Our Fourth Anniversary Together Stunk
What do you do when your life partner deliberately ruins a major celebration?
(Listeners: Audio version included. Click on the voiceover link above)
It was our fourth anniversary. To celebrate, we went on a morning hike in the Mexican countryside with our friends. That’s when it all went to shit.
Fresh cow poop, to be specific. My dog, Mr. Bones, found a whole pile of it.
I hope you didn’t think I was talking about a human being. God forbid. I haven’t had a human traveling partner since I got into full-time van life four years ago.
Humans, regrettably, are far more difficult to travel with than dogs.
I needed a good buddy on the road, a non-complainer. In Denver, while waiting on my camper conversion, I went to a local shelter and found my dog. After discussing various name options, he told me he liked the name, “Mr. Bones.”
Since then, it’s been the old story of a man and his dog, out alone on the road together. It’s a love story for the ages, except for all the cow poop.
We have a great time together. When I think about our four years on the road, in my head, I hear the melody of the 60s pop song, “Happy Together!”
The refrain describes our relationship.
“Me and you, and you and me, No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be
The only one for me is you, and you for me, So happy together!”
About Mr. Bones.
We’ve been together for four years. We met back when I began my van life sojourn. My initial plan was to conduct a national tour to the lower 48 states in six months to promote my book, achieve fame and fortune as an author, then go back home with a big pile of money from my book sales to settle down.
In the words of my friends who had also tried to write a book, “Ha! You’ll fail!” Instead of fame and fortune finding me, they followed us from a great distance.
The trip got me hooked on van life and turned me into a nomad. Mr. Bones has been with me ever since. As long as he gets his kibble, he doesn’t mind traveling.
Mr. Bones is everything to me: my best friend, and my loyal road trip buddy, as well as being a ridiculously cute and relentlessly friendly pit mix.
His secret superpower is charming young women in coffee shops while I sit and work on a book or a blog. He did this on our first morning in Denver. While I sat quietly, working, he gave a young woman the googly eyes and a big doggy smile.
It was remarkably effective. He met Marisa within minutes. He rolled over for a tummy rub and licked her hand, two things that I would never think of doing!
Though he is now seven and a half, he’s still a playful little puppy at heart. He loves to go on walks. He has taught me how to walk on my end of a dog leash.
It took a while, but I learned to stop not only when he finds the perfect place to poop, but also so he can water the plants, and sniff to see who left a pee-mail.
When it comes to food, he is also a shameless beggar and an occasional thief. He is distracted by squirrels! Due to years of loneliness and emotional neglect before we met, he is always desperate for attention. He tries to lick people to death.
People either love him or recoil in horror from the licking machine that is his mouth. If you love dogs, then read on. If you don’t, then I’m sorry to hear that.
But first, about the cow poop incident.
Running with the other dogs that came on the hike, he got far ahead of me and disappeared from my sight. I whistled, his cue to return.
A moment later, I spotted his white tail moving toward me above the tall grass.
How happy Mr. Bones looked as he ran toward me from a distance, with extra bounce in his step. As he got closer, I saw that his face, which should have been white, was … brown.
Oh, no. Please God, let it be mud.
As he rushed up, I saw that he had fresh cow poop smeared all over his face and neck. He looked thrilled! Then he was upon me, as was the pungent odor of poop.
‘Oh, Mr. Bones, no!” I said, frowning. “Cow poop again!?” (It was not the first time!) He cocked his head to one side quizzically.
Mr. Bones (MB): Do you like my new French cologne? It’s called, “Oh, da poop.”
Me: I think you mean “Eau de poupe.” You smell awful! Why do you do that?
MB: I just can’t help myself. Fresh cow poop makes me go crazy.
Lucky me. I so looked forward to driving home with him in the van.
I had tried to wish Mr. Bones a happy fourth anniversary earlier. It didn’t go quite as I expected.
Me: Happy anniversary, Mr. Bones. We’ve been together for four whole years!
MB: What do you mean, four years? It’s been 28 years! What’s an and-a-versary?
Me. It’s a day to celebrate our time together.
MB. That’s nice. Hey, look, SQUIRREL!
I’d like to share some of our best and worst memories from over the years.
2022: I met Mr. Bones at a shelter in Denver. He was the friendliest dog I found, smiling, wagging his tail, and trying to lick my hands and face. I paid his bail, and we hit the road. He makes friends everywhere we go. He has the ability to attract women one at a time, or in pairs; sometimes, he even goes for a triple whammy.
Only he has this superpower; at age 67, I certainly do not. Bones has met thousands of people in four years; on my own, I think I have met about four.
He also loves peeing on trees everywhere we go; he has saved thousands of them.
At first, he was a little nervous around me. But at Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado, the hot sand burned his little paws, and he began to cry.
He looked to me in pain and let me pick him up for the first time. I carried him to the car and put a cold, wet towel on his sore paws. After that, he trusted me.
2023: We visited LA and boondocked overnight in a sketchy parking lot. He must have eaten something bad when I wasn’t looking. Maybe it was drugs. He woke up in the middle of the night, vomiting and having diarrhea in the van.
Oh, no. He was really sick!
It scared me to death. At that moment, I realized he was everything to me. What would I ever do without him? Please, God, I said, don’t let my dog die.
Fortunately, I found an emergency vet who was open, and he survived. Since then, I constantly monitor what he eats, despite his efforts to sneak bites of stuff.
2024: This was our first winter in Mexico, camping on the Gulf of California. Mr. Bones loved walking on the beach and chasing the surf. When the waves crashed on the shore, he barked at them. They got scared and went back out, then when he stopped, they came back in. This provided hours of good, clean dog fun.
2025: We spent the winter way down south in Baja California and spent part of the summer and fall in Canada. While camping in August in the Sierra Nevada mountains in California, I developed acute appendicitis. They had to fly me by helicopter to a regional medical center for emergency surgery.
I might have died in surgery, but realized I couldn’t. Mr. Bones needed me.
So, I survived.
But Mr. Bones occasionally still steals my food, and that can give me a scare.
That winter, in South Texas, I got out of the van, and someone stole half of my smoked turkey leg, which I had hidden from him carefully. A jagged piece of the leg bone showed up later in his stomach on an X-ray at the local emergency vet.
He looked up at me innocently and asked, “Gosh, how did that bone get in my tummy?”
2026: We went up into the mountains of Mexico to find a cool, high-altitude spot for the summer. For the first time, we got a place, a small casita. His dream came true. He finally got to sleep on a real bed every night. He likes to curl up on the other pillow, right next to my head. In the mornings, I gently rub his tummy.
I asked him why he curls up right next to my face in the morning.
He said, “I wait all night for your mouth to … fur-ment.” (he means ferment)
“When you wake up,” he said, “your breath doesn’t smell quite as strong as cow poop, but it’s a close second. I love it!”
Gee, thanks, buddy.
As I type this, Bones lies next to me on his mat, often getting up to put his paws in my lap and gaze lovingly into my eyes.
Me: I know that look: you either love me, or you want a butt scratch.
MB: Both. I love you, and I want a butt scratch.
Mr. Bones and I are leaving Mexico next weekend and heading back to the USA.
Gee. Four years. We’ve been through a lot together.
Three countries, a hundred thousand miles of driving, coffee shops, beaches, mountains, oceans, deserts, campgrounds, and our own little casita in Mexico.
I don’t know yet where we’ll be in a month, but I know who will be sitting up front with me in the van. just me and my dog, Mr. Bones, on the road again.
He is my cute little boy, and I am his meal ticket. We may meet you soon in a coffee shop.
Remember, let him smell your hand. You too can be friends for life. He’d like that.
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A whole love story for the ages, smuggled inside a tale about a dog who rolls in cow poop. We adopt them thinking we're the rescuers, and one day it turns out they're the ones holding us here. Happy four years to you both!