Togo Goes Camping . . . sort of

I’m an outdoor dog. I have certain needs and likes and being out in God’s creation is what I need and like.

I need space to stretch and explore and run when I want to. And I need a variety of places to curl up or stretch out to get my naps in. I like to look up and see the sky from my backyard or to be able to feel a breeze slipping through the opening to my dog igloo.

So, of course, I’m an outdoor dog. Down at Dr. L’s boarding house where I get to hang out from time to time, I heard some other dogs talking about their adventures. In fact, they were raving over a recent article in a magazine called Field and Stream. When Daddy came to pick me up, I found a good moment on our walk home to ask him about what I overheard. He filled me in on what a magazine was. I immediately knew what he was talking about, having chewed through a few in my time.

As is often the case, Daddy talked on and on — way past what I wanted to know.  He told stories about his limited experiences camping. Long hikes with heavy packs. Too much or too little rain. Steep trails. Uneven sleeping spots. Strange noises at night. The rush to come down from the mountain in the midst of the smoke of a fire in the woods. 

Wow, I said, that sounds awful. Daddy agreed. And then he told me how, almost before they could get their gear loaded in the car to head home, he and his hiking buddy, Dr. John, would be talking about next year’s camping trip. And how the boys were already eager to go back — or at least would be after a good pizza in Pecos, New Mexico.

Daddy said there’s something magical about camping and spending days and nights outside.

I agree. In fact, I am reluctant to ever stay indoors. My general rule is only when the thunder boomers come or godless folk set off fireworks. 

Daddy offered to take me camping. I declined. I invited him to stay outside with me in the backyard. He declined. Our win-win solution was setting up my outdoor space where I could pretend I was camping. Momma got me a neat camouflage cover for my dog igloo. I really like it. Of course, it serves no real purpose since my dog igloo sits under the porch roof and the camouflage pattern doesn’t camouflage anything. But Daddy didn’t think a cover that looks like bricks would have the same effect. I’ve made inquiries about campfires and something called s’mores. I’m not making any progress on those ideas. 

But I’m still content. I know that when I’m outside, I’m grateful. And when I’m inside, I look forward to being outside again. 

Apparently, camping is one of those things that God gives us that makes us feel close to him. So, I suppose it could be anywhere because we can feel that same magic in a lot of places. I’m in for visiting a nice big field where I can run and play. I’m less enchanted by the idea of a stream with all of that water rushing by. I’m very knowledgeable about these things and I understand that God intends for my water to be in a nice clean bowl. I am 100% supportive of those dogs who like being wet. And hope they belong to godless fireworks enthusiasts who will travel far, far away from West Texas to places with running water. Serendipitously, it’s possible that the godless will find God by a stream and no longer be tempted by bottle rockets and firecrackers.

Maybe Daddy and I will go camping someday. I’d really like Momma to come along, too. But for now, I’m content to camp out in my backyard. God knows he can find me here. And isn’t that what camping is all about?