Fuego: The Guardian of Pacaya

Some trips stick with you for the views. Others for the people. And sometimes—if you're lucky—for a scrawny, beige-colored dog with the soul of a protector.

I was in Guatemala, hiking the slopes of Volcán Pacaya—one of the country’s most active volcanoes. The kind of place that reminds you the earth is very much alive, grumbling beneath your feet like it’s got something to say.

As I started my ascent, I noticed a dog trailing not far behind me. Mangy, wiry, ribs showing—but alert. Watchful. Determined. I thought he'd wander off eventually, like most strays do when they lose interest. But he didn’t.

Step after step, up rough volcano rocks, down dusty and slick slopes, he stayed with me.

When I paused, he paused. When I climbed, he climbed. When I slipped on loose rock, he’d stop and wait—sometimes even looking back, like, “You good?”

I named him Fuego, partially because its one of the few Spanish words I know. But also because there was something fiery in his spirit. Wild, loyal, and a little mysterious. We didn’t speak the same language, but it didn’t matter. He walked beside me like we had always known each other.

Its humbling climbing a volcano. The way the terrain shifts. The air thins. The ground is dark and broken, yet somehow teeming with heat and life. It’s both sacred and dangerous. A reminder of the planet’s power—and your place in it.

And somehow, in the middle of that rawness, was this dog. This unexpected companion. Trotting alongside me as if he’d been assigned to watch over my journey. When we reached the summit, I stood still—wind whipping, lava rocks crackling beneath my boots—and Fuego sat beside me, like a sentinel.

I never found out where Fuego came from or where he went afterward. But I like to believe he was more than just a dog. He was a steward of the mountain. A flame in canine form. And for one unforgettable day, he was mine.

Sometimes, adventure comes with a passport. Sometimes, it comes with paws.