Things that make Scout an excellent campground dog
And that I hope writing down will help me stop taking for granted!
Scout Finch is the canine neighbor of your dreams. Well, at least of my dreams. Sometimes I forget to appreciate her wonderful, reasonable-creature-in-a-shared-space traits because 1) I’ve habituated to the good stuff such that it’s easy not to ever think about until something goes slightly wrong and then 2) I’m still prone to overthinking and catastrophizing and mentally time traveling to the height of her fear reactivity. (Oh no! She barked a single time! Is it going to be like the old days?!)
Today we’re wrapping up nearly two weeks bopping between actual developed campgrounds in south Florida. We’ve spent more nights with campsite neighbors so far in February than the previous five or six months combined—and I’ve realized all over again how well suited Scout’s become to these environments.
Our first week on the road, way back in January 2023, we went to Henderson Beach State Park in Destin. I remember thinking our campsite was the dog-training jackpot. We had a huge clearing with thick underbrush separating neighbors on each side, which meant Scout could watch people and dogs walk past—a great exposure opportunity!—without them ever getting too close for comfort.
More than two years of van life shenanigans later, we’ve camped in hundreds of different places. While I still acknowledge when we snag a particularly lovely site, it’s basically never because it’s ideal for dog training. Instead of working on Scout’s skills each time we park somewhere new, mostly we get to sit back and enjoy those skills.
And, as previously mentioned, take them for granted. Oops.
So here’s a list of what I think makes Scout an excellent campground dog.
One of her favorite things in the entire world is simply being outside. I used to doubt sunbathing alone could bring her so much fulfillment, but it sure seems to. (She and I share that joy.)
She adjusts quickly to new environments. It doesn’t take long for her to sniff around, get her bearings, and find a spot to settle: Looks like this is home for a while? Fine by me.
She rarely gets too overwhelmed to eat or play. I can’t stress how huge a quality of life improvement this is! (My greatest fear before moving into the van was that we’d struggle to fulfill Scout in new places because she’d be too shut down to engage with us.)
Wind and rain don’t bother her much anymore.
She’s neutral to people, bicycles, other animals, golf carts, etc sharing the campground. By neutral I don’t mean she completely ignores them—she’ll watch any real commotion that arises, and I guarantee she’ll keep an eye on you if you walk by our van with another dog in tow—but she responds neutrally. She might lift her head. Or look at me. Or ask Sean for a treat. But she won’t bark, growl, approach, or otherwise give a stranger any indication that she cares about their existence.
Unless you walk purposefully and directly into our campsite. Then she will alert bark once or twice. I used to be embarrassed of this (and earlier on worried it was a sign her fear reactivity was still out of hand) but I’ve come to kind of like it? For one thing, Hermes is our home. I don’t mind that she’s a little territorial of the van! For another, Sean and I aren’t the most social campers in the world ourselves. Plus she’s a cattle dog. A couple barks at a stranger entering our space seem warranted.
And after those couple barks, she will return to complete neutrality. Her fast recovery time is possibly my favorite result of our learning and growing and training.
She’s quiet by nature. I can’t take credit for this one, but Scout rarely vocalizes (unless something is wrong). She’s quiet in play—she just growls a bit during intense games of tug. She’s quiet when she’s excited about dinner—she just tippy taps her paws. She’s quiet when we leave her in the van—she just naps on the bed. She’s quiet when we return—she just burrows her head into our stomachs. It would not be a big deal if she did bark here and there, but I appreciate that she’s never the start (or continuation of!) all the other dogs in the campground singing us the songs of their people. 🤪
She knows not to chase prey without permission. She might ask to chase prey (by staring, stalking, and alternately making eye contact with us) but she won’t actually go for it unless we tell her she can.
She’s trustworthy off leash—and where she most wants to be is wherever Sean and I are. This isn’t a campground-dog necessity since most parks require pets to be tethered (a guideline I am fully behind). Occasionally I see another dog pulling on their long line, though, and I realize how many little moments are easier thanks to Scout’s voice control. Because we don’t have to worry about her trying to leave our site, we’re able to let her drag the leash while we set up camp chairs or have our hands full with dinner or need to type an email. She can jump out of the van ahead of us. It’s no sweat if she isn’t always in full, unobstructed view. We’re never concerned about equipment failure. It’s just lovely peace of mind.
Whenever something catches us off guard—which does happen! I said “excellent” campground dog, not “perfect” campground dog—she looks to us for direction. We practice a lot less precise training than we once did, but her down stay and middle command are particularly solid.
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.
