Let me start by saying that there’s no such thing as the “ultimate adventure dog.” In fact, I believe that all dog breeds are worthy of the “adventure dog” moniker.
Even—dare I say it—Chihuahuas. Yes, Chihuahuas.
I wouldn’t have believed this possible, though, until I met Cosette. And even then, when I first laid eyes on her at a dog adoption fair in Los Angeles I nearly kept right on walking. I was searching for a dog that would bound up 14ers with me, run recklessly across the mountainsides with me, and share a campfire with me while we stared together at stars and ate S’mores. The kind of dog that would inspire me to take grand adventures on the open road and would love nothing more than to ride shotgun with me into the distance.
And Cosette–well I wasn’t even sure that she could walk around the block with me. She looked like a sickly coyote pup. She had runny eyes, an aggressive case of mange, and she smelled like a ripe wool sock that had spent one too many days in a hiking boot.
But the rescuer who brought Cosette to the fair worked me over with the determined guile of a used car salesman. Cosette, the rescuer claimed, was simply a fixer-upper. She would only get better and more beautiful with time. Sure, when the rescuer initially found Cosette she could barely walk, was covered in scabs, and was oozing pus, but now she had an entire half a coat of fur and plenty of interest in adventures.
And if I would just be willing to fill out a bit of paperwork—and be sure to include my phone number–I could be added to the ostensibly long list of people interested in this dog.
The next morning–before I’d even made it out of bed–I received a call from the rescuer: After careful consideration and a thorough review of my paperwork, I had been selected as THE perfect match for Cosette. Of course I later found out the selection process came down to me and well, me, since I was the only person who had expressed any interest at all in Cosette.
And I’m a bit ashamed to admit this now, but I almost backed out. That’s because in addition to her health issues, Cosette spent most of our first two weeks together trembling in a corner behind the sofa and maintaining a near-constant distance of two feet.  As for our initial “adventures,” they consisted of walking around the perimeter of our apartment building.
But even the most legendary adventurers begin with small journeys before tackling Everest.
And so did we. Eventually we explored the neighborhood together. And then we climbed to Griffith Park observatory together.
And pretty soon I discovered that Chihuahuas can make fantastic running partners–especially Cosette. With her newfound adventure confidence she ran roughshod for miles over the labyrinth of dirt trails that crisscross Griffith Park.
And they love road trips! When I moved back home to Colorado, Cosette jumped eagerly into the car to be my co-pilot across the Southwest. When I spent six weeks filming in remote regions of the Four Corners, Cosette faithfully followed me up the mountains and through the deserts.
And by the time I drove to New England to film the autumn foliage on the Blue Ridge Parkway, the Kancamagus Byway, and the National Historic Road, Cosette was an old pro at being my pocket-sized adventure buddy.
But Cosette isn’t a rarity in the Chihuahua world. Even though Chihuahuas are the smallest breed of dog, they are legendary for their intelligence, loyalty, energy, and bravery.
The Mayans and Aztecs even considered the ancestors of the modern Chihuahua sacred and believed the breed possessed the ability to guide the dead safely to the afterlife. And while there aren’t any Labradors in the Sistine Chapel, the same can’t be said for Chihuahuas: a dog that resembles a Chihuahua graces Botticelli’s fresco depicting the Trials of Moses.
A few months ago, I adopted a second Chihuahua, Murci, from the Ranchos de Chihuahua sanctuary in Chimayo, New Mexico. At 8 pounds she’s even smaller than Cosette. We went on our first hike as a trio this summer and Murci’s now officially an adventure dog-in-training. And while we have no plans to hunt ducks or jump into a pickup truck and go backcountry skiing, we’ve got plenty of other adventures ahead.
And Murci is a natural at it. Because, after all, she’s a Chihuahua.