Tribute To My Dog Scooter

A lover, a hiker, a napper, and the closest thing to sliced bread

Fall 2017 started much like any post-high school graduate’s dream for me: moving three hours away from home to my first-choice college. At the time, I had been diagnosed with an eating disorder a year before and had put in a lot of work to get to the point where I thought I was ready to move away from home. After so many days of crying over bowls of ice cream and awkward therapy sessions, I had put in the hard work and had been deemed “recovered” enough for the challenges I would face during a freshman year away from my support system at home.

Freshman Callie the cowgirl

If you have been subscribed for a while, you know how things ended. Three months into my first semester, I had relapsed to the point where I needed to go to a treatment center. However, before it got there, I tried everything I could to prove to the adults around me that I was fine and could stay. This included extra therapy sessions, checking in with a counselor on campus, documenting all the times I purged…and trying to convince my parents that having an emotional support dog with me in the dorms would solve all of my problems. I laugh at my thought process now, but I know that I was so desperate to try anything at that time I didn’t care how ridiculous it seemed. I remember my psychiatrist at the time looked at me when I told him I needed a doctor to sign off on this request and he bluntly asked, “How is a dog going to get you to stop purging?”

Scooter the chunk-a-hunk before adoption

I honestly had no idea. I think I knew deep down that nothing would stop me. But with a doctor’s signature and my parents convinced, we drove to the nearest humane society to look at some dogs. Several did not match the energy level we were looking for. Until we met Scooter. When we first saw him, he was a fluffy, ham of a beagle mix completely passed out in the largest kennel on a long, futon-sized dog bed. He had been owner surrendered to the shelter, had been there for over a year, and was clearly the staff’s favorite. They said the director of the humane society fed him cheeseburgers often and drove him around in a golf cart during the day. The life of a king.

We brought him home, but before we could even get him approved to live in the dorms on campus with me, I left a dietitian session with referrals to some treatment centers out of state. I was devastated, yet knew it was the right decision even though it was a tough one to make. It was the only way I could possibly get better. Fast forward a few months, and I was now living in St. Louis while attending an intensive outpatient eating disorder program five days a week. As soon as I was able to get an apartment, Scooter became a Missouri resident with me and was my only friend during that time. In all honesty, he was the perfect roommate.

Being an older dog, he slept all the time in hilarious positions. With his rescue background, he naturally would eat anything in sight if you gave him the chance. While he was perfectly content with napping on the couch all day, it became evident that this short, stubby dog could pound some dirt on the trails as well. For this post, I figured I would share a funny hiking story that involves Scooter. I mentioned in a previous post that he’s been sick and struggling with bladder cancer. Unfortunately, two weeks ago, he crossed the rainbow bridge and is longer on this earth. Lately, I’ve been sifting through a mountain of pictures of him while he was in my care and feeling all the feelings that come with the death of a loved one. He lived such an exhilarating life and it feels important to honor him however I can.

During my baby backpacker trips where I was just getting my feet wet with sleeping nights in the woods, I sought out a popular long-distance loop in the Mark Twain National Forest: the 26-mile Berryman Trail. I have mentioned this trail a few times before and have had several not-so-great moments on this part of the Ozark Trail. My first experience on this trail is what I will be sharing today. My intention going into the trip was to make it a short, less than 24-hour overnight because I didn’t have much time off in between work shifts. I also wanted to practice hiking longer distances at one time, so on the first day I planned on completing 20 miles. The next morning, I had to work, so I needed to get up very early to hike the 6 miles back to my truck and drive the two hours back to St. Louis in time.

At that time, I also had just recently adopted Honey and had big plans of her becoming my main hiking buddy because of her young age. The morning I left for the trailhead with Honey all set in the truck, I intended on leaving Scooter in the care of a dog walker. He was getting older and I had doubts that he could handle a hike like this. But as I was leaving, with all my backpacking gear, he knew I was going somewhere for a while and quickly recognized that I was leaving him behind. I remember saying, “It’s okay Scoot, we’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.” So, I shut the door with him standing right up against the window, staring as I walked away. Not even a minute later, I heard a low, mournful typical beagle howl that rattled my apartment building. My heart sank as I stopped in my tracks. I guess Scooter was coming with me.

We drove the two hours outside of St. Louis to the Berryman trailhead and got started hiking quickly. The day actually went well and I was super impressed with how Scooter’s legs were holding up along the way. He was 12 years old and crushing the miles, so it ended up being fine that I brought him after all. By the time, the sun was getting ready to set through the colorful October leaves on the trees, we reached mile 20 and I found a decent spot to set up my tent. Getting cozy inside my sleeping bag with Honey and Scooter at my feet took no time. Just as I was reflecting on a great day of hiking, I was digging through my gear when I realized I had forgotten to pack a few important items.

My headlamp wasn’t there as well as the phone charger cord to connect to my power bank. I also had not packed any sort of light source, which would be a problem considering I had to get up before sunrise to hike back to my truck in time for work. Panic was starting to set in as I checked how much battery was left on my phone and saw that I barely had 20%. That definitely would not be enough to get me through six miles. The only thing I could potentially use to illuminate the way was a rather depressing emergency glow stick that I didn’t even remember throwing in my pack. But at least I had that.

When my alarm went off at 4 a.m., I hesitantly stuffed everything back into my pack in the dark. I was just racking my brain trying to figure out some solution to the situation I was in and wasn’t able to come up with anything. With the leashes in one hand clicked on Honey and Scooter’s collars and my shaky phone flashlight held out, we forged our way forward into the night. We hiked very slowly, much slower than I would prefer as we tried to navigate the slight twists and turns on the trail. When my phone eventually died, I only had that stupid glow stick to light the way. It barely helped at all, but somehow by now, Honey and Scooter seemed to realize that I was the one who was holding them back as I clumsily found my footing through the dark. All I could do was trust them to guide me back to the trailhead.

And they did. I still don’t know exactly how, but by daybreak, we made it to my truck. Being the only brave soul out there, I pumped my fist into the air and hollered a victory screech at the sight of the Barryman Trailhead sign. Honey and Scooter seemed exhausted but perked up at my excitement as I knelt on the asphalt to hug them both. Without them, I could not have made it back.

Scooter was a special dog and was probably one of the most emotionally intuitive animals I have ever come to know. He always seemed to know when I needed love or support from him. He was there with me through some of the most impactful times of my life. Through the good, the bad, and the flat-out depressing, he was with me through it all. Contrary to what my psychiatrist believed, when I was in the depths of the dark times locked in my bathroom to self-destruct, Scooter would always scratch at the door to interrupt. I guess he did help me stop purging after all.

I miss him so much already. Yet I know his ghost is out there somewhere, rolling in mud puddles, swimming in the dirtiest waters, eating all the counter-surfed pizza he can find, and taking much needed siestas on his dog bed futon.

Thanks so much for reading and tuning in for this week. I absolutely appreciate everyone who reads and subscribes to this publication. I hope to bring more hiking and backpacking content your way soon!

See you out on the trail!