The Story of Waldo

(January 2022. I wrote this story while at Skooliepalooza 2022. It was for a Vocal challenge, the prompt for which was to write a story about your dog. That was easy for me, since my dog’s whole life has been a crazy adventure.)

The story of Waldo begins with Infinity. Infinity gave me Waldo. I was living in my bus at a month-long intentional community on a gorgeous piece of land in saguaro country, up in the mountains of Southern Arizona. Infinity showed up a week into the month; he came to run an interpersonal meditation workshop. Infinity has tattoos over every inch of his body, including his skull and face; an ornately designed blue third eye looks at you from the center of his forehead. He has one leg, and when he wasn’t using his crutches he hopped around everywhere on one highly-skilled bare foot. I once massaged his leg, in return for a massage he gave me. When he was my age, he died in a motorcycle accident; he decided to return to life, and woke up surrounded by very confused doctors. That was when he became Infinity.

When Infinity showed up, he was living out of his Toyota with his road dog, Nova. Nova was extremely pregnant. After a few days, he asked the host if he could stay, because it was a great place and he wanted Nova to have her puppies there. The host said yes. I remember cuddling Nova the night before the puppies were born. I remember feeling her belly, and feeling that special sense of mammalian love. Infinity made Nova a little birthing den in the garage out of some wood and a bunch of old blankets. The night the puppies were born, April 10th, 2021, Infinity was on a lot of kratom.

There were five puppies in the litter. Nova was small and brown; the dad was a big white mystery, another road dog encountered along Infinity’s adventures, a tryst in the night. There were four boys and one girl; one boy was all white, two were all brown, and the girl was white with brown cow spots. The last boy was black and white, cow-spotted; he had a big black patch over one eye, with a small brown eyebrow in the patch. His ears were spotted like dice, and his black tail was white at the tip. This was my favorite. I remember holding him gently in my arms the day after he was born. He was tiny, unimaginably tiny, and pinkish everywhere with baby softness. His eyes were closed, and he wriggled into me.

Every day for the rest of that month I would wake up in my bus, walk up the hill to the house to get water, and see the puppies. Most mornings, Nova would hear me coming from far away, and run outside to greet me. She would put her front paws on my hips to greet me with excitement, then turn to lead me to the garage door, as if to say “Come! Come see my puppies! Come see the beautiful things I have made!” I would, of course, come, and over the course of those few weeks I spent a lot of time with the puppies. I loved watching them nurse, and sleep, and wiggle around. I had a favorite, and Nova knew it. Once, while holding the black and white one tenderly in my arms, Nova cleaned his baby crotch lovingly with her tongue as she often did, and licked me as well. I took this as a blessing.

I had always wanted a dog growing up, but my parents hadn’t. But now, I was building my own home, my beatiful blue school bus with Starry Night painted on the sides. I could now, theoretically, have a dog. I grew more and more attached to the black and white one; I called him Waldo, after Ralph Waldo Emerson. When I told Infinity about Waldo, he pulled up his sleeve to show me the Where’s Waldo tattoo hidden amongst his many tattoos. He claimed to have many more Waldos hidden on his body. So, the name felt even more right. In naming him, and referring to his name, and thinking about his name, I started growing even more attached; names have that power.

As I grew more attached, I had to start thinking seriously about whether or not I should adopt a dog. Infinity said I could have him. It felt right, narratively. As a writer, I couldn’t ignore how amazing Waldo’s story already was. I knew I wanted a dog someday; I couldn’t imagine a future dog coming to me so fortuitously, so meaningfully; Infinity literally gave me a puppy. Waldo was born to a road dog the year I started life on the road, born on the most beautiful land I’d ever called home; he had a classically photogenic spot over his eye, the sort of marking a protagonist has. Everything about the situation made me feel like I was destined for this dog. But competing with my romantic side was the practical side; a dog entails enormous responsibilities, responsibilities that I was not sure that I was prepared for at 22. After all, I was alone on the road; my girlfriend loved dogs, but wouldn’t commit to co-ownership from her apartment in Boston. My mom was terrified of dogs. I would have to raise Waldo myself, as a broke bus bum. If I ever wanted to finish my senior year of college, or hike the Appalachian Trail, or backpack Europe, or just disappear for a wild weekend of 20-something partying and couch-crashing, I would now need to first arrange for somebody to watch my dog for extended periods of time. I wanted to do all of those things, and more that I couldn’t foresee. A dog would be a major responsibility and a major weight on my shoulders; it would severely restrict my freedom in many ways. If I wanted Waldo, I would have to be really certain about it; one thing I knew for sure was that I would never let myself be one of those people who adopt a dog only to give it away once it grows up a bit, taking the most important months of a puppy’s development only to break its heart and dump it on someone else. If I committed to Waldo, then I had to be ready for everything that commitment entails.

Around the time that I partook in an ayahuasca ceremony, the puppies opened their milky darkblue eyes to the world. I remember holding Waldo, a smear of ayahuasca still anointing my forehead, and seeing his unfinished eyes looking vaguely into mine. I wondered what he saw. In that moment, I felt that I had more than enough love to give to this precious little burrito of the universe. I knew that I could commit to taking care of him, even though it would cost some freedom; I had faith that he would bring more than enough unknown joys into my life. I knew that I would need to find people to love him with me and help care for him one day, but I knew that I could commit to him as much as he needed, and that, as a master hitchhiker, I would be able to find people to help when it became necessary. If there’s one thing hitchhiking taught me, it’s that there are a lot of good people in this world, and someone is always going the direction you’re going. Someone always has exactly what you need. Someone out there, many people out there, would be delighted to watch my wonderful puppy one day. I could give him myself, and I could give him more than myself; I could give him all the love I could gather from others, too. After all, it takes a village. I took this on faith, but also, I knew that I was willing to give this puppy everything it needed no matter what amount of help I ended up getting. Furthermore, I knew I could give this puppy a gift almost nobody else could. I could give him the kind of adventurous life few dogs have gotten to experience since our ancestors gave up on hunting and gathering with their canine companions. I lived in a school bus, and I was going to spend my 20s exploring the great North American Continent, boondocking on public land, living freely with nature. I could give Waldo space to run around free, unleashed. I could give him the freedom to be a dog as naturally as possible, without the stifling rules of our historically contingent, uptight, bourgeouis human culture. I could give him adventure, novelty, new things to sniff, new things to discover. I could show him the deserts; I could show him the forests; I could show him the cities; I could show him suburban homes with white picket fences; I could show him the mountains; I could show him the coasts. And, of course, I could give him all of the food, resources, and love that he needed to thrive, no matter what. I figured I could figure it out as I went; not everything needs to be perfectly planned when your values are in the right place. In my heart, I committed to him.

The puppies went to Sedona to spend another 5 weeks with their mother and siblings, to play and grow in a safe environment where they could continue to learn how to be puppies (a monumental task for things that started existing only a few weeks ago.) I brought my family to the Utah National Parks, and floated the puppy idea by them; they said I shouldn’t do it. But I was a young adult now, with my own home, and I didn’t listen. After all, I was in the driver’s seat. After dropping my family off at the Denver Airport I went to boondock with some bus friends on a property in Kremmling, Colorado, near the Continental Divide. Then I got a message from Infinity; I needed to come get Waldo ASAP, a few weeks earlier than planned. Driving my giant bus all the way back to Arizona would have been majorly challenging, and expensive. Luckily, my friend Jorrie had access to a car, and he is one of the most standup guys I’ve ever met. He drove me from Kremmling to Sedona, a 12+ hour drive, in one day; we never once switched; he’s driven trucks across the country before, but this was still majorly impressive. It’s by far the furthest I’ve driven in a day. We spent two days in Sedona, hanging out with the puppies; they were so much bigger now. They were able to walk and run and fight and play; they were no longer the wiggly burritos who couldn’t even stand up. They had personalities; the hosts told me that Waldo was more aloof and independent than his siblings, although he could hold up with the best of them while playing. Waldo was the favorite of one of the hosts. He had grown into a beautiful little puppy. Looking at pictures from this time still makes my heart melt. We took him on a little day adventure to Jerome the first day, to get him used to hanging with me. I think he remembered my scent from when he was a baby. We brought him back to his mother for the night. The next day, Waldo was mine. Jorrie drove me 12 hours back to Kremmling; we zoomed a lot of it way over the speed limit on massive empty desert highways late at night. I cradled Waldo close the whole time, amazed at my luck, amazed at how precious this puppy was, amazed at how much I already loved him. Funnily enough, as we sped across eastern Utah along I-70 at like 100 mph at midnight, we whizzed by a red convertible with the license plate N0MDLND. The driver was an Asian woman. As we zoomed by her, I told Jorrie “Hey, I think that was the director of Nomadland.” A few hours and many podcasts later, we were back in our little camp of 5 buses and 3 vans in the Colorado Mountains, and I brought my Waldo into the bus for the first time. It was under 40 degrees that night, because it gets cold that high up; I cuddled this precious warm puppy close to my chest under piles of warm blankets. I could not believe how tiny he was. My life had changed; I was a father, and I had to protect this baby.

Those early days were magical, raising Waldo in Lucy, my 36 foot half-converted blue school bus with Starry Night painted on the side. He was such a silly little thing, always looking at me as if to say “What now?” I potty trained him, and although we had plenty of messes early on, he figured it out relatively quickly. For the first few weeks, I’d often wake up to a poo on the floor, which I’d clean; he was better about peeing on the pee pads; slow and steady he became more and more potty trained, which usually meant I had to wake up every day at the crack of dawn to let him out. I did not get a lot of sleep that first month or two. New parents understand. I had some tough moments— there was one night when I wasn’t sure whether or not Waldo had eaten half of an ibuprofen, which is highly poisonous to dogs. Making him puke with salt was traumatizing for the both of us. Luckily, I got to know the local vet pretty well, a real casual guy with a love for animals. He never charged me too much, and gave me a lot of great advice; he even let me try a human dose of banana-flavored dewormer. 

By and large, Waldo had a beautiful first month with me. We cuddled in my big bed every night, although sometimes he liked to have his own little spot. He learned his name, learned to sit, learned to come. He was a very good boy. Waldo was raised in view of the Continental Divide; I wrote an excellent poem about alpenglow on my walls, and it always reminds me of sunsets at that spot. We stayed there nearly a month. It was great, because Waldo could play with the many other dogs at the camp. Some of the older dogs didn’t like the new kid, but this big black half-wolf dog Ellie took a special liking to Waldo. She treated him as her puppy, licking his crotch the way Nova did, graciously and patiently letting Waldo jump all over her and nibble at her. I was usually watching Waldo like a hawk, but sometimes I’d catch them adventuring together around the camp, this massive black wolf and this tiny spotted puppy. 

There was also Jorrie’s puppy, Kyoshi, who was Waldo’s first friend; Kyoshi was a few months older and way, way bigger than Waldo. So, she played like a puppy with him, but knocked him around a little too much without meaning to. Sometimes I grew frustrated with Kyoshi, because I could hardly bring tiny Waldo outside without him immediately getting bodied by this massive puppy, and then they’d both be uncontrollable. But she didn’t mean to hurt him, she was just being a puppy too. Sometimes, they’d wrestle underneath my bus, and that really freaked me out, because a few times I heard sickening thuds of puppies bumping noggins on metal. I would try my best to get them out from under there, but it was tough sometimes, because they really wanted to fight under there and wouldn’t listen to me until I crawled after them; I still feel guilty about that, like I was a bad parent for being unable to stop them from fighting under the bus. One time, after a fight, Waldo looked really beat up, and he looked at me with his hurt little eyes, and I cried. I felt like I’d hurt his development by letting him get concussed. I felt like I’d already messed up, like I was just another father screwing up his kid. Later on, though, I learned that that’s just part of being a new parents; you make mistakes, and you realize you don’t have full control, especially not over an animal. You do the best you can, and you get better.

One day, we went on our first big adventure. My friend Christian, one of my best friends from my hometown, had always wanted to go on a big hitchhiking adventure like I had in the past. Finally, in May 2021, he did it, hitchhiking from Tennessee all the way to Colorado by way of Texas. The last leg of his trip was northward, from New Mexico; I decided to meet him halfway, at the Great Sand Dunes, which I’d always wanted to see. Waldo and I went on our first big drive in the bus. We linked up with Christian and camped for the night. The next morning, we went for Waldo’s first hike, a short dog-friendly hike to Zapata Falls, a cool little waterfall feature right near the Great Sand Dunes. Waldo was so adorable walking along beside me, padding along the trail on his little paws. Everyone smiled at him; he was so happy. I carried Waldo over a section of river, taking the utmost care not to slip. Later that day, we went on an even bigger adventure. We hiked the Great Sand Dunes themselves. For those of you who haven’t seen the Dunes, it is hard to describe how massive they are. To hike to the tallest ones is like hiking a small mountain, except your footsteps get much less purchase than normal. But Waldo, off leash, followed us all the way up the Great Sand Dunes to the very tallest ones we could see. Sometimes, he got tired, and I carried him. At the very top, the winds were strong and sand was blowing everywhere, so we turned back. I think running down the sand dunes with Waldo running after me is one of the happiest images I can conjure up in my mind. He was adorable, running full speed down those dunes, a joyful floppy bit of black and white against the tan sand, sometimes stumbling and always looking like the happiest puppy in the whole world. To this day, he still freaks out whenever we go to a sandy beach; nothing makes him happier than frolicking around in sand, running as fast as he can, digging, doing little spastic puppy spins and jumps. 

Of course, the Great Sand Dunes were only the first big adventure I took Waldo on; since then, his whole life has been a series of adventures, has been itself one big adventure. We drove from Colorado to LA to meet up with our other best friend from home. Along the way, we stopped in Kanab, Utah, and Idyllwild, California, where Waldo found the biggest pinecone in the world. Waldo loves pinecones more than almost anything. Cuddling a sleeping Waldo in Idyllwild, I wrote him this poem:

    you stir and i respond…

    to press upon you tenderly my love,

    to bless life and growth like breath on fire,

    to wash my hands over you

    with so exactly the pressure of god,

    as i would want the hands of creation

    to wash over me, and put me to sleep…

    you stir, and i respond…

In LA, Waldo experienced living in a house for the first time for a few days, before we all set out on an epic drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. We visited a lot of great sandy beaches, where Waldo frolicked, and we camped in beautiful places along the coast. Waldo loved exploring along the rocks of Big Sur, and in the redwoods north of Santa Cruz. We made it to the Bay Area, and stayed in a driveway in Menlo Park for a week or so; some friends lived in a cool grouphouse there full of brilliant people. My girlfriend flew out, and after six months apart we were reunited. Of course, she loved Waldo. The three of us went on an epic 5 week adventure around the Northwest; we went through Lassen to Southern Oregon, where we enjoyed the Umpqua Hot Springs; we camped in Portland for a few days; we boondocked in the Mount Baker National Forest and took Waldo on lovely hikes; we spent time in North Cascades National Park; we spent nearly a week in Seattle; we spent another week exploring the Olympic Peninsula, and Olympic became my new favorite National Park; we drove down the Washington Coast and then the Oregon Coast, into Northern California; we saw the redwoods; finally, we cut over to Lake Tahoe, and my girlfriend flew out of Reno. The whole trip, the three of us got along great; Waldo has his favorite little spots to chill in the bus while I drive, but having someone to give him attention while daddy drove was wonderful for him. He had a great time in the Northwest, and was bummed when Alison left, as was I. 

After that, we spent some time with friends around Tahoe, during which time Waldo barked off a bear. Then, I was offered a job driving a friend’s minivan across the country, because her family was moving. I needed the money, because the pandemic unemployment was about to run out; I made a post on the local Facebook pages, and found a nice old lady willing to watch Waldo for a week while I did the job. This was my first time leaving him with someone else, and it was scary, but it worked out well (although I think Waldo wore her out.) After returning and hanging with Waldo for a few days around Tahoe, I found a family in Reno who was really excited about the idea of watching a dog while they were missing their own. The family had two little kids and a kitten, and Waldo played nice with all three of them. The mom fell in love with Waldo for a week while I went to the unofficial Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. It was a great opportunity, because I could never afford official Burning Man tickets, but it was ‘cancelled’ due to Covid; 20,000 people still showed up to boondock and party in the desert for free. It wouldn’t have been a safe environment for Waldo, and I was glad he was getting experience staying with others; the mom sent me cute pictures every day, and they seemed to really love each other. Once, she sent me a picture of Waldo cuddling the little kitten. She told me that I could bring Waldo back anytime. She wanted my puppy for keeps, but he’s my best buddy, and I missed him a lot; it was great to be reunited. We spent another few days around Reno cleaning up from Burning Man, then spent a few days around Lake Tahoe, then spent another few days at a few lovely spots in the Tahoe National Forest while I worked on my writing. It was great to be alone again, just me and Waldo. It felt like we had spent so much of the last few months with other people around, and it was great to get to bond one on one again. We went on some awesome hikes, and he learned to shake hands.

Waldo and I spent the second half of September and the first half of October staying in the grouphouse driveway in Menlo Park. It was great, because they had a big gated backyard for Waldo to play around in safely. I got to know the house members well, and it didn’t matter that I was nearly broke again. Waldo and I went on lovely little leashed walks around the manicured suburbs; it wasn’t Waldo’s favorite way to walk, but he loved the backyard, and was loathe to leave. We also took many multi-day trips to Santa Cruz, the Santa Cruz Mountains, and the magnificent coast stretching in either direction from Santa Cruz. It was on the coast near Santa Cruz that my girlfriend dumped me over FaceTime; Waldo was there for me. Once, in Monterey for the night, he barked away a scary guy trying to break into the bus. I was so grateful to Waldo in that moment, and knew that it was the right decision to get a road dog. He was grown up now, a teenager, pubescent and slightly territorial over Lucy and I. His rare bark, when he really meant it, packed a punch over his weight. Eventually, I figured I had to get home to Massachusetts for the holidays. I had never gone so long without returning to my hometown and my parents before. I drove one of my good friends from the Menlo Park house down the Pacific Coast back to LA in exchange for gas money. Waldo and I spent a week in LA recovering, before using the last of our gas money to get the bus to Arizona. 

We returned to the saguaro-studded land where he was first born, and left the bus there, because I was broke. I packed what I could into my old blue hitchhiking backpack, including Waldo’s food, and we left our lovely blue home. We hitchhiked 1500 miles in under three days, from Tucson to Louisiana. I was nervous about hitchhiking, because I hadn’t hitched since 2019, pre pandemic; I also had never hitched in winter, and I had never hitched with a dog. But Waldo passed every test with flying colors; he’s a born road dog. He sat next to me like a good boy, or hung out nearby, depending on what sort of on-ramp I was on. Once I talked to a driver and got the okay, I’d open the door and he knew exactly what to do. He’d hop in the backseat like “Okay, where we goin?!” I never waited more than half an hour for a ride the whole way from Arizona to Louisiana, and I think Waldo being absolutely adorable helped. In between rides, I shared food and water with him from the palm of my hand. We met up with Christian in New Orleans, and stayed with a CouchSurf who had a dog Waldo loved to play with. I walked Waldo down Frenchman Street and Bourbon Street making new friends. That’s probably when I got Covid. Christian and Waldo and I drove back to Massachusetts together, and I felt like death, although Waldo was a trooper the whole long drive. Finally, on my mom’s birthday, November 23rd, I arrived home after 10 months out west with Covid and a dog my mom never wanted. It wasn’t my best homecoming, and no fatted calf was killed.

Over a short period of time, though, my mom grew to love Waldo. Of course she did; he’s the greatest dog in the world. My whole family loves him now, and we ended up having a good Christmas. Waldo got to play in his first snow on Christmas Day; he looked adorable. He loves snow, but not as much as he loves sand. I am writing this from my bus in Arizona. I had to fly out here to find a new place to store it long term, because I had to move it from the old spot. Waldo is too big to fly in the cabin of the plane, and right now no airlines are allowing dogs in cargo, allegedly due to Covid, but really for money reasons. Waldo is home with my parents, and they are loving him. I will fly back to Massachusetts in a few weeks when I get the bus to a new, safe location. It’s been nice to have a brief break from being a full-time parent, but I miss my best friend. I can’t wait to see him again. It’s starting to seem like my parents and I will have to fight over him, and share custody; I think this is the best thing for Waldo. He can have some stability sometimes, with a normal house and a loving grandma willing to spoil him with food that daddy can’t afford. One day I think I’ll be able to leave him safely while I go back to school, or hike the AT, or backpack Europe. But, by default, he can also go on adventures with me anytime, which I know is what he wants to do most. The bus is my home, and his home. He loves life on the road, and he loves me. He’s adapted so well to it. If I can’t figure out a way to fly him back out to the bus with me after I return to Massachusetts, then we’ll just have to wait until Covid settles down so we can hitchhike back out to Arizona again. If that’s what it takes to have my Waldo back in Lucy with me, then so be it. We had a lot of fun hitching together last time. The warmth of my New England home is yet another stop on Waldo’s epic journey. Waldo is lucky to have my mom and my childhood home as a soft and stable place to stay, and to have me as an adventure buddy. He will have the best of both worlds, the mix of loving support and bold exploration that makes heroes. Writing the story of Waldo from across the continent is a way of dealing with how much I miss him. We will be reunited soon. I want my best friend with me in the home I built for us both. There is so much more of the great American West to see together. There’s nothing Waldo and I love more than a good adventure, and adventure is best with a partner you love.