Working under the assumption that dragging a 20 pound pack up a big hill demands a little preparation – like dragging a 25 pound pack up a smaller hill – today seemed like a good time for a training hike.

Fortunately, a 25 pound training deadweight – in the form of an always-happy-to-be-in-the-outdoors Little M – sat right by the door.

At this point, she’s as excited as the Wonderdog to take a hike (and the Wonderdog gets very excited).

The only real sticking point is the Kelty Base Camp backpack Little M rides in (like royalty).

Little M on a hike

Riding the torture rack: Queen M

Simply put, it’s a torture rack for dear old dad.

Years ago – after an agonizing weekend – I renounced uncomfortable packs, deciding life’s too short to spend it hunched over and whimpering.

Sadly, the universe is patient, and sometimes – when it senses you’re no longer watching – circles around behind you and whacks you on the back of the head.

Or in this case, the back of my back.

I’ve never actually worn a less comfortable pack.

It’s painful enough that I remind myself I’m “building character” as I trudge along, Little M babbling away happily at every new thing (and at this point, it’s all new to her).

There is some truth to the idea that kids keep you young (though there have been plenty of late nights when a statement like that would have earned you a glare, if not a beating [a sort of weak, tired, slow-motion beating]).

Sheer, unadulterated joy is an infectious thing, even when it’s accompanied by sheer, unadulterated back pain.

Dog Days

Marring today’s fantasy image of a guy, his kid, the goofiest dog you can imagine and pristine wilderness is… the dog.

The normally tank-like Wally the Wonderdog is limping around the house on three legs, and we’re not 100% sure why.

Yesterday he ran with the L&T, and last night he gimped up.

We’re both hoping it’s a simple strain, though the Wonderdog’s history may just be catching up to him.

After all, he’s fallen off a mountain, been hit by a truck, was sucked through a rapids, and at 7+ years old (we’re guessing), that kind of thing can come back to haunt you.

Hopefully – with the help of a few baby aspirins – the Wonderdog will be back up to speed.

For now, the battle is getting out of the house without his knowing; he doesn’t tolerate someone having fun without him, and he insists on going – even if he has to do so on three legs.

For example, the L&T just left for a run, and he’s sitting a couple feet away, glaring at me.

And in truth, we’ll miss him on today’s hike. The Wonderdog is a comforting presence when you’re warmed up and striding loosely through the woods – especially when you’re feeling top heavy because of the kid strapped to your back.

He’s an early warning system for all the wild critters I’m happy to see at a distance, and he’s astonishingly protective of Little M when she’s out of the pack and wandering around.

In a couple instances, he’s straddled the trail, blocking her path when he figured she was plenty far enough away from her parents (which isn’t very far).

It’s behavior he manifested in pre-kid times when I hiked too far ahead of the L&T; you suddenly find him at your feet, slowing your progress and generally getting in the way, and it’s easy to get cranky about it until you realize the L&T’s about to drift back out of sight.

That’s the essential paradox of Wally the Wonderdog: Dumber than a sack of hammers, but smarter than his owners.

Today I hike, and tomorrow I fish; Older Bro is heading up, and we’ve got an appointment with a small stream somewhere in this county.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

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