Trail of Joy: Follow the Nose, not the Clock

Today’s hike reminded me—once again—that presence isn’t about reaching a destination. It’s about how we arrive, how we explore, and how we feel along the way.

As I wandered, the song lyric “all we need is love, sweet love” kept looping gently in my mind like a soft echo. It felt less like a thought and more like a message being woven into the land, asking to be received. I was surrounded by a maze of trails—some clearly marked, others barely visible, many that looked like trails but weren’t. I had to pause more than once and ask: Am I still on the path?

That question felt familiar. It mirrors the ones I’ve been carrying in my heart lately: Is this the right direction? Am I listening to what wants to come through? Am I following the true trail—or just one that looks familiar?

And then, at the very end of my walk, I met a man and his two dogs at the trailhead. One of them—his older pup—was lagging a bit behind, deeply immersed in the simple joy of sniffing. At first glance, it looked like he was dragging his feet. But if you looked a little deeper, you saw something sacred: he was savoring.

Savoring the moment. Savoring the scents. Savoring the walk.

This wasn’t a dog being slow. This was a dog being fully alive.

I learned that the area where they used to roam freely was now off-limits, after an illness may have been contracted from exploring too wild a place. And so, they walk here now—on these safer paths. But that older dog still longed for his joy. And he found it. Not in the old location, but in a new way. A new trail. A new rhythm.

That encounter cracked something open for me.

Over the past decade, walking with dogs has taught me more than any course or manual. When I stop trying to lead the way and instead let them show me what they know, our walks transform. When a dog gets to lead—not from dominance, but from instinct—they light up. They become who they truly are right now, not who they used to be or who we expect them to be.

They take new turns.

They find new treasures.

They guide us into presence.

This is why I created a walk rooted in honoring that instinctive, sensory experience. There’s a big difference between walking a dog at our pace—fast, focused, destination-driven—and walking with them at their pace, led by their nose, their ears, their eyes, and their inner joy.

Both can be joyful. Both can tire them in a good way. But one speaks their first language. Most of us forget: English is not a dog’s first language.

Scent is.

Movement is.

Exploration is.

And when we give them the time and space to use those senses fully, we unlock something sacred. I’ve seen dogs go further than they ever have simply because they were invited to lead with what they know best. I’ve seen that unmistakable glimmer in their eyes, the playful bounce in their step, the deep, peaceful rest afterward that says, yes. I got to be fully me today.

That’s the gift of walking a new path.

That’s the gift of love, sweet love—in action.