Where Are All the Small Paws?

Let Me Introduce Myself

Hello there! My name is Leeloo, and I'm a West Highland White Terrier — a Westie, for those of you who don't speak fancy dog breed. I'm the size of a loaf of bread, my legs are approximately the length of a cucumber, and I have opinions about everything. Strong ones.

I live in Berlin, Germany with my two humans, Masha and Kris. Berlin is home base, but the three of us are happiest when there's dirt under our paws and trees as far as the eye can see. We've walked through forests, around lakes, along seaside cliffs, up mountains (lots and lots of mountains), and we even made it to the top of a volcano together! If there's a path, I want to sniff it. If there's a peak, I want to see what's on the other side. And if I see a squirrel, well, then I REALLY want to get it.

But I keep noticing something out there on the trails. And it's time we talked about it.

Where Are the Small Dogs?

Every time we hit the trail, I look around and see the same thing: Border Collies, German Shepherds, Labradors, Huskies — all wonderful dogs, don't get me wrong. Big, athletic, built-for-the-mountains kind of dogs. Their legs are longer than my entire body.

But where are the dogs like me? The small ones. The curious terriers, the adventurous Dachshunds, the brave little Spaniels. Where are the Westies, the Yorkies, the Frenchies who love the outdoors just as much as any retriever?

I'll tell you where they are. They're at home. On the couch. Because somewhere along the way, someone decided that hiking is a big-dog sport.

Pfff.

The Myth of the Small Dog

Here's what I think happened. People see my short legs and assume I belong on a pillow, not a mountain. They think small dogs are fragile, or lazy, or only good for sitting in handbags. They worry we'll slow them down, or get tired too quickly, or can't handle rough terrain.

But here's the truth most people don't see: small dogs can be just as curious, adventurous, and eager to explore as any big dog. We WANT to be out there. We want to sniff the trails, feel the mountain breeze, chase the butterflies. It's often the humans, not the dogs, who decide to stay home. And when a small dog spends every day on the couch instead of exploring the world, they don't stay adventurous for long — they become exactly what people assumed they were. Not because it's true. But because nobody ever showed them otherwise.

And look, some of the concerns aren't entirely wrong. I DO get tired faster than a Border Collie. My legs ARE shorter, which means I take about four steps for every one of theirs. A steep rocky section that a long-legged dog barely notices? I need a moment to figure out my route. And yes, I overheat faster in summer and my paws are more sensitive to rough ground.

But different doesn't mean impossible. It just means you do it differently.

Why We Started This Blog

When Masha first started looking for information about hiking with small dogs, she found... almost nothing. Sure, there were plenty of Instagram posts — small dogs in matching outfits, posing in strollers, dressed up like little dolls with bows on their heads. Very cute, but not exactly helpful when you're trying to figure out if your Westie can handle a rocky mountain trail. Where were the real adventures? The muddy paws, the steep climbs, the honest "here's what actually happened" stories? Nowhere to be found.

So she turned to me and said, "Leeloo, I think we need to share what we've learned."

I tapped my paw in agreement.

This blog is everything we wish existed when we first started adventuring together. Real trail reports from a small dog's perspective. Honest talk about the challenges — because there are real ones — and practical solutions that actually work. Gear that fits dogs my size. Tips we learned the hard way — like the summer afternoon we misjudged the heat and had to turn back early, or the rocky trail that left my paws so sore I simply sat down and refused to take another step.

Because here's a secret the big dogs don't want you to know: we small dogs notice things they walk right over. We smell the wildflowers they step on. We find the hidden paths their long legs stride past. We experience the world in a different way, and that perspective is just as rich, just as rewarding, and just as worthy of adventure.

A Note to the Hesitant Humans

If you're reading this and thinking, "But my small dog could never..." — I get it. I really do. Masha worried too, in the beginning. She packed a first-aid kit, three types of blankets, and enough treats to feed every dog in Berlin. She checked the weather four times before every hike. She researched trails until her eyes crossed.

But with every new hike, every new adventure, the bag got a little lighter. The worry got a little quieter. She stopped packing for every possible disaster and started packing for the actual trip. Eventually, we found our rhythm — a lightweight setup that covered everything we actually needed and nothing we didn't. That confidence didn't come from a guide or a blog post. It came from doing it, one trail at a time.

And that careful-at-first approach is exactly why it works. The secret to hiking with a small dog isn't that your dog needs to be different. It's that your approach needs to be.

Shorter distances. More breaks. The right gear. Knowing when to carry and when to let your little adventurer lead. Paying attention to the paw signals — because trust me, we will tell you exactly how we feel about the trail if you learn to listen.

Your small dog has more adventure in them than you think. I promise. I've seen it in my own four tiny paws.

And if you're reading this with a big dog by your side — you're welcome here too. The trails belong to all of us. A lot of what we share applies to every dog, every size, every pair of muddy paws. We just happen to tell it from a little closer to the ground.

So welcome to the blog. Welcome to the small paw club. Let's show the world that the best views aren't reserved for long legs.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check if my humans have packed enough treats for tomorrow's hike. Priorities.

Woof! Leeloo