If you’re a millennial like me, chihuahuas likely bring up two images: the dog from the Taco Bell commercials and a tiny animal tucked in Paris Hilton’s purse. So, needless to say, images of scaling a mountain or fording a stream aren’t the first things that come to mind when you think of these diminutive, moon-eyed dogs.
And yet, based on my 6 years with just such a pint-sized pup, I can safely say chihuahuas (and other small dog breeds) are the best kind of dog to have if you’re an outdoorsy, adventurous person. My 9-pound chihuahua mutt Bailey might have had small legs, but his go-with-the-flow temperament and easy-to-please nature made him a steadfast, reliable crag dog.
The Origin of Bailey
Before I adopted my two dogs, I lived an extremely outdoorsy lifestyle and was determined to continue it with my pups in tow. As someone who loved hiking and climbing, I always thought I would adopt a classic adventure dog like a golden retriever, Australian shepherd, or lab.
Instead, I adopted Bailey, a 10-year-old chihuahua mix. In his former life, he was left neglected in a hoarding situation, so all of his teeth became necrotic and had to be removed. As a result, his tongue was always hanging out. I saw one picture of Bailey sitting in a field, with his tongue out, eyes so squinty he looked like he was on drugs, and I knew I had to bring him home.
Chihuahuas in the Outdoors
To my surprise, Bailey adapted extremely well to being in the outdoors. I once took that 9-pound wonder up to the top of South Dakota’s Black Elk Peak, the highest point in North America east of the Rocky Mountains. He was definitely tired by the end of the 5-mile hike, but he took it on like a champ. Except for the occasional pee and poop break, he kept on trucking up that mountain.
Easy to Please
I think a lot of us conceive of chihuahuas (and other tiny dogs) as lap dogs only. But if properly cared for, they can rise to the challenge of a hike or stream crossing just as well as a German Shepherd.
Ironically, for a dog that I always took outside, Bailey’s greatest desire in life was to be comfortable. As long as he had a comfy place to rest, he didn’t care about anything. My dad, an accountant, always called him the CEO of comfort.
I bought a $25 durable travel dog bed and took it everywhere with me. When I got to a crag to climb, all I had to do was tie Bailey to a tree and lay out his bed. For the next several hours, he would nap and sunbathe, without making a sound.
Once on a trip, I forgot the dog bed, and right before I got on the route, Bailey started whining. I knew what to do instantly. I grabbed the lightweight puffer I had brought, laid it out on the ground, and Bailey lay down on it and went to sleep. He even let me put him in a backpack and wear him as I rappelled off a 70-foot cliff in Arkansas, provided, of course, that the backpack had a cushion at the bottom.
He was happy anywhere, including sitting on a paddleboard in a lake or on my lap on a tractor.
Easily Amused
Bailey’s easy attitude also made road trips a cinch. As someone who lives in the Midwest, I often have to drive hours to reach outdoor destinations, and spending several hours in the car napping didn’t bother Bailey one bit.
Unlike hyperactive breeds like border collies that need enrichment and mental engagement, keeping Bailey happy was nearly effortless. On one climbing trip in Illinois, a sudden, unexpected thunderstorm forced us to take cover under a natural rock overhang. Bailey was displeased that he had gotten wet, but once I laid out his bed, all order was restored.
He also seemed to genuinely enjoy being outside. There were so many different, unknown smells for him to pee on. And for some reason, Bailey absolutely loved eating dirt and mud. It didn’t matter how much water or food I offered him; he’d be in the dirt, getting his tongue all dirty. As long as there weren’t feces or animal remains, I let the little stinker have free rein. Who was I to deny him his tasty muddy treats?
No Dangers
As much as I love my other dog, Olive, taking her outside is fraught with potential triggers. She gets easily freaked out when she sees unleashed dogs, and her hatred of horses knows no bounds. Horses are allowed at my favorite climbing spot — Jackson Falls, Illinois — and if she sees one ride through, she goes berserk, barking and attempting to rush them. It’s a handful, and often results in either my partner or I having to come down off the wall to calm her.
Bailey, meanwhile, is probably still asleep. He’s never had an issue with other dogs, horses, other animals, or kids. On a climbing trip with my friends’ 3-month-old, Bailey attempted to nap with her as she slept in her pop-up crib at the crag. As she got older and tried to pet and tug on him, Bailey didn’t bat an eye. He would take all the attention he could get, even if it came from a toddler with very little balance.
I never had to worry what Bailey might get into if I was up on the wall and out of reach. I could be on the wall for an hour working on my project, and when I came down, Bailey would still probably be chilling.
Making Friends
It’s fair to say that in the small world of Midwestern climbing, Bailey was a celebrity. I can’t count how many times the following kind of interaction occurred. I’d be at a crag, and a stranger would come up and ask if I was the person with the weird-looking white dog. I had apparently met this person before, and while neither of us remembered each other, they remembered Bailey. He loved pets and attention, so any stranger who gave gentle pets was most welcome.
In a way, Bailey was my personal ambassador. I can get anxious around new people, and Bailey was the ideal conversation elixir. Nothing was quicker to make people introduce themselves or form connections with me than Bailey.
Purely Practical
Just from a logistics perspective, having a small dog like Bailey made life easier. There was plenty of room for him, Olive, and myself in my two-person backpacking tent. I would much rather share a tent with a chihuahua than a Great Dane or St. Bernard. His small size also meant I had to bring less food and less water than I would for a large dog, keeping my pack lighter. His travel dog bed weighed just a pound.
Inevitably, as all dogs do, Bailey got arthritis, and even with meds, keeping up on hikes became harder for him as he got older. On the 30-minute hike to Jackson Falls, Bailey would make it about halfway before he would let me know that he was done. When that happened, I scooped him up and put him into a dog-carrying sling. Since it was soft and comfortable, he was happy. And since he only weighed 9 pounds, it wasn’t too much of a burden for me to carry him along.
His small size allowed me to keep him with his pack, even when he was 16 years old. Bailey loved his people and loved being included, and I’m glad that I was able to bring him along in his old age.
Chihuahuas Forever
Bailey’s story was much like my own story in the outdoors: We were a little weird and not exactly the right fit, but we approached the outdoors with a joie de vivre and had fun anyway.
Less than a month ago, Bailey made it clear that his time with me was at an end. He wasn’t eating and could no longer walk. As I talked with my parents about whether it was the right decision to put him to sleep, they reminded me of all the experiences I had given Bailey.
Instead of leaving him home alone, he had gotten to do his favorite thing: be with his mom outside. He had gone to almost every state in the Midwest and seen much of the Southeast, too. He napped, sniffed, and ate mud in so many places.
As breeders attempt to sell high-end breeds for thousands of dollars, Bailey is a reminder that our ideal adventure dog might be sitting somewhere in a shelter. Our perfect outdoors pup might be an old chihuahua or a tiny, young terrier.
After Bailey’s passing, it will be a long time before I’m ready to adopt another dog. But when that time comes, I’m heading straight for the shelter with the senior chihuahuas.
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