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I should’ve known today would test my patience as soon as my parents woke me up at 5:30 in the morning. Yes, a.m. They lured me downstairs with my favorite words, “car ride,” but as soon as I hopped in the back seat, I could tell something was up. Oh, my dog, are they taking me back to Utah?
Eight months ago, Mom and Dad adopted me from a busy family outside of Salt Lake City. It’s been bliss ever since: long hikes in the Colorado mountains, endless fetch in the front yard, and tons of new furry friends (including a live-in cat, but really, we’re more like acquaintances). Were they, gulp, returning me?
Somehow, what happened next was even more embarrassing. At our destination, Dad strapped me into a ridiculously oversize puffer coat he called a “life jacket.” I was only mildly assuaged by the fact that they both had to wear them too. Then, they wanted me to get in a van with a stranger. This was against every puppy safety video I’ve ever seen, but Mom assured me it was OK. Plus, she had already climbed into the passenger seat, so I couldn’t let her go alone.
The stranger at the wheel, Joe Kelso, turned out to be the owner of Colorado River Runs in Radium. He’s been taking people and their pups rafting down the Colorado River near Kremmling for 53 years. (I’m not exactly sure what that is in dog years, but I know it’s a long time.) Kelso told us he’s guided all kinds of my kind: Chihuahuas, Great Danes, vizslas, and even mini Aussiedoodles like me. That’s when I realized that the big inflatable toy we were towing might not be a toy at all.
Spoiler alert: It was not. And once we got to the river, Mom hoisted me by the handle of my jacket right into the front of it. She and Dad clambered in behind me while Kelso took a seat in the back with two big sticks he used to paddle. Suddenly, the safety of solid ground was replaced with rocking rubber, harsh sun, and eerie quiet. I began to think I would have preferred Utah. I sat squarely between my mom’s legs and whined, hoping she’d get the message that this was not my thing. Instead, she kept insisting it was just like a car ride, but better.
My mom may have been deaf to my pleas, but thankfully, Kelso wasn’t, and after a five-minute paddle through calm waters just past the Pumphouse Recreation Area, he docked us on a sandy beach so I could get out and play. I’m not sure if it was relief or anxiety, but once I had all four paws back on dry land, I had the zoomies of a lifetime. While my parents hunted for perfect skipping rocks, Kelso pretended to chase me around the beach, and I kicked up so much dirt and sand that I turned my white spots brown. Mom even managed to coax me into the water to swim (although I think she really just wanted me to wash off before I got back in the boat). I loved the way my bark echoed off the canyon walls, but Mom kept shushing me so I wouldn’t scare away the bald eagle perched in a tree overhead. This diversion was the perfect opportunity for me to try and escape from my life jacket. I pulled on the straps so hard I fell over. Thankfully, I don’t think anyone saw.
Once everyone had a photo of the bird, we piled back into the boat and made our way around the bend, where the quiet of the canyon was replaced with the rushing of our first rapids. This stretch of the river has only Class I and II rollers, and as we started to bump over the first waves, I abandoned my spot between Mom’s legs to prop myself up on the outer tube and get a better look. We picked up more speed as Kelso deftly navigated us around the rocks and through the gentle whitewater. The wind was lifting my ears up just how I like, and I tilted my head toward the sky, squinting in the morning sun. Mom joked that I looked like Rose from the Titanic with my two front paws on the bow, and I turned around to pin her with my signature side-eye.
We splashed our way down a few more mild runs and pulled into an eddy in the heart of the canyon to prepare for one of the final rapids of the day. This one was cut in half by a massive rock, and Kelso opted to take the more challenging route. I could feel Mom gripping my leash tighter as we skirted the left side of the center rock and glided down one of the biggest drops of the day. Here, the river takes a hard right—and we were headed straight for the canyon wall that jutted out into the channel. Kelso tried to tuck his oars into the boat, but before he could, the left one struck the wall and came loose. I offered to jump in and retrieve it (did I mention I’m really good at fetch?), but the humans wouldn’t let me. Instead, I stood watch on the edge of the boat to keep an eye on the big stick, and when it floated within reach, Mom hung out the side of the boat and grabbed it.
The rest of the ride was smooth—so serene, in fact, that I decided to lie down in the front of the boat and have a little snooze. I’ll never tell her this, but she was right. This was a lot like a car ride, but with the top down, the doors off, and the occasional puddle to cool off in. When it was time to disembark, I didn’t have to be persuaded into the water; I charged right in myself. My parents said that not many dogs get to go whitewater rafting, so I guess that makes me a bone-a fide Coloradan. —Benny Giles, as told to Jessica Giles
Dog-Friendly Rafting With Colorado River Runs
- Where: 43 Grand County Road 111, Radium
- What: A roughly four-mile float from the Pumphouse Recreation Area to the Radium boat ramp with Class I to II rapids
- Cost: $525 for four guests and up to two dogs
Read More: 9 Fun Places to Raft in Colorado Right Now
How To Keep Your Dog Safe in the Backcountry
We spoke with Summit County Rescue Group team leader Aaron Parmet about how to keep dogs safe in the great outdoors.
Editor’s note: The following conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
5280: What are the most common reasons canines need Summit County Rescue Group’s assistance?
Aaron Parmet: Dogs love us, and they will happily follow their humans anywhere. Dogs don’t think about things like, Well, I should save enough for the way out. So we end up needing to help dogs who become exhausted or have torn paws or have any of the number of medical ailments that folks encounter in the backcountry, whether it’s altitude illness or dehydration or exhaustion. And then, of course, the dogs can also experience trauma in the backcountry—a fall, or we’ve even seen tragic encounters with wildlife.
What advice do you have for owners who want to adventure with their dogs in the summer?
Having a sling or harness that hooks up to your backpack is important; always have a way to carry your dog out. Do you have a first-aid kit? The [most common] reason we have to help dogs is typically that their paws are so torn up they can’t walk, so consider booties, and then it’s exhaustion and dehydration. Do you have water for you and your dog?
If you’re taking your dog up a mountain that’s a stretch for you, consider your dog’s fitness level. Has your dog been doing the things that you’ve been doing to work up to that goal? Or is your beloved pet accompanying you on this joyous aspirational push that then becomes a push too far for the dog? Dogs don’t think ahead; you’ve got to think ahead for them.
Read More: Colorado-Made Dog Gear We Can’t Live Without
Do you have any safety tips that are specific to adventuring in the winter?
I always love the plug that dogs and ski edges don’t mix. If you’re taking a dog skiing, is that dog capable of following enough commands to stay away from your ski edges? Ski edges are sharp and a dog’s tendons are fragile. A sliced tendon is a bad day. Pets don’t belong in avalanche terrain during the winter because they don’t understand avalanche danger. People say their dog loves being in steep terrain. No, you love being in steep terrain, and your dog loves you.
