Hammer Time

People were a little perplexed to hear that Hammer (my 11 year old overweight heeler) was coming with us on a three week road trip. I guess it makes sense to be weary if you’re used to most dogs.  Life with Hammer began on the road, where we spent our first week together in my 1994 4Runner. The car and myself were the only constants in his new life. For the following ten years, the vehicles and places evolved, but he was always a road dog.

One of the questions that came was “How does all the travel go with the animals?” Short answer: one at a time. With three dogs and two cats, there’s an established pack. And if they were to all travel together, or even just the other dogs, they turn into idiots. Each one is a completely different animal solo. For myself, traveling with just Hammer was a throwback to old days. Days where I had no idea where I was going, but knew he’d be there. I joked that this was the equivalent of his retirement RV tour like so many of the elderly couples we saw. But the fact is, my mantra for years has been “Home is wherever Hammer is.” I knew that my stress level would be drastically lower with him in tow- just like that favorite blanket or pillow that makes a strange place comfortable.

What I didn’t expect was to learn so many new things and be reminded of so many old lessons by this fat old dog that was rambling around with us. That said, I’d like to share a few.

Flow With the Go.

Chill out and let the journey be a journey. Having no idea how long or where we were going, Hammer was ready. If he’s tired, he sleeps. He watches carefully and stays comfortable. When we stop, he patiently waits for me to clip his leash and then decides if he wants out or not. When it’s time for us to hike for the day and his old bones are staying in the camper, he doesn’t whine or cry. He simply chills out and enjoys the rest. When it’s time to explore, he explores. As long as he has food, water, and eventually shelter, he’s just as well as he would be at home. Same should go for all of us.

Act Like You Belong.

Hammer officially owned every campsite as soon as his paws hit the ground. The space he occupies is his. He’s not nervous, scared, or seeking approval. He’s here and this is where he’ll be. You can tell by the pee on that tree.  He’s working, protecting, and patrolling. Let off leash, Hammer diligently inspects his new surroundings, keeps his head on a steady swivel, and doesn’t even entertain foolish endeavors that involve running off. He’s here. Now. Fully present.

Hammer Time.

This became a thing. As we walk, occasionally he’ll stop. You can’t pull him, push him, or force him to go. You stop with him. Sometimes it’s a break, sometimes it’s a sound or movement, and sometimes a neighbor is cooking bacon. Just stop and smell the bacon. When satisfied, carry on. Genius.

Know When to Ask for Help. 

I’m terrible at this. But as stubborn as Hammer is, he gets it. For the first few days, he would jump into the car like he did years ago and climb the stairs into the camper. After a while, he faded and looked my way. It is with great pleasure that I’d give him a scratch and lift him where he wanted to be. Something honorable in lifting him up after he’s guarded me for all these years. I just hope I not only have someone to pick me up later on, but that I’ll push my ego aside and allow it.

And Finally, LEAVE THAT SHIT BEHIND.

“Let that shit go.” was on a Yoga shirt I saw the other day, and it’s a profanely brilliant phrase. On every morning walk, Hammer would brew one up, drop a bomb, and walk away. It confused him to his core as he watched me pick it up and throw it in the trash. When the trash can was behind us, he’d anchor in and I’d have to just let go of his leash to backtrack. He doesn’t go backwards or dwell on anything. He just lets it go and walks off. I may be reaching pretty far to derive meaning from a dog shit, but when you see it every day it starts to resonate. Whatever you don’t need anymore, just leave it behind.