scout’s water bowl. (That layer of ice is what finally made me cry.)

Although no heat or running water is about as fun as you think it is (the opposite of fun), I am over-the-moon proud that we handled the whole thing like the team we are. Generally high morale. Zero arguments. Taking turns feeling despair so the other could play the role of comforter. And then, finally—after weeks of struggle and three-creature nights piled into the bed sharing warmth—Sean managed to fix our system while in the morning’s wee hours at a highway rest area. (He also opened up the top of our gas tank from inside the cab, which I did not know you could do.)

Our giddiness lasted a full week. Actually, I still feel it bubbling up! At the time of writing, everything is functioning beautifully—as it ought to, given that we basically replaced the whole system part by part 😅

And December still brought some lovely adventures!

We started the month on the outskirts of Los Angeles before spending a glorious week in Joshua Tree National Park. (One of my favorites now.) Despite the no-heat thing, hiking and marveling—and letting Scout become her Feral Desert Dog alter ego—was exactly the recharge we needed.

Then we drove from southern California to southern Illinois, sleeping at rest areas and Walmarts in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Missouri along the way. After a week near a landfill for Sean’s work (he did indeed come home with a bit of a stench 🤪) we arrived in Wisconsin to embrace the holiday season with family.

Having my house within reach is worth repair stress

I have two nieces now—Elsie Lucille arrived in the world in September, joining her sister Olive Elizabeth—and although I do not share their faces or much else about them publicly, I feel strongly that I was made to be an aunt. Olive gave me a stuffed puppy for Christmas who I will now proudly carry around the country. (I cried into said puppy’s fur for ten minutes when we drove away after a final goodbye.)

One of the things that enables me and Sean to go Full Auntie and Unc Mode when we visit is the fact that our own private home is parked in the driveway. We routinely step out to love on Scout (who would rather not be inside our relatives’ houses), meditate, organize, and otherwise reset. I realize this opportunity is niche to van life but can’t recommend it enough.

Our December overnight stay stats:

• 12 nights parked on friend’s or family’s property

• 7 nights at campgrounds (a record, I think—thanks, Joshua Tree!)

• 6 nights in hotels or Airbnbs (another record… sarcastic thanks, heating issues!)

• 6 nights in parking lots or rest areas

Aaand I finally updated our overnight-stay map for the first time in nearly a year!

📚 Reading

Books I read this month

2025 was my slowest reading year since I started keeping my massive tracker spreadsheet. And that’s okay! I rounded out December with:

• No Less Strange or Wonderful: Essays in Curiosity by A Kendra Greene: An eclectic and engaging and empathetic read about… well, about a lot of things. In a good way!

• Every Living Thing: The Great and Deadly Race to Know All Life by Jason Roberts: Pulitzer-prize-winning account of two men competing to classify life on earth.

• Kingdom of Play: What Ball-bouncing Octopuses, Belly-flopping Monkeys, and Mud-sliding Elephants Reveal about Life Itself by David Toomey: A lovely nonfiction exploration I can’t help but feel was written for me (and wish I’d written myself).

• Juniper’s Christmas by Eoin Colfer: I continue to stand by the fact that adults should read children’s literature!

• And, of course, more rereading of The Arrogant Ape by Christine Webb.

Noteworthy essays and other pieces

• Everything Off Assignment publishes is gold, and I particularly loved ’s Letter to a Stranger from November. (I then went down a rabbit hole of Hart’s other writing. This short piece deserved its Narratively grand prize!)

• It was otherwise, again, a slow reading month. But just a few newsletters I always open when they arrive in my inbox include: Unresolving by author Emily J. Smith, The Auntie Bulletin by Lisa Sibbett, Before and After the Book Deal by Courtney Maum, Half Life by Courtney Bowers, AF WKLY by Ann Friedman, Months to Years by the MTY lit journal team, and everything under the Chill Subs umbrella.

Question for you: Titles for a dog rescue’s foster library?

I’m helping a friend set up a library for her dog rescue’s foster homes. Please take a look at the books we’ve collected so far and let me know what you would add below!

✍🏼 Writing life

THE DOG LOVER’S BUCKET LIST

I got to announce the big, exciting project I kept secret (but hinted about) for six months!! I wrote a book with Quarto’s Epic Ink Imprint. My education-inspiration-journal, THE DOG LOVER’S BUCKET LIST, hits shelves May 19th.

Other publications

New pieces coming out in Kinship and Insider soon!

DIY writing retreat

The week before Christmas, I set up a mini creative retreat for myself at a 200-square-foot cabin. (I had planned this before we knew the van’s heating system would still be broken when we arrived in the midwest. Thank goodness I did!)

For four days, Scout and I hung out in a room composed entirely of wood. I bought a holiday pack of Ghiradelli chocolates, put them in a mason jar, and treated myself to one whenever I felt accomplished (and also when I did not feel accomplished but wanted a taste of Christmas). I used the big-screen TV exclusively to play hours-long videos of crackling fireplaces (and possibly also the Phineas and Ferb Christmas Vacation special, which I love, earnestly). I listened to so much Cozy Christmas Jazz. I journaled about 2025 by a pine-scented candle. I had to walk outside every time I needed to use the bathroom, which was terrible overnight but delightful during the day, when it’s all too easy to sit slumped at a desk for hours at a time.

Was I as “productive” as I hoped? It depends on how you define productivity. I did not finish my PAWS AND REFLECT memoir proposal and manuscript revisions. I did collage the most epic six-panel Christmas card for my niece. I reached out to friends. I painted my nails with tiny Santa hats.

I let myself rest.

(I hope you were able to let yourself rest some this month, too.)

I’m taking more writing courses!

In 2025, I tried to put myself out there to become a better literary citizen—finally submitting to lit mags, volunteering as a reader, attending in-person workshops during our time in Portland, reaching out to authors I admire, shouting out more writers publicly—and I want to take that further in 2026.

Thanks to support from loved ones who also believe in gifting experiences more than physical stuff this time of year, I’ve signed up for two courses through Off Assignment: “Generating the Personal Essay” with Brian Benson (a fellow Wisconsinite and UW-Madison grad) and “Writing Essays for Magazines” with Jessica Ciencin Henriquez (and guest authors like Daniel Jones from Modern Love).

In case you missed it

Last month’s roundup below.

Thanks for being here

As I finish this post (recovering from a terrible head cold, dark chocolate mocha poised to my right) I’m struck by how much joy I still get from rambling to you all on the internet. My online engagement has changed drastically over the years—both that I give and that I receive—and I can’t say enough how much I appreciate you signing up for these emails and reading all the disparate thoughts I put together.

I go through every comment and message you send. I cried when so many of you shared that you preordered THE DOG LOVER’S BUCKET LIST even though it’s not the dream memoir I’ve been working on (and yapping about) for so long. I won’t pretend I know exactly what Paws and Reflect will look like in the future—I’ve never known, really, what any of my internet sharing will become!—but I absolutely know how much your connection and support means.

After a little more silliness in the form of GIFs, we collected a smattering of titles:

The most on-the-nose guide

• How to Foster Dogs by Pat Miller

Enrichment-focused books

• The Happiest Dog on the Block: Canine Enrichment Activities to Keep Your Pet Young and Healthy by Taylor Finton

• Canine Enrichment for the Real World by Allie Bender and Emily Strong

General canine insight

• The Other End of the Leash: Why We Do What We Do Around Dogs by Patricia McConnell

• Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know (updated) by Alexandra Horowitz

Separation anxiety

• I’ll Be Home Soon! How to Prevent and Treat Separation Anxiety by Patricia McConnell

• Be Right Back! How to Overcome Your Dog’s Separation Anxiety by Julie Naismith

Training-specific titles

• Beyond the Basics: Unlock Your Dog’s Behavior by Denise Fenzi

• Control Unleashed: Creating a Focused and Confident Dog by Leslie McDevitt

• Control Unleashed: The Puppy Program by Leslie McDevitt

• Control Unleashed: Reactive to Relaxed by Leslie McDevitt

• Rocket Recall by Simone Mueller

Aaand one for my fellow creature nerds

• Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? by Frans de Waal (I fully realize this is less directly applicable than the others… but come on y’all. You know me. I could not resist!)

What would you add?

This is just a start. I’m trying to think about what would most benefit someone who is 1) volunteering their time to help rescue dogs with varying behavioral and health needs, which means 2) they probably don’t have a ton of extra free time and also 3) need information to be accessible.

Hit me with your other recommendations in the comments, via direct message, or in an email to haley@pawsandreflect.blog!

Speaking of fostering…

I miss it terribly. Scout never loved being a foster sibling (and she very much loves her converted van—we made the right choice) but one of the saddest parts of full-time travel has been my inability to keep volunteering in the rescue world.

So please join me in reminiscing on our year of fostering!

Although Sean, Scout, and I don’t have plans to leave van life any time soon, we do know we’ll foster again when we’re able. A big ol’ thanks to those of you fostering, volunteering, donating, and otherwise supporting the ethical future of the dog-human bond right now 💛

I got to announce the IP project on Instagram (if you’re reading this nuance-letter, know you’re my very favorite—my audience there is just still larger) and stamp final thank-you cards and send preorder links to those who’d been asking.

And although it’s feeling much more real, I’m still in a mild state of disbelief. I had set the summer aside for my PAWS AND REFLECT manuscript—my dream-of-all-dreams hybrid memoir of emotional realizations, training insights, and core values from seven years helping fearful Scout enjoy our shared life—and into my lap fell a different but wonderful and related opportunity.

What are the odds?

After working to complete the first draft of THE DOG LOVER’S BUCKET LIST in less than two months—and learning so much from my editorial team along the way—I look forward to getting to don the title “published author”. To holding in my hands a real, tangible book with my name on the cover. To most of all reaching more fellow pet lovers with the message to “go play with your dog, if you’re able.”

If you’re so inclined (and please don’t feel pressured) you can preorder from Bookshop (which supports indie bookstores), Barnes & Noble, Indigo, Amazon (if you must), or your other favorite bookseller.

If you missed my first announcement, I shared more details in my last post!

And as always, I’m here for any questions you have. Go play with your dog! 😉

Now that we’ve been on the road for a bit, I thought it would be fun to compile a visual map of everywhere we’ve slept in our converted van. This is both for us to look back on over time and for anyone else who might be looking for boondocking or camping recommendations.

Here are the dog-friendly overnight spots we’ve found!

🗺 Map of all overnight stays

This article originally started out as a typed list… but as time went on, that became ludicrously unsustainable. Thanks to Google Maps, I’ve pinned all our overnight spots on one map! (The only locations not included are family and friends’ private properties.)

View interactive map

I’ve been updating this on a roughly monthly basis with a slight lag for the sake of internet privacy. I’m always happy to answer questions if you’re looking for more details on a particular stay.

Read more

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that my first thought was this is fake. Anyone who’s spent a couple hours around me knows my greatest dream is to publish a book—specifically one about dogs. It wasn’t until I realized the editor had followed me on Instagram that I accepted this possibly-very-exciting reality.

The next morning we hopped on a call. Nicole pitched me an idea, I liked the idea, we worked out the logistics—and now, not quite six months later, we’ve wrapped up final manuscript and design revisions. Which means I’m going to be a published author!

By next spring, my name will be on a book. A tangible, physical book. A book you can buy from a major store. A book you can give to a friend. A BOOK!

It’s called The Dog Lover’s Bucket List (I got to give a lil’ input on the title) and is part inspiration-education and part journal. Pub day is set for May 19th. That’s less than six months away. Pinch me!

This book is what’s called an IP project. The publisher owns the idea and contracts me to execute it, with similar terms to my other freelance writing work (a flat fee for a clear deliverable). Although it’s not a traditional book deal—I do not have a literary agent or paved path to publish my hybrid memoir—I am thrilled. The Dog Lover’s Bucket List is all about encouraging fellow guardians to do more with their companions. (Heck yeah!) The Quarto team is lovely and professional, plus they let me infuse the project with my own voice. (Heck yeah times two!) And a thoughtful inspiration-education-journal is both different and similar enough to my Paws and Reflect manuscript to feel like a great complement.

I’ve only gotten more excited.

Naturally, The Dog Lover’s Bucket List has taken over my recent schedule and brain space. I’m still working on my dream book—before we left Portland I finished a multi-week writing workshop hosted by Emma Reynolds where my top goal was to finalize a chapter organization I’m happy with, and I’ve since kept revising the manuscript/proposal ad nauseam—but I’ve shifted my target timeline. Such is life. (“Change is the only constant,” they say. To which I respond: “change… and pushing back deadlines.”)

I will have plenty more to say about The Dog Lover’s Bucket List up until—and let’s be honest, long after—pub day next spring. Looking forward to sharing it with you!! The final cover and preorder links are coming soon.

Now that I’ve announced the jump-up-and-down-yay thing, I want to be honest that I’ve still felt plenty discouraged about my writing and traditional publication hopes and *gestures broadly*.

I overthink my skills and work ethic and plans. I get jealous seeing other people living what I imagine as my dream. (I then feel guilty for feeling jealous because I do not want to lug around a scarcity mindset—but dammit I am a human with such messy edges.) I sit in front of a blank white page and beg the words to come and then give up and make a second mug of coffee to sip while reading other writers’ work and asking myself why I didn’t write their perfect sentences myself.

This fall has fulfilled its promise to be busy—my second niece was born in September, we’ve since been on the road full time again, we keep running into van issues—and protecting time to write for myself, beyond the work that pays the bills, has been harder than I expected.

It’s left me feeling insecure.

But I am realizing, over and over again, that I am the only one who can ever 1) affirm that I am a Real Writer with valuable things to say and the necessary talent/effort to say them, and 2) give myself permission to move through life as such.

None of this is novel, I know. The world is full of artists doubting their work, struggling with jealousy, buckling under rejection, telling the same story. But although it’s not a remotely unique feeling, it is a present one—currently (and maybe forever) part of my life. It’s mine and I’m trying to face it.

And I can hold space for the doubt while celebrating the affirmation.

Mostly, though, today I am celebrating. Maybe go play with your dog to join in? 😉

In case you missed it

November’s monthly recap is full of good books (and some cute Scout photos).

I think I’m bringing back dedicated monthly roundups! I’ll continue to include a little “notes and news” section at the end of standalone posts when the occasion calls for it, but my priority will be making sure all those tidbits live in one place—here—at the end of the month.

The goals are 1) avoid exciting updates getting lost in the shuffle and 2) make it easier for you to sift through what interests you.

Read on for:

• Scout shenanigans

• Van life travels

• Recent reading and book love

• Writing life updates

• A silly surprise

🐺 Scout shenanigans

Scout’s section comes first, because she still always comes first.

• We met up with a friend and her dog in Los Angeles, and Scout was zero percent reactive (and also zero percent interested in going on a walk while Sean stayed in the van… oops). Sometimes I almost forget how far we’ve come, and then she reminds me.

• She’s also been an absolute dream as we’ve navigated van maintenance. (More on the unusual amount of things breaking in our house below.) It’s always a little nerve-wracking when we have to vacate our home to let strangers drive it away, but again: She reminds me not to sell her short.

• It’s been six years since an old coworker painted me the below portrait of her, and the photo flooded me with nostalgia. Look at that impossibly young dog.

• Speaking of age: Embark offered us an Age Test to try with Scout. (I did her breed DNA test shortly after adopting her back in 2019.) Regarding the margin of error, this might not tell us much more than we already know—we’re pretty confident Scout’s age falls somewhere within a two-year range—but I’m anxious-excited to get the results regardless. Will share more soon!

🚐 Life on the road

We made it to California, which means we’ve officially been to 49 out of 50 US states in our yellow home on wheels! In November we crept (mostly) down the coast with a detour to Pinnacles National Park to see some condors.

We’ve also experienced quite a few van-related mishaps recently, including:

• Our first-ever police knock in the middle of the night (not because we were parked somewhere we couldn’t be—I’m unduly proud that’s still never happened—but because the officers were responding to a nearby distress call… which made it an extra wild experience)

• Our hydronic heating system still not working after multiple fix attempts (read: no hot water or heat)

• Needing to replace our alternator controller after a torrential rainstorm shorted it out (and laughing through a whole post-office saga when we tried to go pick up the necessary part)

• Our ceiling fan breaking for good measure, because at this point why not?

Even so, I continue to love living like this. We’ll be returning to the midwest for Christmas with family but can’t imagine “settling down” for real any time soon.

📚 Reading

Books I read this month

• Reckless Girls by Rachel Hawkins: An engaging tropical thriller.

• Nowhere for Very Long and Never Leave the Dogs Behind by Brianna Madia: I’ve long been critical of how Madia influences online—particularly the way she handles her dogs in shared public spaces—and felt it was only fair to finally give her books a chance. (If someone ever disagreed with me, I like to think they’d at least try to sit with my own work.) She can be a superb storyteller. I’d also hate running into her dogs while out with my own.

• Users by Colin Winnette: I can’t remember which recent bookstore featured Users in their staff picks, but that’s how it ended up on my TBR. (I love staff selections!) It’s a strange little novel officially recommended for fans of Severance, but the ending felt like a particular Black Mirror episode.

• Before and After the Book Deal by : I never regret revisiting this gem for motivation! (And laughter. Much laughter.)

• Hidden Pictures by Jason Rekulak: I picked this spooky story up from a Substack notes recommendation. (Thanks !)

• The Arrogant Ape by Christine Webb: This book will probably stay on my “recently read” list indefinitely, because I am rereading parts of it every week. It. Is. So. Good. Have I mentioned how good it is? I fear you might not understand, yet, how good it is.

Books I’m cheering for this month

• I just preordered Alan Opts Out, which hits shelves next summer. I am especially excited for this after getting to watch Courtney Maum’s process more in the last year. (I first subscribed to her Substack when she was in the early stages of sending this manuscript’s draft to her agent.) A fun full-circle moment and what sounds like a helluva fun book.

• Maya Williams, the wonderful host of the weekly writing workshop I attended during our time in Portland this summer, published her latest poetry chapbook!

• In case you missed it, Good Grief by E.B. Bartels is out in paperback! The books are gorgeous and E.B. is lovely.

• Isabel Klee’s memoir, Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About, is available for preorder. Isabel may be a social media powerhouse, but she is also generous and kind and so deserving of this milestone.

• Sarah Kay has been one of my favorite poets since my mom discovered her while I was in high school. (It is thanks to both of these women that, at 17 years old, I performed a spoken-word poem of my own at Busboys and Poets.) Sarah is offering personalized inscriptions in her latest collection, A Little Daylight Left! If you order through today, your copy should arrive in time for Christmas.

• And I keep thinking about (and noticing) feral cats more than ever after reading Poets Square: A Memoir in Thirty Cats by Courtney Gustafson. If you haven’t read it yet, I highly recommend!

Plus a few noteworthy essays and newsletters

• I loved this piece called “My Friend Wrote a Book, and I Have *Feelings*” by here on Substack.

• E.B. Bartels wrote a beautiful essay about grief and the sometimes-reality of living with a sensitive dog and the magic of Dog Mountain (which we have yet to visit in our travels but need to extra now).

• I connected with Emma Vivian of Attempts at Optimism at a virtual writing workshop. She’s stellar.

• My obsession for The Auntie Bulletin continues. (You rock, .) I especially liked her recent post on not giving gifts.

• My friend Allison Medina (who I worked with at Juniper before The Quality Edit acquired the brand this past summer) launched a new newsletter called Analog Baby.

• I’m lucky to be a CNF reader for Months to Years, and the lit mag is ramping up on Substack! Their initial focus is grief-related reflective readings and writing prompts.

✍🏼 Writing life

• Remember the Big Exciting Project I’ve been hinting at since July but haven’t shared publicly? Well, unfortunately today still isn’t the day. But I finished my very last round of edits at the beginning of this month—which was a milestone—and there will be much more to say soon!

• I signed up to take “Generating the Personal Essay” with Brian Benson (a fellow Wisconsinite and UW-Madison grad!) through Off Assignment early next year. This was big for two reasons: 1) It’s the largest sum I’ve been able to set aside to spend on a writing course and 2) the topic could not be a better fit for my current hangups.

• I had a great time at Juliane Bergmann’s workshop with literary agent Tess Callero, getting answers to a few of my lingering questions about book proposals. (Which means I have zero excuse to not go polish my book proposal for querying the Paws and Reflect hybrid memoir.)

• I recently put a recurring task on my to-do list to send a “friendly writer note” each week. At first I was worried this would feel forced or fake, but it’s actually been wonderful.

• And because of that commitment, I reached out to Christine Webb, author of The Arrogant Ape, in October via an email that was so long I felt compelled to include a “TLDR” version at the top. (Oops.) She not only replied but did so in the absolute kindest way you could imagine, and although I guess I could have seen that coming from someone who is wonderful enough to thank the birds in their acknowledgements… I was still gobsmacked and deeply touched. If I ever needed reinforcement to keep telling people I love their work (even when I am rather in awe of them and feel socially awkward) that was it.

For fellow writers

• Calling those between 15-21: Roxane Gay wants your short fiction and essays! More info here.

In case you missed it

All of November’s posts here in the Paws and Reflect nuance-letter.

You’re the best!

Please enjoy one of my favorite silly photos of Scout as a thank you for reading 😉 Then go play with your own dog, if you’re able! (Or whatever creature(s) you share your life with.) And then maybe send me a photo of them.

Experiences that were hard to imagine before we moved in—things like sleeping on the side of a city street or opening our bedroom doors to a view of an honest-to-god glacier or rationing water usage and cabinet space—are normal after doing them so many times. This is life. This is home. This is the longest Sean, Scout, and I have stayed anywhere together.

And it is also, hard as Past Me might have found it to believe, the most comfortable we’ve felt anywhere together.

Even after our break this past summer when we leased a short-term studio to compare road life more directly with apartment life1, it wasn’t difficult to jump back into traveling full time. There was no learning curve this go around. It felt like coming home.

Because it was coming home.

Hermes is home to the degree that I get a little peeved when people refer to him as a camper, actually. They’re not doing anything wrong—I myself use the combo word “campervan” to describe our rig pretty often because it’s a recognizable term—but I do resist my van’s reduction to something in which you camp. In my mind, a camper is temporary. A camper is where you take a break from the rest of your life. A camper is roughing it.

But this has not been temporary, and it’s not a break from anything else somehow more real, and I don’t feel like I’m roughing it2. I feel like I’m living my dog-damned dream. And the longer I live it? The less strange it becomes.

My daily routines on the road have lost that surreal quality and instead become, you know, just my daily routines.

I do still know, somewhere deep down, that a ton of the things I’ve accepted as “part of regular life” are in fact extremely odd to most people. Once in a while I get a reminder of that, chatting with someone new, and I suddenly realize all over again how bizarre this whole thing has been. How absurd my life looks from the outside. How no, actually, it is not a common experience to lift the toilet out of your bathroom before showering or let the temperature of your living space fluctuate 30 degrees before you intervene or take a nap in a grocery store parking lot.

I feel out of touch. I don’t know what “normal life” even is anymore, let alone what it should be. But honestly, I love that ambiguity.

I’m reminded that 1) we are adaptable creatures who can habituate to a wide range of experiences, 2) we all get “stuck” in our own perspectives sometimes, even if we don’t mean to, and 3) it’s worth questioning our assumptions of what is and isn’t normal at regular intervals—because mine is not yours, and yours is not mine, and that’s okay.

It’s actually pretty wonderful.

Related posts

And my flash essay, “Diary of an adventurous homebody”, published by The Amazine earlier this autumn!

An important complement to my feelings about leash laws (being a responsible dog handler means respecting their legislative intent; everyone deserves to feel safe in shared spaces) are my feelings about off-leash legal areas (we need to provide and protect them; domestic dogs deserve opportunities to move their bodies freely).

In theory, I love trails and beaches and parks where pets are allowed off leash under voice control. We make great use of national forests and BLM-managed spots in life with Scout! On my favorite hikes, our cattle dog is able to trot ahead and zig-zag between scents with no leash inhibiting her sense of adventure. These experiences provide our whole family with so much joy.1

In practice… I hate that most dogs we see in “voice control” areas are not, actually, under control.

What does “under control” mean?

A brief semantic break:

When I talk about having “control” of Scout, it’s not because I yearn to dictate her every move. When I ask other handlers to have “control” of their dogs, it’s not because I think our pets should be suppressed robots. (I hope this is obvious to anyone who’s followed along with me and Scout for even a sliver of time, but I do feel the need to make this distinction, because some dog trainers are obsessed with coercion.)

As my dog’s handler, I have to be in charge of her actions in shared spaces because we live in a human world with human social norms. I can’t expect her to understand my society’s expectations without help—so reasonable control is a necessary part of public respect.

Cool? Cool. Onward!

Not all off-leash areas are free-for-all dog parks

A designated dog park is one thing: Anyone entering that space fully expects to be approached by unfamiliar dogs. You opt in or out accordingly! In a perfect world, these environments (when large enough to allow for natural body language) are where truly dog-social dogs go to interact with other truly dog-social dogs, and the humans on the other end of the leash also enjoy some interpersonal fulfillment, and everyone is happy.

A trail or beach where dogs are allowed off leash but required to be under control is not the same thing. The expectations are different: Here, when asked (or better yet, by default) we ought to be able to reliably recall our dogs away from other people or pets or wildlife or hazards.

Disrespecting off-leash spaces does not create more off-leash spaces

I can’t help but think that one of the issues preventing the creation of more off-leash spaces—which, again, I would love to see!—is how often existing ones are abused. (We witnessed this firsthand in Florida when beaches that once allowed pets with certain guidelines finally threw their hands up and banned them altogether. There were dog bites and trampled sea turtle nests and all sorts of chaos, and honestly? I don’t fault the towns for saying enough was enough.)

Fulfilling our dogs is cool.

Finding safe opportunities to let them explore, untethered, is cool.

Treating every off-leash legal area like a designated dog park is not cool.

I sign off the way I always do when I find myself discussing these very messy, very nuanced, sometimes very heated “off-leash” topics: Slightly sheepish that this is becoming my online brand, mostly sad that we witness troubling encounters so often in our travels, and always holding out hope for a cultural shift where we are, collectively, kinder to both pets and people.

Some related reading

Oh, do I ever have so much to say about balancing what our dogs deserve from us (fulfillment!) with what other people/pets in shared spaces deserve from us (respect!). Here’s an incomprehensive starting list.

Every time we walk into a new store, I disappear to the creature / nature / pets section. I smile when I see my “friends” on the shelves—books I’ve already read and enjoyed. (For example, I instantly loved Point Reyes when they had several copies of The Darkness Manifesto prominently displayed outside... and then The Arrogant Ape in the first big table.)

I read every word of every staff pick suggestion card.

I always, always, always leave with at least a few new titles added to my TBR.

And sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly confident, I imagine where my future book will live on a bookstore shelf. What related titles might sit next to it. Which talented authors might share the aisle with my own name. I look at all the books—all the beautiful, tangible, someone-spent-YEARS-on-this-and-now-it’s-in-your-hands?! books—and feel simultaneously insignificant (there are already so many great works out there) and empowered (but there’s still room for the story I think only I can tell).

Maybe bookstores are a little bit like church, for me. The same way a long hike or coastal breeze or wildlife sighting feels sacred. (It’s not lost on me that through books we can experience all those things, viscerally, without ever leaving the couch.)

But if one of the best parts of van life is getting to visit so many bookshops... one of the worst is not having the physical space to store all the books I’d love to keep. I try to support local spots by buying other things like notecards (I’m trying to make snail mail a thing again!) and to support authors by purchasing ebook versions (though physical sales matter more for some bestseller lists, which is an unsurprising shame in a rather convoluted industry).

And then I daydream, incessantly, about a huge shelf of my own someday. When the road’s done calling, I will have a corner or a wall or maybe, if we are very lucky, a whole room overflowing with biology and memoir and wonder and awe. (Plus plenty of spooky thrillers and sci-fi adventures and dragon tales, for good measure.)

What a delight to look forward to. What a delight to get my fix at little watering reading holes across the country until that someday comes.

Update: Shortly after I wrote and scheduled this post, I stumbled upon one of my favorite “pet” sections of all time at Green Apple Books in San Francisco.

The unassuming shelf featured Good Grief by the lovely E.B., Dog Smart by Jennifer Holland and Rethinking Rescue by Carol Mithers (both authors I was lucky enough to interview last year), The Happiest Dog on the Block by my longtime Dogstagram connection Taylor Finton, and Poets Square by Courtney Gustafson all in one place.

Talk about smiling when I see my friends—in this case, very literally my friends—on the shelves!

Related posts

Speaking of books…

• Maya Williams, the wonderful host of the weekly writing workshop I attended during our time in Portland this summer, just published her latest poetry chapbook!

• In case you missed it, Good Grief by E.B. Bartels is now out in paperback! The books are gorgeous and E.B. is lovely. (She also just published a piece about Dog Mountain.)

• Isabel Klee’s memoir, Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About, is available for preorder. Isabel may be a social media powerhouse, but she is also generous and kind and so deserving of this milestone!

• I am still obsessed with The Arrogant Ape by Christine Webb. At some point I will finally organize a massive mind-map post of reflections. (And if you didn’t catch it in my last post, I sent Webb the longest email ever and she replied so kindly and now I love her/this book even more.)

• Also still cheering hard for Speaking for Spot’s Nancy Kay’s first work of fiction: A Dog Named 647.

• And I keep thinking about (and noticing) feral cats more than ever after reading Poets Square: A Memoir in Thirty Cats by Courtney Gustafson. If you haven’t read it yet, I highly recommend.

Everything we own is wet from being rained on or simply because the van has hovered around 80-90 percent humidity for two weeks.

The moisture from one particularly intense storm shorted our second alternator controller, meaning our batteries no longer charge when we drive (in turn meaning we are dependent on shore power at campgrounds every few days... which was sort of the opposite of what we were going for when we designed a self-contained rig). Apparently the parts we need to fix the issue arrived via general delivery yesterday, but when we got to the post office this morning the staff said they have zero record of that. We still don’t have heat or hot water and our water pump is mildly on the fritz.

So, there are several side quests we need to figure out soon. (Referring to mishaps as “side quest opportunities” has been excellent for my mental health, highly recommend.)

But we continue on our main quest, too: Make the most out of this nomadic experience together.

Scout wakes up, every morning, prancing and tippy-tapping and insisting we start the day with some sort of game. Thanks to the end of daylight saving, the sun again rises before 7 am and makes it possible for the three of us to head outside first thing. We’ve gotten to marvel at too many mushrooms and banana slugs and rocky bluffs to count. If we listen closely, we can hear sea lions bark over the crashing waves. I’m typing this from the side of the street, which I know never sounds too glamorous, except look at the misty magical view through the open side door. That glorious beam of sunlight on the far-off water!!

My entire adulthood—from falling in love with Sean to adopting Scout to building this unusual (and unusually fulfilling) life where we park our house in different places basically every day—keeps plopping me in the middle ground, sweeping me up in our world’s duality. It’s calm and chaotic. I’m content and overwhelmed. I’m on top of the world, I’m in over my head, I’m wondering what the hell we’re doing, I’m thinking there’s no better way to live.

Aren’t the multitudes the point?!

Other notes and news

📌 Travel

• We’ve officially been to 49 out of 50 US states—together, the three of us, my little family—in our yellow van. Surreal.

Well-intentioned veterinary staff want to befriend my dog. Of course they do. They entered the field because they love animals! (And Scout is, if I may say, ludicrously cute.) Building trust at the start of an exam through gentle affection or games or snacks works for plenty of pets.

It does not work for mine.

Scout is wary of strangers. We bred cattle dogs to be this way, and she’s a particularly fear-prone individual. She’s also excellent at holding a grudge. My heeler can—and will—pattern-map any negative experience, projecting the Bad Thing That Happened Once into dozens of future situations.

This means it’s worse if someone first tries to make themselves trustworthy and then betrays her with unsolicited poking and prodding. There is no universe where Scout enjoys having her blood drawn (especially after the chaotic vet visits we suffered in the midst of her epilepsy diagnosis). There is no world where a cold stethoscope doesn’t make her flinch.

Even if she adores you, she will not like you doing those things.

Take me and Sean. We can handle Scout in myriad ways without fuss: nail filing, bur extracting, ear cleaning, butt brushing, tick removing, whatever she needs. We’ve put a lot of work into counterconditioning and desensitizing these necessary parts of life, but I’m under no illusions about our success convincing her they’re actually fun. Really it’s our relationship—a constant pursuit of mutual trust—that carries us through.

The friendship a vet tech can form with my dog in five or ten minutes doesn’t come close to the connection we’ve built over nearly seven years. They won’t make much progress in a clinical setting that smells like chemicals and other pets, anyway. And even if Scout does begin to trust them—let’s say she becomes 30 or 40 percent comfortable with this new person—it’s a bigger blow to go from “possible friend” to “wait you hurt me!?” than to start as strangers, do what needs to be done, and get the heck out of dodge.

Plus: Bad befriending experiences follow us outside the vet office, too. Now Scout has a backlog of episodic memories and looser associative learning where someone who at first seemed nice and respectful (in her eyes) later turned mean (again, in her eyes). She considers that in future interactions. The kind woman we meet on a walk? The sweet clerk at a pet store? She trusts their advances less because, in the past, her tentative curiosity has been met with betrayal.

I feel for the vets who just want my dog to like them. They’re incredible people doing an important job, and I wish I could add some simple joy in their days. I wish I could say yes, my dog will love you instantly! Yes, shower her with baby talk and nose boops! Yes, you’re best friends!

But I can’t.

Instead, when we moved Scout’s vet care to Wisconsin a couple years ago, one of the first things I asked our new house call team was “are you okay not being my dog’s friend?”

Our best case scenario is an efficient appointment with nothing but the necessary handling. No warm up, minimal cool down. Scout will stay still for an exam, vaccines, and blood draw because Sean and I hold her. She will allow the inevitable to happen with our support. Then she will flee to the door—away from the vets who are only doing what’s best for her—and I will not hold her back under some misguided belief that a few minutes of peace (or handfuls of treats) will erase the discomfort of what just happened.

Scout’s veterinarian is one of my favorite people. You bet I make sure she knows that! But she will never be one of my dog’s—and that’s okay.

Related reading

A few older posts about vet- and health-specific stuff with Scout.

In case you missed it

I recently pondered our dogs’ natural inclinations to match our own movements. (And included a bunch of writing, reading, and personal notes too.)

Other notes and news

• It’s been six years since an old coworker painted me the below portrait of Scout, and seeing the photo pop up in my “on this day” memories inundated me with nostalgia. Look at that young, young dog 😭

I once saw a video of a shepherd lying at the feet of a dog trainer on a bench. The pair were practicing “sit on the dog” (a training protocol where you wait for your companion to settle without your guidance). Suddenly, the person stood up. Unsurprisingly, the dog did too—and the trainer verbally reprimanded him. They were “testing [the dog]’s commitment to relaxation”, the caption said.

I was, and remain, confused.

Proofing a formal down stay is one thing. If I tell Scout “down” and our command criteria—that I’ve taken time to clearly teach her—includes “enter and remain in position until told otherwise”? Then yes, me standing up quickly is a worthy distraction/temptation for her to resist. (We’ve worked hard on just that, actually: If my dog is on a place command at a patio or in a down under a park bench and I need to advocate for her space, it’s easier for everyone if she can stay still as I leap into action. Grabby toddlers and off-leash dogs come out of nowhere!)

But if Scout is at liberty—lying down of her own volition, not under command, with no instructions from me to do a specific thing—and I stand up quickly? Standing with me is the most natural reaction she could have.

And it’s what I want her to do as my fellow social creature.

This situation is not about a dog’s “commitment to relaxation”. (I’m skeptical of the focus the word commitment implies and whether it’s compatible with true relaxation at all, but that’s a whole other semantics conversation.) No, it’s about dogs navigating the world with us. Paying attention to our movements. Responding with their own.

Imagine you’re on a walk with your best friend. She whips her head around to look at something that caught her peripheral vision. What do you do? Probably turn to look too. Now she stops walking. What do you do? Probably also stop. We mirror each other constantly. Yale researchers say “following another’s gaze is a hallmark of human learning and socialization”.

Our dogs do it, too.

Domestic dogs understand when we are looking at something. (Think about how they drop toys within our view when they want to play fetch.) They pay attention to human pointing gestures from a young age. Our pets constantly attempt to interpret our body language—they start out attuned to us, a relic of our ancient interspecies bond, and grow more attuned as we learn each other as individuals over time.

I never want to “proof” that out of Scout. Seeing domestic dogs as social creatures uniquely suited to live with people has been the core transformation in my training and ownership journey. It isn’t folk nonsense to discuss the measurable, repeatable ways my dog responds to my own subtle cues. It isn’t dangerous anthropomorphism to talk about our relationship.

So if Scout and I are relaxing somewhere together and I suddenly stand up? She’s more than welcome to rise with me. If needed, I’ll give her further direction and put her under an official command. Otherwise, I’ll lean into the natural back-and-forth we’ve worked so hard to build after years of fixating too much on robotic, transactional interactions.

Notes and news

📚 The world is full of books

• I spotted so many titles I love at Powell’s Books in Portland last week! Books by Sy Montgomery, Erica Berry, Katherine Rundell… the list goes on. I also added some new titles to my TBR, including Meet the Neighbors by Brandon Keim.

  

• In case you missed it, Isabel Klee’s memoir, Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About, is available for preorder. The cover reveal hit me in the heart. (It’s already a bestseller on Amazon and B&N!)

• And Good Grief by E.B. Bartels comes out in paperback next month!

✍🏼 Other reading and writing

• Sarah Kay was one of the first poets I loved, and she’s done it again in ’s latest newsletter: “The Minister of Loneliness”.

• I recently found (and loved) Diana Hubbell’s writing via Off Assignment.

• And I discovered The Auntie Bulletin by here on Substack, which is already proving to be a home for so many things I’ve thought and felt.

• Sub Club and The Forever Workshop are running a new challenge called First Draft November next month!

• Last week was ’s Turning Points writing retreat, and I full-on stalked the program’s Instagram account for updates. (I harbor many fantasies about cold plunging and talking language with fellow writers like this. Anyone in??)

• I’ve enjoyed ’s courses this fall, and I’ll be joining another soon with literary agent Tess Callero. Autumn is flying by and I have got to stop dragging my feet on finalizing query materials to make the Paws and Reflect book a reality.

🐺 Scout updates

• I realized Scout hasn’t had a noticeable seizure in so long that I’ve been able to go weeks without consciously thinking about her epilepsy. Remind me to never ever ever take these good stretches for granted.

• The dog culture in Oregon so far is… not very welcoming to people or pets who aren’t social butterflies. We are navigating more unsolicited off-leash encounters than basically anywhere we’ve been in ages. I’m thankful for our cattle gal’s recovery time and trust in us.

  

💛 Personal tidbits

• We’re back by the ocean!! What a privilege it is to explore—and fall in love with—so many different places living in a van. What a joy it is to return to the waves for a morning swim.

In case you missed last week’s dog thoughts

In my early days on the dog-training internet, I felt preemptively defensive if I ever showed Scout doing something I knew other people’s dogs weren’t allowed to do. Now? I write gleeful posts about my dog’s lack of manners! (We call this growth, my friends.)

There are the obvious cross-species examples, like how primates prefer head-on greetings while canids are more likely to find direct approaches threatening. (This has been supremely relevant in my life with shy and sensitive dogs.)

Then, even within species, there’s all this cultural variation. What is “polite” in one context is “rude” in another; what’s well-understood in Situation A is murky in Situation B. The Rules of Social Interaction are rarely thought through, defined, and posted for all to see. They’re implied. They’re guessed at. They’re fluid.

That fluidity is what I’m considering as I sit at the picnic table in our wooded campsite. An impossibly blue-green river sings in the background, and fall’s first crisp leaves adorn the forest floor, and Scout lies on the table in front of me.

Yes, on.

My dog’s entire body is draped on the table’s surface, her paws mere inches from the cutting board we use as a serving platter, her face intruding upon my own. To be honest, begging doesn’t even seem a strong enough word for what she’s doing. She has surpassed puppy eyes in favor of a ludicrously bold approach.

“She has no manners anymore,” Sean laughs, and I know he’s not upset.

Neither am I. In fact, I’m the one who told Scout she could come on the table when she first put her front paws up, testing to see what we thought. She is not allowed to snatch bites out of our hands or walk across the food or make noise that would distract our campground neighbors—but she’s welcome to wait nearby for the scraps we all know we’ll share before the meal is up.

In my early days on the dog-training internet, I felt preemptively defensive if I ever showed Scout doing something I knew other people’s dogs weren’t allowed to do: Walking ahead of me on leash, begging for food, jumping on the couch. I scrolled through fiery Instagram captions where professional trainers and skilled handlers ranted about the dogs they saw out and about with no manners. Often these voices insisted on slippery slopes: If you let your dog do X Forbidden Thing, it’s only a matter of time until Y Horrible Outcome!

I believed them for a long while. What did I know, after all? I desperately wanted a dog who was good. I desperately wanted to prove my ability to raise and train and fundamentally control this creature for whom I’d taken responsibility. I didn’t want to do a single thing wrong. (And, of course, we had seemingly massive behavioral problems to work through: Explosive reactivity governed our whole lives and was not sustainable for any of us. I needed all the advice I could get to just survive the next week, and then the next month, with this dog.)

Today? Well, Sean said it best: Scout has no manners. 😉

Except that’s not exactly true either. Our cattle dog is, in most situations, an incredibly well-mannered companion. Campground hosts compliment how quiet she is when other canine visitors bark. Restaurant servers say “oh! I didn’t even realize you had a dog under the table” on the rare occasions where we still bring her out to patios. When we visit my parents’ house or embark on a humans-only hike or leave the van on a New York City street to take the subway to a comedy show, we come home to calm Scout Finch lounging in the van’s back bed. (She looks ruffled from sleep and like she has no idea what year it is.)

We are increasingly relaxed about her training and management—especially as van life gives us greater opportunities to take the path of least resistance—but I still see evidence of our past work.

I also see evidence of our growing willingness to “pick and choose our battles”. To ruthlessly prioritize. To embrace our personal preferences over society’s arbitrary norms.

Would I let a foster dog leap onto the table, right next to our dinner, and drool an inch from my nose? Absolutely not. Odds are high they’d get adopted by a family subscribing to the majority belief that this behavior is not cool.1

But Scout is ours forever. We will love her, Sean and I, until she leaves this earth. (And if something terrible happens to us before she goes, we’ve made arrangements for trusted family and friends to love her just as much.) So the rules we’ve maintained are the ones that most affect our daily existence. They might be completely different from the rules that most affect your daily existence. And that is, really, the whole point of figuring out what works for us as individuals: different dogs, different lifestyles, different environments, different dealbreakers.

When we’re out in public, we do our best to match the expected manners of the situation at hand. (No barking at people or dogs minding their own business; no begging for a stranger’s food; no sitting atop a restaurant’s table; you get the idea.)

But when we’re in our own corner of the world? “Manners are subjective,” I repeat to myself, laughing at my pushy dog and the great big personality I’m honored she trusts us with.

Other notes and news

Animal-related books galore

• ’s memoir, Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About, is available for preorder today! (You might know her as the face behind @simonsits on Instagram and TikTok.) Preorders are one of the very best ways you can support debut authors—so if you’ve got the financial means, now is an excellent time to reserve your copy.

• Speaking of preorders: Good Grief by comes out in paperback next month and is available for preorder now!

• ’s Nancy Kay, veterinarian and author, recently published her first work of fiction: A Dog Named 647. It’s for young readers, but I am a fan of adults reading children’s literature. And of thoughtful folks writing about creatures, especially dogs.

• I am still immersed in The Arrogant Ape by Christine Webb—it’s the kind of book you immediately reread parts of after finishing—and plan to be for the foreseeable future.

Spooky season reading

• I’ve also treated myself to some quick atmospheric reads this month: We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer (which gave me House of Leaves vibes, though simpler); Graveyard Shift by (a worthy reread!); and Count My Lies by Sophie Stava (a voicey thriller I picked up because Liane Moriarty blurbed it).

Personal tidbits

• We went to a Lorde concert this week! When we started dating, I was surprised Sean loved her music—I’d only ever heard “Royals” on the radio in high school—until I listened to Melodrama in its entirety and bawled at “Liability”. Over the years Lorde has become one of “our” artists. It was special to see her live.

Van life stuff

• We made it to Oregon, which means we’ve now been to 48 out of 50 states in the van! Obviously Hawaii will never happen, but once we hit California… we’ll have to celebrate a lil’.

In case you missed it

Behold: My nerdiest (and probably most controversial) post in a while, on operant learning theory in dog training.