Canine surprises

February 15, 2019 — I’d never seen anything quite like it before: this weird, other-worldly place where every inch of the mountainous landscape before me was covered in frost. At 10 a.m. the sun was just starting to peak over the ridge above us. A few icy fern fronds nearby caught its rays, giving off a glint that made the scene even more surreal.

At 20 degrees Fahrenheit with gusting winds, the cold was biting. A pair of hikers on the trail ahead of us were considering turning around, debating whether or not they had enough layers. It was a balmy 45 degrees back in the valley of downtown Asheville.

Kaya was patiently nestled in among the ferns. I’d said the word “treat,” so of course she was completely focused on me, awaiting further instructions. She’d do pretty much anything for food. Dogs are funny like that.

I snapped a few frames, tweaked some settings, snapped a few more, then stood up and took in the view while Kaya leapt forward to claim her reward. That’s when I felt it: that sense of pure, uninterrupted contentment that wraps itself around me when I’m out exploring some remote part of nature with my camera and my pup. It’s the reason we go in search of adventure in the first place, but it still surprises me every time it materializes.

Oddly enough, I didn’t actually want a dog back when Kaya came into my life. I wanted to foster cats; something temporary, low-key. A good way for Chuck and me to ease into pet ownership. Then a comment I’d intended as a joke was interpreted as a directive, and suddenly we were getting a dog. Communication is funny like that.

For the record, it wasn’t that I don’t like dogs — dogs are great! I grew up with plenty of canine companions, and even conspired with my mom to bring one home after my dad told us we didn’t need a second pup. I just didn’t think Chuck and I were ready to be dog owners. In the wake of my maternally sanctioned puppy plot, my dad made it his mission to ensure I appreciated how much work was required to be the primary caretaker of man’s best friend. It was a life-changing responsibility, and I was confident we weren’t prepared for it.

So, when a well-intentioned birthday surprise meant a 6-month-old lab mix would be entirely dependent on Chuck and me — well, I sort of panicked.

A list of opportunities we’d have to sacrifice ran through my mind on repeat: our social lives, travel plans, the ability to sleep in irresponsibly late after an especially hectic work week… All our free time would now be dictated by an adorable bundle of chaos.

I knew Kaya would require a dramatic life shift. And she did. But what I hadn’t considered was that these new responsibilities could actually help propel me out of a slump I’d fallen into without ever fully realizing it.

I’d moved to Washington, D.C., a few years earlier. It was a world apart from my hometown alongside Seneca Lake, where miles of hiking trails were minutes away in any direction. But D.C. seemed fine enough. It had plenty of brunch spots to try, museums to visit, happy hours to frequent. After a handful of internships, I had a full-time job at an organization with a mission I found inspiring. I’d even met a great guy. I figured everything was heading in the direction it should be.

I should have been paying closer attention. If I had, I’d have noticed that I was starting to define my value as a person solely by my experiences at work. I’d have noticed that I was spending 50 or so hours at the office each week, skipping lunch and bringing work home on weekends.

I’d have noticed that I went to happy hours a few times a week because, deep down, that’s what I thought a twenty-something in the District was supposed to do, even though I wasn’t a fan of crowds and didn’t consider a $6 beer that great of a deal.

I’d have noticed that I hadn’t picked up my camera in months. It was the thing I was most proud to own. There was a time when I’d poured all my savings into photography workshops and online classes, when I’d jumped at any chance to head down by the lake or out into the woods to practice. I wasn’t doing any of that anymore.

I didn’t notice these things. And I didn’t notice the thick, oncoming cloud of melancholy until it had already engulfed me. By then, I was so far in it I had no idea how to get out. One thing I was sure about, however, was that the obligations of caring for a dog weren’t going to help.

Now, to be clear, this isn’t some “who rescued who” cliché that people reference on bumper stickers. Those first few weeks with Kaya were rough. Sleep was lost, crates were escaped, sentimental keepsakes were chewed, tears were shed, howls were howled. We discovered the evil that is wall-to-wall carpeting. Kaya had such bad separation anxiety that we ended up getting a cat anyway.

As exhausting as it was, we survived. I was determined to give Kaya all the exercise she deserved — partly to safeguard the structural integrity of my apartment — so we started taking several-hours-long walks on the weekends. When I got bored with the scenery of my neighborhood, we turned to Rock Creek Park.

That’s where I began to come alive again. I felt like a completely different person and Kaya acted like a completely different dog; trading concrete and constant sirens for leaf-covered dirt and the babbling of a nearby creek was a tonic for us both. As she sprang over logs and waded through water her delight only amplified my own. Emotions are funny like that.

Chuck joined us for our next hike. On a last-minute whim I decided to bring my camera. The three of us have been hooked on photo excursions ever since.

It didn’t take long for us to wear out the paths in Rock Creek Park. From there, we set our sights on grander adventures. By paddling the inlets of the Chesapeake Bay, waiting out thunderstorms in backcountry Virginia, and meandering through North Carolina’s frozen Craggy Gardens, I’ve come to see travel as something that’s enhanced, not limited, by having a pup along for the journey. It just takes a bit more planning.

Meanwhile, I’ve felt myself grow as a photographer in ways I never imagined. I’m by no means a professional, but I’m able to capture images I’m consistently proud of and can see myself moving toward a more unified editing style.

I’ve become more comfortable with myself, too. While I used to agonize over whether or not I’d ever really be “good enough” (whatever that meant), now I revel in the process of progressing as a documenter and creator. Heck, I’ve even started to dabble in mapping our most recent explorations. That’s something I definitely never saw myself doing pre-Kaya.

So yes, my life is fundamentally different than before. It’s been three years, almost to the day, since my little pack formed. There are times we don’t get out as much as we’d like. Every now and again my camera sits idle for a few weeks at a time. We’re still a work in progress. But we’re getting there.

Looking back, I can’t help but shake my head bemusedly. I didn’t want a dog because I was afraid puppy-related obligations would be suffocatingly restrictive. As it turns out, those pup-ligations have helped me find a more fulfilled sense of self.

Life is funny like that.