It's funny the traditions golfers create. No trolleys, no dogs, no denim, no kids, no carts, and so on. I've heard them all and find most ridiculous. I don't now, but for most of my golfing life I've had a golf dog, a well trained Australian Shepard perfectly under my control. It's main job beyond enjoying itself in dog heaven--a golf course--was to discourage Canada geese from taking up residence. Dogs are the only real solution, but around here coyotes are also useful, yet a little more lethal to the geese. So, for decades I listened to golfers bitch about my dog not being appropriate for golf. At least at my home course, there wasn't much they could do about it. I owned the course. And over time we've allowed dogs and had zero problems. However, back in the day when dog debates were happening, I decided to go to Scotland to play some golf and learn about some other traditions of the game.
I do my own travel plans. I arrived in Edinburgh, rented a car, and drove to St. Andrews, on my way to Aberdeen, without a map or GPS as if I knew what I was doing, parked in the links parking lot, and walked to the first tee of the Old Course. It was sublime, a perfect golf journey. The first thing I saw was a golfer teeing off with his golf dog and pulling a trolley. It was an affirmation of all I thought golf should be and, there in the home of golf, an epiphany I got it right. I was hooked. This was my game. Forget all of the pretensions, this game was good for your soul and well being. That golfer and his dog did it for me.