thankful for

The night of Thanksgiving was dark with cloud cover, and cold. Despite the fifteen-below-zero temps I was restless to run the dogs and I knew if I could convince Peter to come along we could take all seven. If anything disasterous happened, I’d have an extra pair of hands.

The sun was already setting when we stared gathering gear. I put fresh hay in my newly mounted dog-box and loaded the DewClaw and SPKennel dogs first. I assumed PTSD Norrin would have to ride in the cab with us, as we have a hard time getting him through big human doorways, sometimes. I couldn’t envision squeezing his balking, mule-stubborn eighty five pound bulk four feet off the ground and into a tiny dog-box door. All the racing dogs knew the exact mechanics of loading better than I did. They ran straight to the truck and with remarkably little help from us scrambled right into their boxes and settled down for the ride. Once everyone (including a very put-out Pico) was loaded and the sled was strapped securely to the top of the truck, I went and got Norrin. As we walked around to the driver’s side door he surprised me by pulling me eagerly back to the dogbox and putting his massive front paws up on the side of the truck. Taking the cue, I opened one of the little dog doors and squatted down behind him to lift. To my utter amazement he scrambled into the box, turned a tight circle and settled down for the ride. Always full of surprises, this strange fuzzy dog.

The roads were nearly empty on the way through town and back out to Musher's Hall. Between the two of us, it didn’t take long to have all the dogs unloaded, harnessed and ready to go. I put Reese and Norrin up front, Pepper in swing, Pico and Xtra in team, Parka and Devilfish (as always, now) in wheel. Everyone was yelping and slamming their harnesses to run! I threw a camping mat and sleeping bag down in the sled basket and Peter jumped in. It was a good thing I had tied off the sled to a metal anchor pole, or they all would have taken off without me. As soon as the sled was free, the dogs shot out into the dark. Reese and Norrin found the trail from the massive packed-down area by the parking lot without much trouble and we were off through the field and into the even darker gloom of the spruce forest. It was pitch-black dark when we started running, and even our headlamps didn’t seem to do much for the dark. It would have been impossible to miss the huge shadow of a moose that crossed our path just a few minutes in, though, and think Peter's heart and mine skipped the same beat as we watched him pass silently in front of the team and melt back into the trees. 

The few times I’ve run down the sprint trails, I’ve gotten lost. It seems like no matter how many times I look at the maps they don’t translate for me once we are flying around the circuits there. To avoid an after-dark adventure in way-finding, my intention was to run out for awhile and utilize Peter to pull a u-turn on some wide spot in the trail. I could trust the dogs to follow their back-trail, even in the dark, and I figured at night on a holiday it was unlikely we’d run headlong into a big sprint team training on the outbound trail. At least I hoped not.

We went out just shy of three miles and made our turnaround bid. Reese had tried ot make an unauthorized u-turn about a mile previous, but my yelling and the team’s momentum had somehow thwarted him. He was happy enough to pull the team around once we had stopped. Norrin, up front with Reese, had a panic attack, of course, and managed to back entirely out of his harness while everyone else looped back past the sled nad turned it around. Pete caught him as he ran past and we quickly got him re-harnessed and put back into the team. I switched places with Pete and snuggled down into the sled for the ride home. I was happy enough to do so … it was cold, and in the rush I hadn't gotten my good gloves and hat battened down correctly. My ears and fingers were freezing.

We made it back with about five miles traversed – our first run with all seven dogs in the team, and with Peter helping manage it was a rousing success. We un-harnessed and fed everyone a little moose snack before loading up again and heading home by way of some fresh hot coffee.

It was a short run, and cold, but nearly perfect. I was riding high for days from being out in the woods with my husband and my dogs on such a beautiful dark night. It was a little overwhelming, really. So many things have come together this winter for me even be in a position to run dogs at all - so many generous individuals loaning us sweet, experienced, hard working racing dogs, equipment and advice. Even the dog's post-run snack came from the moose scrap left over from a successful hunt a generous coworker of mine had this fall. Not to mention a husband who is not only willing to go out after dark on a holiday in freezing temperatures to satisfy a whim of mine, and be happy to do so, but who is willing to routinely take up the care of a yard full of dogs - and love on them and spoil them - while I'm away at work for days at a time. I have so very much to be thankful for. And I am.