The Trip Stats—Chester’s and Mine

I admire how numbers convey time and distance or embody an experience. On the fall trip across the continent and back in 2024, my dog, Chester, took over 1,000,000 steps. He counted none of them. I did. Not that I followed him with a clicker counter, but factoring in that he has four legs to my two, I doubled my 557,586 cellphone-recorded steps to arrive at his number. Although I sometimes walked without him, he made up for the step discrepancy since his stride is shorter. Our step counts converted to around 279 miles, but despite similar mileage, we experienced the trip very differently.  

On September 13, 2025, I walked 13,999 steps. Chester walked an estimated 27,998. The date and step count converge at Acadia National Park and the tourist town of Bar Harbor, Maine. Behind the numbers are these memories: we hiked around Cadillac Mountain’s pinnacle, the easternmost point of sunrise in the United States. 

We passed near one porcupine. I saw it. Chester didn’t. I took photos. Chester didn’t. Chester tabulated dog news on bushes or rocks. I didn’t. Bar Harbor meant shopping for me: a cap with a moose embroidered on it, a puzzle to do at home, and a maple-flavored milkshake for lunch. For Chester, it meant navigating a thicket of legs and being disappointed that so few of them belonged to dogs. He was frightened by a store’s black ramp and embarrassed to be carried over it twice while shopgirls laughed. For dinner, he ate the same dog food as the day before. Late that evening, we hiked toward a coastal trail in the park. Oncoming hikers kept encouraging us. “Not much farther to the water.” On his nimble little legs, Chester especially loved running on the return, bounding over rocks and tree roots, the trail becoming almost too dim to see in the dark. Me nervous. Him not.

Chester smelled his way across the land. I didn’t. 

As we entered towns, I would slow down. Chester would press his nose against the window, his way of asking me to roll it down so he could identify the unique scents of wherever we were, sniffing for traces of dogs and figuring out whether he recognized the place. I fear he was often disappointed.

He is a dog who appreciates the comfort of the familiar. He was truly animated only when we visited places with old friends: Art or Adele, Tom, and their dog Opel. 

At the end of the journey, as the car’s trip odometer rolled past 10,000 miles and we wound our way out of the Palouse hills into the Walla Walla valley on a road I rarely travel, he became so excited. By some inexplicable combination of smells, he recognized home. 

I wish we could have a conversation about what was memorable for him on the trip. His full name is Chester Muggins, PhD. I am often asked what his degree is in. I answer, “Food science, of course.” All dogs major in food science. Maybe his recollections are the trip’s culinary highlights. This reminds me that years ago, when my husband and I thought about going out for pizza, we would laughingly suggest a particular restaurant that served smoked salmon, cream cheese, and dill-and-caper pizza. The only problem was that it was in Nelson, Canada, about a six-and-a-half-hour drive away. Chester and I had our favorite foods on this trip. Maybe if he could talk, this is what we would discuss. If we were to return for a second or third helping of something, these would be the stats:    

Our favorite chips: Mileage from home:1,422 miles; Driving Time: 23 hours, 45 minutes

Ye Olde Chip truck in Kenora, Ontario, Canada. The menu offers four cup sizes: small, medium, large, and X-large. Malt vinegar is available on request. Cash only. Must stand in a long line. 

Chester has sampled these French fries twice now, eating any that have fallen in his path and, once, a stolen chip from a cup I was holding. Such thievery is most unusual for him, but even he knows these chips are different from all other fries. 

My favorite chocolate: Mileage from home: 2,327 miles; Driving Time: 37 hours; Walking Time: 36 days (this seems optimistic, but Google Maps is always accurate).

Large double chocolate flourless cookies from the Homestead Artisan Bakery, Barrie, Ontario, Canada. I ate one and returned within minutes to buy another. The clerk chuckled at my return. The second cookie lasted three days. I regretted not buying a bag-full.

Chester’s favorite chocolate: Mileage from home: 2,614 miles; Driving Time: 39 hours, Tolls: $67.20; Trotting Time: 38 days 

One-half of a milk-chocolate Hershey bar with almonds purchased at a food mart in Hershey, Pennsylvania. I confess that I bought this candy bar in remembrance of my father. It was his favorite kind of chocolate. I think he ate lots of them during WWII. I had hoped to visit the Hershey Museum and purchase a candy bar there, but I decided not to after realizing how difficult it was to reach its parking lot and that dogs weren’t allowed. 

Chester never takes advantage of food left in the car. But something about that half of a Hershey candy bar he found in the carry bag on the passenger-side floorboards while I later that day walked the grounds of Fallingwater was irresistible. Maybe he was just trying to honor my dad. Half of the candy bar costs 91 cents. The emergency vet bill to pump his stomach was $125.00. He has very expensive tastes.  

Very few dogs have eaten and smelled their way across 15 states in the United States and 7 provinces in Canada. As a final statistic, maybe Chester is a 1-percenter among dogs, a premier smeller of smells, a heroic walker, a milk-chocolate connoisseur, and a coveter of maple ice cream.