Two Hundred Miles Home

Journal

The dog got lost in the mountains. Three weeks later, he came home.

The Hendersons were camping in Colorado. Their dog, Scout, chased a deer into the trees. By the time they found the trail, he was gone.

They searched for four days. Put up posters. Called the shelters. On the fifth day, they drove home without him. The kids cried the whole way.

Three weeks later, at dawn, there was a scratch at the back door. Scout. Thin. Dirty. Two hundred miles from the campsite. He'd walked home.

The kids didn't believe it at first. Then they were on the floor with him, crying into his fur. The vet said he'd walked nearly ten miles a day.

He ate two bowls of food and fell asleep in his bed. He didn't move for a day. He was home. That was enough.

Now Scout never leaves the yard. He doesn't need to. He already proved he knows the way home.

Two hundred miles. Three weeks. One dog who refused to be lost. Home isn't a place. It's the people waiting at the door.