Update on Guia, The Little Adventure Dog

Lisa Parsons
Mar 1
3 min read

Updated: Mar 2

Some adventures are more memorable than others. I’ve been on many epic adventures—ones that push me to my limits, expand my view of the world, and leave me awestruck—but often it’s the small things I remember most: an unexpected interaction with someone I meet along the way, or in this case, a little dog who followed us on a mountain bike ride. This is one of the most memorable experiences from the four months my husband and I spent traveling in South America.

I have a tenderness toward dogs that I don’t often have for people. Twenty-seven years as a paramedic taught me how to disconnect from human drama, but dogs are another story. I often find their companionship on my adventures more interesting than that of the people I’m traveling with. Not that human connections aren’t memorable, but there is something about the free-range dogs of the world that reaches across my defenses and asks me to reach in a little further.

For that reason, I carry dog treats when I travel in countries with lots of stray dogs. A treat can disarm a snarling dog, feed a hungry one, and befriend the more curious one. Sometimes, though, it leads to interesting misadventures—like the day I met a little blond terrier on a mountain bike ride with Runa Away Adventures outside of Cuenca Ecuador. I gave her and her packmates dog treats—the really good Pupperoni ones—and instantly had their attention. One little one decided she would follow us on our adventure, just in case there were more treats in store.

Giving treats to the local dogs. Guia is on the right.

That day taught me an important lesson: never give dogs treats at the beginning of a long adventure if there’s any chance they might follow you.

We named the little terrier, Guia (guide in english). She ran with us for nine miles from Lake Busa to the entry into the Yunguilla Valley. After nine miles, we decided she needed a ride. We couldn’t leave her in the middle of the countryside and hope she’d find her way back to her pack. I scooped her up and put her in my backpack. With her new perch high above the ground and her head resting on my shoulder, we flew down a dirt road and back onto the pavement to our endpoint. When we arrived, she stayed in the pack—dazed and exhausted—until she finally rallied and explored the local gas station and its resident dogs.

Guia, dazed and tired at the end of her ride in my backpack

When it was time to return to our starting point, we loaded her into the taxi with us. Before heading back to Cuenca, we made a detour and drove her back up the hill to where she lived with her packmates. My last memory is of her looking expectantly at a tourist as we drove out of the parking lot.

I’ve often wondered how she’s doing. Does she have owners? Is someone feeding her? Is she faring well? I thought about adopting her, and if I’d been at a different point in my life, I might have tried. Still, I felt she had a pretty good life at the resort: restaurant scraps, adoring tourists, and a free-range existence.

A week ago, I saw a photo posted by Gaby, the young woman who rode with us. She was camping at Lake Busa, her tent set up on a platform. Beneath it was a little dog who looked just like Guia. I asked her if it was the same dog. Gaby hadn’t realized it, but yes—it was. Later, she sent me another photo of Guia standing next to her on the tent platform, confirming that our little adventure dog was still there, still guiding travelers along the way.