By WALTER NICKLIN | Special to The Washington Post | Published: January 7, 2021
The very first dog that I could properly call “my own” (when I was a preteen), I named “Scout.” His name says it all, encapsulating the impulse that led me to a lifetime of travel, both in the United States and around the world. This ever-curious beagle and I would explore the planet together, with his inquisitive nose always leading the way.
But first, Scout and I would have to make short exploratory expeditions in and around our neighborhood. Wherever Scout pointed the way, I followed. He always lived up to his name, as we discovered places even my parents didn’t know existed. There were, for example, groundhog holes hidden in the tall grass of our next-door neighbor’s yard. Also, I remember an underground stream uncovered only because Scout’s floppy, fine-textured ears picked up the soft sound of moving water.