Good Dog, Bad Dog

All that glitters is not gold, and all experience is not my own.

I am the proud adoptive father of Zob, a nine year old Pekingese-pit bull mix. He is stout, he is stubborn, he is fearless, and his adventurous spirit can only be contained by his age and exhaustion.


As a survivor of abuse, large cats, bigger dogs, and at least one utility van, Zob. Taking two tires to the face and escaping with a chipped molar and some road rash might make anyone feel invincible. It really got to his head.

It was a trip to the Grand Canyon that finally humbled him.

I admit, shamefully, that I wasn't in awe of the colors, the giant hole in the ground, or the ages through which we walked. My focus was stuck on the dog, who viewed this as just another extended adventure and proceeded to tromp through the grass. He hopped on and off the wall overlooking the mighty drop, he was brave indeed.

"Look at how much fun he's having. Short dogs have no fear of fa--"

And that's when it hit him. Less than a foot away, there was no ground. The earth was gone. There was nothing but abyss and unknown. He began to hyperventilate and let out a high pitched whine before he walked backwards to the paved path. -

Respect earned, Grand Canyon. To the brave beast whose near-death experiences would send any of us into shivers, you have been the sole reminder of his mortality.

I went to the Grand Canyon as a standard of adventure and, though I didn’t get what I thought I would, my little dog got more than his fill. I realized that maybe the trip wasn't about what I could take for myself, but to experience what grandeur does to others.