KAREN LAND

In my early 20’s, I did something you should never do (yes, I’m blaming my actions on youthful ignorance); I decided to adopt a dog for my parents and surprise them. For some reason, I thought they needed a pet. I thought everyone needed a fury friend.

After my parents lost their beloved beagle-mix, Misty, due to old age, I couldn’t imagine them not wanting another dog. I began searching the humane societies and newspapers for the perfect pooch for them. Little did they know...

A year later, I stumbled across “Lucky” at a Montana humane society. She was a scrawny, long-legged, 6-month old mutt with a shaggy, wire-haired coat. And she was sweet, so sweet.

I’ve been on the road for two months now and put over 10,000 miles on my vehicle.

I’m writing my column from Brookings, South Dakota sitting on a blanket under a shade tree in the town park. My dogs, Jigs and Borage, are asleep by my side, choosing to bask in the warm sun. They look like lazy lions sprawled out in the green grass. They like this life.

So far - knock on wood - my road trip has gone smoothly. Yeah, my schedule has been packed with one dog mushing presentation after another, but it all has fallen together without a hitch. Well, there was that one day...