Bring Balto
If you’ve ever pulled into a campsite, cracked a cold one, and watched your dog lose their damn mind over a pinecone, you already get it and you don’t need to read this… (but you should keep reading)
Balto’s been with me every single mile of this ride—snoring in the back seat, stealing space in the truck, hogging the passenger seat like he pays rent. And while a 90-pound German Shepherd mix may not be the easiest road companion, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
This is my love letter to doing the damn thing with your dog.
Let’s Get This Out of the Way: It’s Not Easy
Before you pack a bag of kibble and hit the gas, let me be brutally honest: traveling full-time with a dog—especially a big one—is no walk in the park.
No but actually… You’ll be stopping at a lot of parks.
You’ll have to pee when he doesn’t. He’ll have to shit when you don’t. You’ll get rained on during 2 a.m. potty breaks. You’ll sleep curled around a fur furnace who refuses to scoot over. And no matter how well you pack, you will always have dog hair literally covering all your things.
SUV life with a full-size canine is a tight squeeze. There’s no such thing as “my side” of the vehicle anymore—there’s just “where Balto feels like laying.” I’ve contorted myself into positions I didn’t think were biomechanically possible just to get some sleep.
But that’s the trade-off. You give up space, convenience, and a bit of sanity—
And you gain everything else.
The Do’s and Don’ts of Nomadic Dog Life
DO:
Plan around your dog’s needs. That 8-hour drive day? Cut it in half. Add in some shady trails, a swim spot, or even just a dog park. You’ll be surprised how good it will feel for YOU to see your pup play and make new friends.
Prioritize dog-friendly campsites and public lands. Most national parks are a no-go, but national forests and BLM land are fair game. I use apps like iOverlander and Dyrt to find free camping.
Talk to your vet before you hit the road. Mine hooked me up with extra flea and tick prevention, some anti anxiety meds, and general antibiotics all to keep on hand “just in case”
Teach reliable recall or have a system to keep your pet nearby the campsite. Balto is a husky-mix. Most husky owners already know… Balto’s going to do what Balto wants to do… so we mitigated that problem by purchasing a 40foot steel cable that attaches to his normal harness. This way, I can hook him to the truck, a tree, or wherever, and know he’s always within reach.
DON’T:
Leave them in the car unattended unless the weather is perfect. I don’t care if it’s “just five minutes.” Don’t be that person.
Assume they’ll adapt to every terrain or climate. Some dogs are built for snow. Some hate sand. Some lose their minds over farmland full of livestock—speaking from personal experience… We literally can’t camp within earshot of a cattle field— You’ll learn.
Expect your journey to look like anyone else’s. Welcome to your new life. You’re going at dog speed now.
The Slower Path is the Better One
One of the best gifts Balto’s given me is the reminder to slow the fuck down.
Left to my own devices, I’d be sprinting through states—chasing epic views, logging miles, knocking places off a list. But dogs don’t give a shit about your itinerary. They care about sniffing every square inch of a trailhead parking lot. They force you to break more often, linger longer, and—here’s the kicker—actually enjoy where you are. Balto has reminded me more than once the whole reason I wanted to try nomad-life on for size. I wanted to hit the ‘reset’ button on my life, and you can’t do that when you’re not present where you are.
Balto’s the reason I’ve discovered hidden creeks, tiny town dog parks, and coffee shop patios with local weirdos who became fast friends. He’s an accidental social lubricant. People talk to you when you’ve got a dog. And on days when I’m down bad— the weather’s shit, something’s wrong with the truck, or I’m spiraling about what the hell I’m doing with my life—he’s still there. Tail wagging. Ready to explore. Reminding me to get out of my own head.
Some Days Are Ugly—But They're Ours
Yeah, there are nights I’ve cried in the front seat while Balto sat patiently in the back. There are days I’ve skipped hikes because he was too tired or the trail wasn’t dog-friendly. There’s the time he puked in the truck and another time he broke through a friend’s tent to chase a deer . The time I almost lost him near a canyon. The endless dirt, the busted routines, the stress of “what if he gets hurt?”
But there’s also this: every sunrise and set is shared. Every lonely mile is a little less lonely. And in a lifestyle where everything is unpredictable, he is my one constant.
So—Bring Your Best Friend
Will it be hard? God, yes.
Will it test your patience, your flexibility, and your sleeping positions? Also yes.
But will you ever regret it?
Not for a second.
I don’t care if your dog’s a mutt or a purebred, 12 pounds or 120. If they’re part of your life, find a way to bring them along. They’ll teach you things no travel guide ever could.
And if you’ve got questions—about pet travel, road life, truck mishaps, or how to fit a Great Dane in a Prius—I’ve got you. I’m currently offering 1:1 nomad consultations, where we can unpack your wildest dreams and your biggest hesitations. No pressure. Just a fellow traveler in your corner here to be a soundboard and a voice of reason.
So, bring your best friend, and I’ll see you out there.