Boston terriers probably aren’t the breed that leaps to mind when you think “long-distance hike.” With their cockeyed gaze, snubby snouts, stubby tails, and tendency to snort when they breathe, they bear a stronger resemblance to potbellied pigs than wolves.
But appearances to the contrary, Boston terriers are dogs, and dogs love walks. So when I carved out time for a Long Trail thru-hike last year, I wanted to take my Boston, Bug, with me.
On August 14, after a couple months of training, my dad drops us off at Pine Cobble Trail in Williamstown, Massachusetts, and our northbound thru-hike begins.
Like all Boston terriers, Bug is hyper, jumpy, easily distractible – and highly food-motivated. So, with no other hikers around, we practice recall: I let him stray out ahead of me, then give him a whistle and a treat from the bag in my pocket when he comes running back. On day two, he starts calmly walking at my heel. On day three, he stops trying to jump all over other hikers.
“I’ve been trying to teach him to do that since we got him!” I tell Bliss, who trains dogs back in the real world. “He just randomly decided to be well-behaved.”
She smiles wisely. “A tired dog,” she explains, “is a good dog.”
And a happy dog too! For Bug, life on the trail is one big walk, filled with fascinating smells, lots of treats, and a galaxy of sticks to munch on. In the real world, jumping is something he might get scolded for, but out here, it’s a superpower. He practically levitated up Bromley Mountain and Styles Peak. And every evening, he gets to eat kibble topped with people food, and then snuggle up at the foot of my sleeping bag. Yep, no complaints from Bug… that is, until stormy weather hits.
On day four, we wake up at Kid Gore Shelter to rain pounding on the roof and cascading off the wooden shingles. Bug huddles against me, ears cocked back. Classic newbie: thinks he can just sit in the shelter and wait out the rain. But we’ve got 15.2 miles to go, and we’re burning daylight. With apologies and promises of treats, I leash him and lead him from the shelter. Before long, he’s crushing miles with the grudging persistence of a thru-hiker. Dog or human, if you wanna keep warm, keep moving.
Stratton Mountain looms in my FarOut app, and all the southbounders we meet tell us it’s slippery. One suggests skirting the mountain on the blue-blazed Stratton Pond Side Trail. I roll my eyes – I’m a purist! – but then I look down at my soggy dog, and remember that this hike isn’t about me alone. Bug doesn’t know why we’re out here, or for how long, or what color the blazes are. All he can do is trust me. I have to honor that trust.
And that’s how my dog got his trail name: Blue-Blazin’ Bug.
On day 17, as we traverse the Monroe Skyline, the clouds open up and rain pours down again. I decide to push through it; we’re almost off the top of the mountain, so the hard part’s over. It’s all downhill from here!
And that’s how I learn, in the hardest way possible, about the rebar ladders of General Stark Mountain.
Bug’s a good sport, for a while. We figure out a system where I climb down, drop my pack, climb up, offer him a treat, ease down the ladder holding him on my hip like a baby, and then give him another treat for a job well done. But even with all the soggy treats, Bug finds his breaking point. Who can blame him? For all he knows, we’re doing another 15-mile day. And so, as I climb yet another rebar ladder, he gives me a look that says, “Lady, you’re crazy,” and bolts into the woods.
When I catch up to him a few moments later, at Theron Dean Shelter, I offer more treats, more apologies, and the leash. No way around it: It’s a cold, wet, miserable 1.7 miles. But as soon as the road comes into view, the rain lets up.
Bug never got used to being carried down ladders (it was no picnic for me either), and he froze up at Devil’s Gulch, just like I did when I was a kid (Long Trail News, summer 2023, “I HATE HIKING!”). But he loved all the attention he’d get at camp – especially Corliss, where people literally took turns holding him in their laps. And he loved the mountains. Killington, Clarendon Gorge, Mount Abe. Even Burnt Rock Mountain and Camel’s Hump were no match for his agility and impressive ups. (Though he did yellow-blaze around Mansfield, and who can blame him, or me, for that?)
A thru-hike is a way for a person to connect to their wild nature; turns out it can tame a dog. By the time we reached the Canadian border obelisk on September 20, Bug was a perfect gentleman.
(It didn’t last. Now that we’re back in the real world, there are no mountains for him to levitate up. He has to settle for jumping all over people.)
Brooke Black grew up in Fairfield and currently lives in Michigan, where the hikes are decidedly flatter than in Vermont. She is the author of Luckly: An African Student, An American Dream, and A Long Bike Ride.
*Editor’s Note: GMC requests those hiking with dogs be considerate of other hikers. Dogs should be leashed or under 100% voice control. Please leash your dogs when approaching other hikers, in the alpine zone, at overnight sites, trailheads, and near water sources. Visit this GMC blog article for more on hiking with dogs.
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