During our journey, many have asked us, what’s it like traveling with me?  For me, our journey has been a once in a lifetime adventure.  So far, I’ve been to 10 new countries.  And I’ve connected with all sorts of different people.  My deepest connections have been with other humans like the 6-year old Swiss girl who we have now run into twice who waits outside our door every morning to pet me while I sit on the front stairs of our “house”.  Or the French girl who spent days at the hostel in the mountains above Otavalo “training” me with my frisbee and treats using her best attempt at English commands like “Nue” (No) and “Gu” (good).  I think I also help keep my parents sane.  As was the case during the first year of my life in Boulder, I’ve been the third leg of our three legged stool.

I don’t mean to infer that life with me has never been stressful for my parents.  My dad in particular has spent numerous hours brainstorming about devices he wished he had brought (or is thinking of inventing) to keep me safe.  His brilliant ideas span the gamut from big cans of pepper spray to an above water versions of boomsticks (sticks with a shotgun shell on the end designed to protect against sharks).  And both of my parents regularly freak out when I’m approached by curious, flea infested local street dogs.

But overall, life on the road has been pretty relaxing.  I hang out in the casa rodante most of the time, am almost always with my parents, get to meet lots of new people (including some who I run into over and over) and, occasionally get to do real cool things.  My favorite adventures have been cruising down the Usumacinta River in a tiny boat made out of sticks (that I tried to eat) on our way to the Yaxchilan Maya ruin, hanging out on Zipolite beach in Mexico, hiking in Chimborazo National Park in Ecuador and seeing dolphins in the Golfo Dulce of Panama.  The list goes on and on.

So, if you are a human with a dog, don’t use us an an excuse to continue to live a deferred life plan.  Make sure we have our rabies shot and hit the road with us.  And if you can’t get the right permits to cross a border or two, no problem.  Just put a piece of tape over that “Perro Peligroso” sign on the side of the rig, cover us with a towel and roll on through.