This past week, with August upon us, I shuffled around some
dog equipment to get ready for Fall Training.
While hauling an armload of old harnesses to wash up to sell, I hoped
none of the remaining six dogs would notice as I tip-toed past the dog yard. Anyone who has had a sled dog, or a dog for
that matter, knows how just a “jingle” of a leash will send a dog into a frenzy
of excitement. It’s that way with sled
dogs. Even the sight of a harness will stir them into action.
I, too, get excited this time of year, especially when a
full moon approaches. (Hello to my
full-moon musher friend Shannon…J)
It is nearly 9 years ago that Iditarod/Yukon
Quest “Mega” Champion Lance Mackey (from the incredible Mackey family of
mushers) was here for a full-moon weekend, giving his testimony about all
things dog. His presence still lingers, and I hope
someday it would be possible for him to return.
Lord willing. {Lance is truly one
of a kind, as is his record in both the Iditarod and Yukon Quest.}
Once I sorted through the maze of harnesses, I ended up with
working harnesses for four. (Two of our
dogs are going on 16 years of age - their pulling days past.) I took the semi-clean harnesses out back to
my cabin in the woods and hung them by the front door, under the protection of
the porch. There… My cabin was
complete. My hickory rocking chair sat
in the opposite corner, across from the harnesses that brought plenty of
memories. Inside the cabin is the bunk I
now sleep on - the same bunk Lance Mackey slept on when he visited for 3
nights. Some nights I lay in the
darkness and hear my sled dog Skunk let out a sigh of contentment from her
comfy dog bed near the front door. I wonder
if her dreams are like my dreams…of the incredible life of sled dogs and folks
like Lance Mackey, who fill our hearts with an amazement and awe of a lifestyle
like no other. Once you have experienced
it, it’s hard to let go…but you still have the memories.
Memories like this…
Waking at 5, I beat the rooster’s demands. I attempt to shake the hold of a good night’s
sleep, as I scheme a plan to stay warm.
After deciding there is little I can do from my vantage point, I leave
the comfort of warm flannel sheets and heavy comforters. Scooting off the end of the bed, I take one
step to begin my early morning decent down the sturdy cabin ladder. Knowing each rung results in a five degree
temperature dip, I grit my teeth and make a hasty departure from the loft.
Once in the heart of our small cabin, I scramble to throw on
my morning clothes. I hold each article
of clothing next to the open door of the wood stove, hoping the smoldering
embers will provide some heat to my chilly wardrobe. Again, I grit my teeth as I decide this
process is getting me nowhere and I should just get dressed, sans fanfare. Layer, layer, layer, cotton kills, cotton kills,
cotton kills runs through my head as I hastily dress for the cold winter
morning.
After fidgeting with the woodstove, I’ve managed to create a
good fire. Two fat and aged lab-mix dogs
are happy with the results as they settle closer to the woodstove and
uncurl. Not being a coffee drinker, I
have to rely on rote skills to get me started in my sequence of chores. Breakfast will wait. The rule in this house is…animals eat
first. I grab my headlamp from the hook
by the cabin door, fit it over my fur hat and begin to venture out into the
dark snowy morning.
I stop to fill two five-gallon water buckets at the spigot
on the cabin porch. It’s a relief to
hear water surge up through the pipe. My
city-turned-country 15 year-old cat greets me by raising her head from her
porch bed.
Once outside, I’m amazed at the snow received the night
before. My warm bunny boots are silent,
but clumsy, walking on the fresh powder.
The only sound is the small plastic red sled, floating behind me in a
serpentine fashion as I glide over the wind-sculptured snow, carrying two buckets
of sloshing water. The quiet is
interrupted by the first howl of greeting as I exit the woods and approach the
dog yard in the clearing.
The dogs knew I was coming, before I even put my foot on the
last rung of the cabin ladder. Astro,
our blue-eyed Alaskan “gate keeper” can peer the 100’ from his sentry by the
dog yard gate. He sees through the naked
deciduous trees and into our main cabin window.
Once he sees light and movement in the cabin, he announces my arrival to
the others. {We put Astro by the front
gate so he could overcome his shyness.
It worked.}
Now the dogs can hardly contain their exuberance as I fight
with snow to gain entry into the front gate, knowing the snow would be too deep
at the feed room door. Once inside, I can scan the 30 dogs in the
dog yard, and make a light beam contact with each pair of eyes. 10, 20, 29…where’s the 30th
dog? Oh yes…one pair of eyes fail to
beam back. Our current blind dog, Buddy
Jr. However I can still see his
excitement of being “shined upon” nonetheless.
(We have 14 more dogs…they are up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, running
the trails, with Russ riding the runners - training for possible future races.)
TO BE CONTINUED:
Side Bar: So many
things have changed. The two “cabin
dogs” (Satch and Hootch) have long sinced passed. Satch at 18 and Hootch nearly that.
The cabin kitty also.
And on a brighter note…I now drink coffee – started late in life. Wish I had started sooner…. I wish a lot of things. But the memories linger...
Until next time, should the Lord tarry -
Sherry
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