NATURE OF THE BEAST

There is truth to the old saying that goes, “When it rains, it pours…” And the month of October 2011 would go down in records as to being the worst the musher had seen in a long time. Not only was the weather cold, miserable and gloomy, his mood matched the darkness of these days perfectly…

Starting with that ATV that rolled on top of him, it seemed that he hadn’t had enough “excitement” during those first fourteen days and the events would further unravel and stack themselves, one on top of each other. He would continue to be subjected to more adrenaline rushes that would make it that he wouldn’t be able to focus enough to walk that “path of red hot coals without burning his feet”.

So anyway, on the Tuesday morning of that third week, there had been a lot of yelling and ordering about by the man to get them loaded in the “dog camper”. It seemed that they just didn’t want to co-operate. Instead, they were playing chase and couldn’t understand as to why he was so abrupt and would not allow them to horse around in the dog yard.
“What’s his problem?” Orka asked the remainder of the cheerleading squad while they were eventually traveling to the “Baisley” trailhead. “Is it his time of the month?”
All the yearlings started giggling.
“I don’t know,” Thunder continued with that certain arrogance that only she had, “but doesn’t he realize that we’re the ones that are running this show and if we want to, we can make life real miserable for him.”
“Yeah, Yeah!” most of the girls seemed to say in agreement.

For them, completing “10 mile runs” were major accomplishments and this according to what they were telling themselves, they were “superstars”. This was of course a figment of their imagination because at this illustrious stage of their careers, some of them had maybe “150” miles under their belts while others had a lousy “75”. Nonetheless, they were getting bored of traveling to and back from the “Quebec Alps” and with all this “experience”, they had developed a confidence that surpassed what you might call a “cocky attitude”. They wanted more challenges and a change of scenery and they wanted it right now.
“According to Gidget, there’s a lot more trails out there to explore.” Kameo continued.
“Uncle Oumak, do you think you could take us out on a different route, this morning?” she went on. “We’d like to see what else is out there!”
“Well,” the old gray wolf like canine answered hesitantly, “one of the things you ladies must understand is that yes I do lead the team but the musher says where we go. That’s it, that’s all.”
“But it would be so nice to go and visit something else for a change! Oh please Uncle “Mak” you handsome devil you, can we, can we?” Lightning continued, pleading to the point of begging.
Oumak was a sly “old fox” and the type of dog that didn’t need much to have his ego stroked. He was one of the only two males on this all female team and he relished all this new found attention and flirting that he was getting from the eight bitches. He had always thought of himself as being the best available stud in the kennel and was not easily accepting the fact that he was no longer strutting his stuff with the “elites” on the racing team. In his opinion, the musher had made a huge mistake when he had demoted him to the “B” Team. He was not impressed and just maybe today was the right time to prove to him that he was not a “has been”.

What the poor old guy didn’t understand was that he could no longer keep up with the faster pace that was required to stay competitive. Although an excellent leader, he didn’t have between the ears that special quality that was needed to go the extra long distances. He was the type that would be all show and all go at the beginning but someone that wouldn’t keep anything in reserve to finish the job. However, to be fair to the individual, it wasn’t entirely all his fault. He was one of those fine examples of a dog that had been pushed way beyond his physical limits when he was just a yearling. Somewhere, during those tender and critical first two years, his previous owner had raced him way too hard and way too early. As a result, he had injured his right front wrist and the nagging pain to this articulation would flare up every time he’d run further than the “25 mile” mark. So why would a person waste rations on such a lame duck, some of you real mushers might ask? The answer to that was real simple, really. The dog had been a key component and had led the “Canadian Snowhounds” across many finish lines during the three previous years. What “JR” knew, he had taught most of it to him. Also, he had one of those very special and desirable attributes that all good lead dogs must have – He kept the team to the right side of the trail. And that folks was why he was still around and leading the “Girly Girl” team. Since the start of the training season, young “Nikita” had been paired up with him and he was teaching her all the intricacies of what was required to lead a long string of dogs with complete confidence. He had done a fine job as the young apprentice had gone from being very timid to being looked at as a strong contender for leading the “A” Team.

But that was neither here or there. Today, he was in one of his moods where he would not listen to the directions given and would take the team down the path that “he” would choose and this according to his agenda.
“So you ladies want to go exploring?” he snickered. “Well, I’ll tell you what. When the time comes, follow my lead.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Nikita asked, not too sure why but knowing that this smelled like trouble.
“Oh mind your own business, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Speaking for all of us, I think it’s a splendid idea.” Thunder exclaimed.

The old Alpha dominant female, Vixen, who had been listening to all this had just about had enough with all this bickering so eventually piped up in frustration. Directing her comments to Orka but loud enough so that little “Peanut Head” would also get the message, she belted out,
“I hope that you and Thunder realize that it’s because of you two little sluts that we’re in this predicament. If you would have managed to keep your legs together maybe you wouldn’t have gotten pregnant. And if you wouldn’t have gotten pregnant maybe you wouldn’t have needed to be operated on! Did you ever maybe think that it’s because the man is looking after your welfare that we’re going on these short strolls? Those were serious operations you had, you know? Did you ever think that maybe he’s not pushing the envelope because he wants you to heal properly. May I remind you that it’s only been five weeks since the “vet” opened you up? Give the man a break, will you!”
“Oh simmer down, you grouchy “Old Hag”, Thunder continued, edging her on from the safety of her box, “You’re just jealous because your “JR” is paying more attention to us than he is to you.” And with that comment, the teeny-boppers again started chuckling.
Vixen was just about to add more gas to the fire when her brother interjected.
“Hey Vixen,” the “Kid” told her also really annoyed, “save your breath. You know how it is. There is no sense in turning blue in the face trying to tell them how it’s done. They’re destined to find out the hard way…”
With that comment, “Vixy” swallowed her next words and just gave a low tone growl. After all, he was right. They knew it all and didn’t want to listen so why waste spit on them. For now, she would have to endure being humiliated as her and her brother had no choice in accompanying these “Air Heads”. The musher needed dogs with experience so to teach some of the “ropes” to the young ones and they had drawn the short straws. So instead of enjoying a peaceful quiet ride, they would have to endure this heckling.

It had taken more time than usual but he had finally managed to string up the ten dogs. He couldn’t understand why they were so full of piss and vinegar but suggested to himself that it probably had something to do with the new “meat diet” and the fact that they were getting in good shape. Oumak was putting on quite the show out there in front, jumping up and down and banging in his harness. Usually, when the musher would tell him to “sit and be a good boy”, he would calm down and not move but today he was just going crazy, raring to go. The young “shit disturbers” were mimicking him and cheering him on with their squeaky high pitch barks. During all this time, poor young Nikita was trying her best to hold the line tight because “Gino” had told her so. Trying her best, at 43 lbs, she was no match for the gray leader and he was pulling her by the neckline, tossing her around like a rag doll. This did not sit well with the “Boss” as having a calm team before starting out on a run was something that he considered quite useful. Not only did the dogs conserve energy, one stood a better chance of not being left behind in case they got loose. This was something that young dogs needed to learn but there was no way he would be able to get them to stand still on this occasion. So he decided to forget this part of the lesson, jumped on the training rig and pulled the quick release on the snub-line. Usually, his experienced team would have waited for the commands, “Ready” then “Uptrail” but the cheerleaders were off and running way before anything could be said.
“Look at them go!” he said almost amazed, seeing all those little “tight asses” galloping full out. “There is no way they can keep this speed up for any length of time.” He had been holding them back to a trotting speed for the better part of the last month so allowed them to have their moment of controlled chaos. “OK Girls, you want to go for it? Let’s see what you’ve got under the hood!” And with that, he whistled, eased off on the brakes and let them run freely.
“Finally,” the “Kid” said to his wheel partner “Vixen”, “we’re going to get to stretch our legs.” And with that they joined in and put the pedal to the metal.
The “Girly Girl” team was surpassing the musher’s expectation and he couldn’t understand where such “petite filles” were getting so much power. Surely they would slow down on that first incline two miles out but they didn’t. They just kept pulling and keeping the speed up. So he decided to see how far they would go before they ran out of steam. There was a lesson to be learnt in there somewhere and there was no way they could keep it up. Besides the run to the “Quebec Alps” was only 10 miles long.

When the team got to the “three mile” junction, it was critical that it went straight ahead. Not only did that left turn take you to a series of long and distant trails, a “RECCE” of the area needed to be done every autumn so to ensure that there were no obstacles obstructing the trail systems. So far, this hadn’t been done and as you would have it, Oumak had it in his thick skull that was where we would be headed that day.
“On By!” the dogman shouted to his two leaders, “On By!”
Young Nikita recognized this command and tried to lead the team in a forward direction but good old “Mak” would not listen and was trying to turn right.
Braking the motorless ATV to a complete stop, the musher yelled at him, “Non “Mak”, I said “On By!”
Him pulling hard to go right and Nikita putting extreme efforts trying to proceed in the correct direction, she was to lose this “tug-of-war” when the cheerleaders put their shoulders to the rope. Shout, brake, curse all you want, there was no stopping them now. They had managed to go where they wanted and were on their way to explore new frontiers.
“Well,” the musher said to himself, “I’ll turn at the trapper’s camp and just do a short “8 mile run.”
That’s what he thought but the team had other ideas. They climbed the next hill at break neck speed and instead of listening to the “Gee” command so to turn right and then loop around, they just whizzed on by the building. Across that narrow makeshift bridge they flew without even realizing that one of them could have caught a leg in a crack between the logs and might have broken it.
“Oh I didn’t like that.” he reflected while aiming and braking the rig across it till its four wheels were locked, “Those spaces between those logs can be mighty treacherous.”
By now, some of you might think that the dogs were out of control and I would almost have to agree with you. But what can you do? These things are known to occur especially with a young team that doesn’t understand what “Stay” means. When one ventures out with a light motorless ATV, two things are a “must”. First, the “four wheeler” must have not good but excellent brakes and it is important that you travel with a team that will respond to your commands. It is the only way that one should risk using such a contraption. On this day, the musher was being reminded of this. Holding on to dear life, he was just going along for the ride and was hoping that they would tire out eventually and this without incident.

They were coming up to a “Y” junction and it was imperative that the team turn left. The other direction offered a series of possible dangers, including a large beaver pond that these industrious animals would build across the road every year. Usually, the trapper and his son would dismantle the dam every late fall but the beavers would just consider this effort as more overtime challenges to keep the water levels high. The dogsledders of the area were aware of this and would avoid this particular stretch of trail till late in the winter when it was frozen solid and safe to cross.
“Niki, Mak, Haw, Haw Trail!” the “Boss” shouted.
Niki did want to go left and was trying to proceed in that direction but Oumak was dragging her to that “Gee” trail, a trail that he remembered so well from before. He guided the team past that sharp right hand corner and was headed towards potential disaster. Along the way, it was clear that nobody had been in this area lately as there were fallen trees at three different places. These didn’t really offer challenges to the team as the tree trunks were small and were something that they could simply plow through and jump over. As they tackled each obstacle, it was pleasant to see that the young girls were getting accustomed to wearing that harness on their back and were enjoying themselves.
“They’re actually working as a dog team.” the driver thought to himself, starting to relax but being led into a false sense of security. “They’re actually really showing real potential.” What was really happening is that they were catching their second breath and once they reached a certain descending part of the trail, it was as if they had passed the word around and here they were at “full speed ahead” again. The musher knew better than to let them run full blast downhill and slowed them to a comfortable speed that would minimize the possibility of shoulder injuries. Eventually coming around a long left bend and coming face to face with this monster of a water hazard, he was astonished by the dimensions of this natural wonder.
“Holly Shit, look at it!” he exclaimed out loud.
Yup, he was surprised to see the shear magnitude of this beaver pond. With all that exaggerated amount of rain the region had had over the last six months, the surface area was at least five times its normal size. Gazing up at the sky and laughing to himself, he wondered if they could see it from the International Space Station.
“Probably not,” he smiled, “but still…”
Needing to immediately immobilize them, he commanded his team. “Stay you guys, Stay!”
Both leaders did slow down to a crawl but because of the slippery icy grass, the ATV wouldn’t adhere properly to the surface and the “Girly Girls” kept pulling it closer and closer to the edge of the pond.
Almost in desperation, he called, “For fuck’s sakes, you girls, STAY!”
It was useless. They would just not listen and just wanted to go and play in the beautiful clear water.
Not being able to stop the team in order to turn them around, he was losing this battle. They kept creeping forward and by now, the front six dogs were in knee deep water and they were committed to fording the beaver pond. Getting himself mentally prepared to take a cold bath, the man didn’t say a thing and let the dogs test the water for themselves. The further they went, the deeper it got. Not even in the middle of it, the small yearlings soon found out that the water was way over their heads and this was not fun anymore. Oumak, not capable of walking on the bottom, started rearing himself on his hind legs and started trashing about not really knowing how to get out of this mess. He suddenly stopped right in the middle of the “lake” bunching the team all together with him to the point where dogs were stepping on top of dogs so to keep breathing. An immediate panic spread amongst the young females and all of a sudden, it was to be a desperate fight for survival. Add to that a tangled mess of necklines and tuglines and you had a serious situation where dogs would die.

There was not a moment to spare so the musher got off the rig to render assistance to the submerged animals. As soon as the ATV was released of its rider, with its huge balloon tires, it started to float. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. With water way past his waist, he pushed the buoyant rig backwards so to get the gangline tight. This done, he turned around and sure as hell, there she was, swimming. You see, she was used to deep water because back at the lodges, at their private beach, she would spend hours accompanying Mosqua when he’d swim in the river to fetch a stick. Here in her element,here she was, as cool as a cucumber, dog paddling. She wasn’t going anywhere because of the tangled gaggle behind her but she was staying on top, threading water.
“Nikita, Uptrail Girl, Uptrail!” he said after quickly managing to get some sort of straight extended line, “Uptrail!”
With her pulling, Oumak and the remainder of the team now facing in a general direction and the musher holding the ATV back, heads started bobbing up from the “Abyss”. Coughing and gasping for air, all of them were accounted for except for little “Thunder”. You could see her small white figure struggling with all her might, under water with the gangline somehow wrapped around her neck. Try and try again, she just couldn’t squirm her way out to reach the surface.

An immediate jolt of “Action Jackson” super juice spread right through the ex-military man and he rushed to the side of his rambunctious but loveable little “Peanut Head”. With both arms, he grabbed the gangline on both sides of the choking dog and pulled them together so to release some pressure around its neck. In one single same motion, he lifted the rope above water so that “Thunder” could get a chance to breathe. Gagging and spitting volumes of liquids from out of her mouth, it was time that she got oxygen to her brain. Looking at how the noose was fashioned, he figured that if he could make the loop bigger, she could get out. He pulled the two sides even closer together but she wasn’t getting the right idea. She needed to back out of it but all she wanted to do was go forward and head to shore. Thinking fast, he gambled and let go of the gangline. With his left hand, he grabbed the top of the loop and held it tight. With his right one, he pulled the dog by the tail backwards and released her from that strangle hold. Still in that overwhelming feeling of terror, she was trying desperately to climb on top of her sister’s head and in the process, was submerging her. The man, seeing that this provided more potential danger, reached under Thunder’s belly and moved her away so not to harm Lightning.
“Easy there, Girl! Easy!” he repeated this on more than one occasion. Recognizing his voice, suddenly she was relaxing in his hand with a look on her face that said, “Please, please don’t let me drown.”
“Don’t you worry about that, you “Peanut Head”, you. Everything is going to be all right.” With that he started following the forward momentum that the swimming team was providing. Looking at the front of the line, here was Nikita leading the parade and Oumak really happy that she was. This period of weightlessness made it that she was able to drag the stubborn old mule in the direction that she wanted as here the size of the dog didn’t necessarily matter.
“Good Girl, Nikita! he encouraged her, “Good Girl!”
Still cupping little “Peanut Head” in his hand, she had caught on that to get to the other side, she needed to swim and by “George”, there she was doing it, helping the other team members.
The musher, with his soaked and wet to the neck insulated overalls, was being a hindrance more than anything else. He couldn’t move fast enough through the water so allowed the team to swim the width of the pond on their own. He let them pull the ATV past him at which point he latched on to the rear axle with his right hand. Half gliding behind it and half “scissor kicking” with his legs, the entire gang managed to traverse more than two hundred feet before they again found solid ground under their paws. Glad that they had reached the shore, they stopped and “shook it off”. Getting up after crawling on his “four” for a while, the exhausted man reached to where the “snowhooks” were on the rig and planted them firmly into the mud.
“Stay, you Guys! Stay!”

For some strange reason, there was a renewed sense of collaboration. None of them hesitated to co-operate and he walked up the line towards the leaders, inspecting the “Troopies” from head to toe, making sure that nobody was hurt while readjusting some neck and tug lines. When he reached the front however, he was still engulfed with this warrior entity and everything it encompassed. He couldn’t help it. This persona would invade him every single time that he faced an imminent threat and this in whatever form it appeared. In the past in that military forum, this had proved to be an indispensable and welcomed asset as it had more than saved his bacon and this on numerous occasions. However, when these adrenaline filled episodes would enter and spread throughout his body, not only did he not perceive danger, he would become a liability to himself as he would try to eliminate the menace and this at all cost. This side of him was not accepted as a way of resolving things on “civvy street”. Therefore civilized society didn’t understand and were somewhat scared of these “robots” that military systems produced and let’s face it, there was cause for concern. They were hard to deal with as there were no switch to turn them on and off at will. The man was aware of this dark side of his personality so had chosen to basically retreat to the quietness of the backcountry. In this manner, he would stand a better chance at avoiding confrontational situations. So with some of the rage still in his heart, the initial thing he really felt like doing was to close his fist and drive it real hard in the side of Oumak’s head. However, the wiser side of him would prevail and he refrained from doing so.
“There was no sense in this,” the “Good” wolf said to his “Evil” twin, “as canines live the moment and he would probably not understand what was happening. After all, didn’t he just finish swimming across the "English Channel" to save the day?”
When the ex-soldier did reach him, the dog’s ears were flopped down, his tail was between its legs as if he was ready and expecting some sort of punishment. Looking down at him, the musher figured that his old trail partner had had enough for one day so gently patted him on the head. “Oumak, Oumak, Oumak! When will you ever learn?”
Sensing that things might be good between them, his old friend started moaning like only “Oumak” can and he started nibbling at the man’s hand in a sign of affection.
“It’s OK, Old Buddy! Shit happens! Now do you think that maybe we could go home without arguing as to who runs things in this town?” Eyeing all the wet dogs, there seemed to be a consensus that they all had had enough excitement for the day. Figuring that it was just about that time, the tired old serviceman went back and hoped on the ATV.
“All right, Boys and Girls, let’s go home!” he said calmly, “Ready? Uptrail!”

They moved out slowly and under control but the trip was not going to be too pleasant. The dogs were tired and their harnesses were becoming stiff from the cold and causing armpit rubs. Meanwhile, the musher was running besides the training buggy but regardless, he wasn’t generating enough heat to keep his clothes from hardening as hard as a rock.
Panting as he went along, he could hear once again the pounding of his heart just behind his eardrums. “Oh Great!” he reflected. “Just what I needed, another sleepless night.” He knew exactly what would transpire in the next couple of days but what could you do? It was the nature of the beast and something he had to live with…

To be continued…

THE "EAR" STORY

It was the middle of November and the monsoon season was still going strong. The musher had seven pairs of boots lined up, drying by the wood stove and had gotten used to wearing mud impregnated pants. The way he saw things, there was no sense in washing his clothes every day as wherever they traveled, the ground was soaked beyond absorbing any more rain. So, here he was by a roaring fire in the stove in the “Bunkhouse”, trying to get the chill out of his arthritic riddled bones…

After putting the dogs through their paces for the last two months, it was time to shuffle the line-ups a bit. He would need to pick out the racing prospects, bump up the daily mileages way past the “20 mile” mark and push them beyond their comfort zones. At the beginning of this training season, he had grandiose plans of running the three major “100 milers” but after consulting the programs for those races, he came to realize that where in the past, these events were “10 dog” strings, the rules had been changed and the organizers would now allow a standardized “12 dog” team to participate. This to the musher made a lot of sense as it gave the participants a chance to better prepare for the East Coast’s main event, the CAN-AM 250, in Fort-Kent.

This was fine and dandy but it would also throw a curve ball down his way and into his own kennel. Out of the twenty-three dogs on hand, he did not have a dedicated and full compliment for such a racing team. At one end, he had at least five semi-retired “easy go lucky, let’s smell the roses and fart as we go along old-timers” and at the other end, he had all those small almost tiny “’tight ass cheerleaders”. While the old “Viagra” clan still had it in the back of their mind that they could mix it up with the best, the young “chicks” and of course “Vince” the giant, were a bunch of “green horns” that had no track record whatsoever. These two factors were something that he needed to seriously consider as these mid-distance events were no cake walks.

Going down the list of contenders, he started to realize that the picking might be slim to fill the roster needed for a “12” dog team. The last sixty days of training had not gone according to plans. They were way behind in accumulated mileage and with all the different events that happened during that period, the “Canadian Snowhounds” might be in what you might call the “Hurt Locker”. It wasn’t necessarily their fault but life had a way of putting forward certain challenges and October had provided him many of them. Sitting there, adding and subtracting names of dogs, he was scratching his head, wondering why he bothered with this madness. After complete analysis of the situation, he had come to a plausible conclusion. It had not been an “easy going” throughout the last month and the obstacles had been numerous. He had gone through “Hell Week” times five and if this wasn’t bad enough, “JR” aka “Don Juan” had managed to break out of his enclosure to then eat through the wooden grill at “Orka’s” sleeping quarters. Of course with this mission completed, they escaped and gallivanted throughout the entire night. Not only did the smooth talker have his ways with the young virgin, they eventually met up with a skunk who could not be convinced in having a threesome so they got sprayed “big time”. After spending a few hours washing the two love birds, it was decided that the “Great Houdini” would be allowed to sleep in the house. This was a last resource solution as he needed to be kept under immediate adult supervision. Let’s face it! “JR” had strong hormones and an “iron will” to match and the musher could not stop him from trying to get that “piece of tail”. In the past, all imaginable tricks of the trade had been tried but nothing would curb that wild will to breed. Keeping him in the house seemed to be the only solution but this was a figment of the man’s imagination. “JR” was only marking time and being cute while waiting for the occasion to get back to his harem. And as you would have it, it happened. Maybe two days later, he was no longer at the musher’s side and hearing all the commotion coming from the “Howl-A-Day Inn”, it was obvious that something was up. When the man got to the building, it was too late. The “Stud” had managed to climb a seven foot wall, crawl through a seven inch space up by the ceiling and copulate with another young bitch. Looking at “Thunder” with that crossed eyed look on her face, back to back and stuck there with her soother, there would not be much more that could be done other than phone the veterinarian and have the two bred females spayed. Not that he was being prejudice but he needed to be responsible and additional mouths to feed were not in the cards at this time (As a side note, when they were eventually operated on, not only would they miss out on the training but between the two of them, “Orka” and “Thunder” were carrying thirteen puppies…)

“Hell Week” had also brought other headaches. Since castrating a bunch of males that previous summer, there was a new chemistry in the barn. Where the aggressive males had now calmed down, the other more subdued dogs had figured they’d climb up the hierarchy ladder. “Leonard” who had been the most reserved one of the bunch was suddenly walking around with this “ridge back” of raised hair, strutting along and shoulder checking any contenders. For some reason, he started bullying young “Vince” and after a while, the “Friendly Giant” got tired of this and would take a stance. The fight, although short, was most serious and “Leonard” was soon to realize that with all that hard training, the baby fat that “Vince” once carried during his teens had now been replaced by bulging muscles. The giant was a powerhouse compared to him and poor “Leonard” would remember this episode for as long as he lived as he would now be sporting a real ugly reminder. In their encounter, “Vince” had managed to take a chomp on his opponent’s head. When all was done and over with, “Leonard” was in real pain and was missing half his right ear.

It’s amazing how certain incidents will cause certain undesired past events to re-surface and send a “PTSD head case” into a frenzy. Seeing that poor dog yelp in pain, shaking his head and splattering blood all over the place was to give this ex-soldier an unwanted blast of adrenaline that rushed instantly to his head. Unwillingly, he was transported back in time to an incident that had happened way back then in that previous life of his.

Although totally different in nature, the missing piece of ear had brought back forgotten souvenirs, memories that he had long ago forgotten about. It was a winter exercise in Wainwright, Alberta, called “Rapier Thrust” and the year was 1982. There he was, a pimple-faced Military Policeman employed with the 2nd Battalion of the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, in the “Junior Ranks Club”, his heart pounding through his eardrums ready to battle a fellow soldier, the infamous “Billy Cogle”. He had no willingness to take on this man as these two individuals had previously clashed on numerous occasions and to say the least, “Billy” enjoyed inflicting pain as well as receiving it. The young MP had tried on several earlier occasions to remove the individual from a drinking establishment without violence but this had always ended up as being a useless exercise. “Billy” was the type of guy that found pleasure in resisting arrest and when he was in one of his drunken stupor, he always had an attitude where he would not go down without a fight. Many of these altercations had occurred and both parties had the now mended but broken bones to attest to this. The last time they had fought, the young Corporal had managed to get the upper hand and had literally pounded his fist at Cogle’s forehead for at least 25 times. This masochist would not fall down nor would he abandon. Here he was, bleeding like a pig, laughing it off and asking for more. Shaking his head almost in discouragement, the arresting officer stopped hitting the man as he could not comprehend as to why this man could not be knocked out. It was insane the beating he had put on him and here he was still standing. So out of pity, he decided that enough was enough and chose to use a different approach.
“Hey Billy,” he had told his tenacious opponent, “I don’t know about you but I think that I’ve had enough. What would you say if we’d call it a night?” For some reason, on that evening, that’s all that had been needed to finally settle the matter.

But that particular night at the Wainwright Junior Ranks Club, this was to be a different can of worms. The boys had just come out of the field after a hard sub-zero week of grunt work. They needed to vent and there was some heavy duty celebrating going on. Dancing on the tables, drinking beer out of “mukluks” and throwing empty cans at each other, it was a party and it was hardcore “Army” style. So that evening, when he received the call from the bartender, Roussel knew what was to be expected. These infantry types were known to throw a punch or two and the “Boyz” from 2 PPCLI could back the reputation of being the best of what the Canadian military system could muster. He had been posted with this unit as a replacement to another policeman who had been put in the hospital so many times that he couldn’t handle the job anymore and would puke every time he had to come on duty. That had been two years ago and during that period, the newcomer had been put through the “ringer” more than he cared to remember. Dealing with individuals with nicknames like, “Grizzly Adam”, “King Kong Kingshott”, “Crazy Man Andrews” and last but not least, “No Neck Rowe”, who by the way were all specimen that stood taller than six feet at an average of 240 lbs, he had had his shares of fights with them and this on more than a few occasions. He had won some but also had lost a few but at the end of the day, the troops had accepted him as one of their own and had some sort of respect for him. So when he walked into the “Bar”, hands in his pockets, the first thing he decided to do was to stay close to the door and take time to observe. All the “animals” were in the zoo and it was best to try and defuse the situation in an amiable way.
“Hey guys,” Andrews yelled over the noise, “Gino, the Meathead is here!”
“Hello Gino!” a bunch of them replied as they threw a volley of beer cans in his direction. “How the hell are you?”
There wasn’t much to answer to this other than “Fine” so that’s what he said. To better try and get control of things, the young MP whistled to get their attention and it somewhat worked.
“OK Guys! Party’s over! The Bar’s closed and it’s time to go to bed!”
He had almost convinced them that it was a good idea till “Billy” got up, grabbed a wooden chair and pitched it across at the bottles behind the bar. “Fuck that shit!” he said, “We’ll leave when we feel like it!”
The crowd regained momentum and you could feel the excited tension fill the air. It had been a while since these two gladiators had squared off and “Billy” felt like putting on a show.
“Ah come on Billy, I really don’t feel like scrapping tonight!” was all Roussel could blur out. “Be reasonable and I’ll take you to the shacks!”
He might have been swayed to do just that but his soldier friends were antagonizing him and chanting “Go Billy, Go! Go Billy, Go!” Like a Maestro, his arms in the air as if he was directing the orchestra, he demanded that they scream louder and they did. Figuring that the decibel level was high enough, standing by the bar, he ripped his combat shirt right off his own back. To the cheering crowd, he threw it behind the bar and invited his reluctant rival to come out and “Tango”.

There was no way out of this one and the young MP would have to accept the challenge or at least he would have to lead Cogle into believing that he would fight him.
“Oh Billy”, he mocked him, “Put your shirt back on! You smell and you’re going to find it mighty cold when I drag you outside by your feet!”
This seemed to stir the pot as insults started flying back in his direction.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” What are the boys going to say when I’m wiping the floor with your unconscious frame?”
This did it. His fuse was lit and there was no turning back.
Putting his hand up, Roussel continued, “Hold on for a second there, Billy Boy! Let me take my parka off. You want this to be fair don’t you?” To this he agreed and allowed his “next meal” to peal that bulky piece of outer clothing.
“OK Billy, I think I’m ready now.” the enforcer of the law said. “Let’s get at her!”
With that he motioned the drunken fool to come forward. It had the desired effect and “Billy” was stunned and somewhat hesitant to make the first move. So the MP did. He walked towards him and invaded his space.
“One way or the other Billy, you’re leaving this place.” he spoke to him most seriously.
There was more hesitation but this was interrupted by some “yahoo” who yelled, “What’s it going to be Billy? Are you going to kiss him or what?”
That did it. He lunged forward and started to swing.
The dancing partner knew better than to take him on fist to fist, toe to toe so evaded his right hook, spun him around and from the back put a choke hold on him. The intention was to put him to sleep but the maneuver didn’t exactly work according to plans and instead of having a good tight noose on the individual’s throat, Billy Cogle had managed to bite into the MP’s left forearm. The more he tried to choke him, the more the soldier was biting hard into that arm muscle. He was in pain and told him so, “Billy, let go buddy! That fucking hurts!” He wouldn’t and at one point he started growling like a mad dog.
Talking through the pain, Roussel told him again, “Billy, for the last time, give it up!” There was no reasoning with the man. He just wouldn’t let go of that piece of flesh. So seeing that available right ear, right there, in front of his mouth, he decided to play the same game and went for it, bite for bite.
It didn’t take long for the soon to be arrestee, to start yelling in excruciating pain. He could really feel it and while trying to escape “Jaws”, he tried to pull his head away but this resulted in serious consequences. Roussel had a good bite on it and it ripped apart, leaving him with a piece of ear in his mouth. Still holding him in a now well re-adjusted choke hold, he could taste that copper flavored liquid. Knowing that it was blood, he decided to capitalize on the situation and rubbed his face in it so that it would be smeared all over his own face. It was all theatrics of course but when Cogle fell to his knees holding the right side of his head in agony, foaming red and white stuff at the mouth, the man pretended to be completely delirious. He spat the piece of ear on the bar where it bounced a few times, turned to the crowd and said, “Anybody else want a piece of me?”
For some reason, the place had gone totally silent and this time when he told them that the “Bar” was closed, they all co-operated and went home. As for poor “Billy”, he eventually got up and the role of the “Big Brother” would now have to be played. The “not so crazy after all” Corporal put his parka back on and took him to the hospital for some needed medical attention.
A few days later, there would be everlasting peace in the valley whenever Cpl Roussel was on duty. The rumor had spread around like wildfire within the unit lines that it wasn’t good to screw around with the baby “Watchdog” as he had rabies. As for “Billy”, as strange as it might sound, he became a real good friend, one that would always have his back and this for as long as the two individuals worked with the “Patricias”…

So by now, you would think that there would have been enough excitement but this “Leonard losing an ear” saga would only bring us to maybe the middle of October. There was to be a couple more “Adrenaline” filled moments but I would suggest that we’ll save those for later on! = - )

To be continued…

BAISLEY STARS?

On that bright sunny early November morning, there wasn’t much noise coming out of the “Dog Camper”. They were coming back from a “20 mile” run and at this early stage of the season and this according to “Vixen”, the “Boss” had pushed the envelope a bit too much.
“What the hell was that all about?” she busted out loud, trying to relieve the cramps from her hindquarters. Having limited success and wondering if she was the only one that felt the burn in her legs, she asked her brother, “What about you, “Kid”, are you OK?”

As if he wasn’t there, the bruiser stayed silent in the confines of his box. Of course he was all right and why not? They had gone through these drills on more than one occasion throughout their running careers and on this particular run, he had enjoyed himself tremendously as they had discovered and traveled through new and most beautiful countryside.

Right now, however, that’s not what was on his mind. He just couldn’t understand what was going on. His training partner for the last month, young “Kameo”, had blown the doors right off him during this outing. He just couldn’t believe that such a small package could pack such a punch and for such a distance. Put simply, he was ashamed that he had been outdone by this featherweight.

He wasn’t the only one to be impressed. The musher had also taken notice of the performance of the three young dogs on the string. But and this was the most important part, he was relieved that the team had made it back to the truck safe and sound. Let’s be serious here. He had taken off with the oldest and youngest of the kennel and while the “Viagra” clan had covered such distances in previous seasons, the yearlings were not used to being on the trail for such a duration. It’s not that he had wanted to take them on such a long run and it had just happened because he didn’t have any choice in the matter. At a most critical intersection along the way and this in the name of progress (yeah they’re pushing a four lane highway through there), the trail had been invaded by a bunch of lumberjacks and their heavy equipment. Where normally, they would have needed the surface of a “Wal-Mart” parking lot to operate safely, these guys had managed to squeeze their machinery in a space that might allocate at best, twenty vehicles. To make matters worse, with the skidders, they had pulled hardwood tree lengths all alongside this road so to process through a “Slasher”. Now here was a “10 dog” team, stopped and facing this monster of a machine. Quite impressive with its rotating 60 inch sawblade while flexing its extendable arm and grapple, it was straddled across the roadway, digesting logs into “8 foot” lengths and spewing sawdust all over the place. This was fine and dandy but it was also obstructing the right of way to a public thoroughfare to any passer-by let alone the dog team. Checking the situation thoroughly, it was obvious that there would be no possibility of turning around and the only other alternative was to push on forward through the obstacle course.

He just had to look at the musher’s face to realize that right now was not a good time to argue as to who might be at fault. His equipment was scaring some of the dogs and the driver of the training rig was struggling to hold them in place.
“JR”, the ex-military man belted out louder than and burying the sound of the diesel engine, “stay and hold that fucking line!!!”

Without the slightest hesitation, the seasoned leader did what he was told. He trusted the man wholeheartedly so stood fast right there and then and kept her tight. While he was doing this, little “Summer”, scared shitless, was trying to wiggle her way out of her harness to get away from that huge metallic beast. “JR” turned his head, and with a sympathetic look that said it all to her, he communicated, “It’s OK, Girl! It’s OK!” She didn’t know what to make of the situation but seeing that everybody else around her was cool with this, she hesitantly settled down but with her tail way deep between her shaking legs.

Now having the team under control and pointing to the operator, the musher made a sign with his hand across his own throat. The man in the cab didn’t know if it meant “I’m going to slice your throat, you bastard!” or “Kill the engine!” However, the way the man was glaring at him, he knew he needed to do something quick so chose to first test out the least harmful option so stopped the machine. It took a while for the sawblade to finish spinning but it gave the musher time to plan an escape route. There was only one solution so he called it, “JR, Uptrail.”

It was going to be a tight squeeze but he had no choice. He would have to drive the team under the raised bed of the “Slasher”. It could be done but he would have to guide his lead dogs. The problem was not with his main leader but with his partner and apprentice. At two years old, “Nikita” had showed all the potential in the world to be a “Class One” leader. However, this was no ordinary situation and not something that you would see in a “Mushing 101” textbook. So, the driver called her name, got her attention and talked her through the process. “Easy Niki”, he said calmly, “Easy!” “Good Girl,” he said to her, satisfied with what he was seeing. Her and “JR” were actually leading the team out of that mess and were responding to the commands. “On by Guys! On by!” he continued. Still they were paying attention to his voice. Lying flat on the motorless ATV, the musher managed to hold on to the brakes while scrapping his back on the huge metal “H” beams under the “Slasher”. Finally clearing that obstacle, he stopped the team. “Good Job you guys!!!” he called out to his dogs, “Good Job!!!” Relieved that they had passed the first test with flying colors, he looked around him so to see what would be his best way out. On his right, the four lane highway - that was impossible to cross with a dog team. In front, five workers with chainsaws chopping away at trees and producing firewood – There was barely any room for them to work, never mind turning a gangline with ten dogs around. So, the logical place to go was up this hill on the left. It was, yes, the logical “out route” but with all that rain during October and the cold in November, this road was a sheer surface of ice and at a very steep incline. This, now the musher had figured out, was the reason why the loggers weren’t at their usual place. They couldn’t get up there. Yeah, OK but the dog team could not stay in the middle of that log yard all day so a snap decision needed to be made. “JR! Niki! Haw, Haw Trail!” Banging in their harnesses, they turned left and led the rest of the crew towards this next challenge. To see all the dogs with their ears flopped backwards and concentrating on not loosing their footing was an impressive sight. All the workers had stopped doing what they were doing and it was so quiet that you could hear the dogs’ nails scratching on the ice. “The guy’s crazy”, one of men said to his co-worker. “There is no way that they’re going to make it up there!”

The dogman was listening to this single conversation over the dead silence of the forest but was not worried about this too much. He had gotten off and was helping the dogs get up the mountain. While they were pulling, he was providing very limited pushing as it was real slippery and the stones protruding through the ice surface where he could secure a good footing were far in between. Nonetheless, they were making relatively good progress and for some off the wall reason, the man laboring and pushing on the handlebars was relishing this misery. The sharp and straight cliff on the left side and the deep ravine on the other reminded him of an expedition way back then where he had climbed a glacier on the north face of the “Shilthorn”, in Switzerland.
“The only difference,” he thought to himself almost laughing out loud, “was that over there, we were at above 2000 meters and we had cleats on our boots.” “Oh yeah,” he added now talking to himself, “you didn’t have ten dogs in tow.”

Now this constituted another serious problem. It was fine to climb to the top of “Mount Pimple” but there was no way in hell that he could come back down this way safely. Just sit down and imagine ten dogs slip sliding away downhill, in a mangled cluster, with an out of control “4 wheeler” strapped to their ass. Now envision, the log yard as a bowling alley and pins flying all over the place. Yeah, not too pretty of a picture, I would imagine. No, another way would have to be found so to get back to the truck in one piece. Within the span of 60 seconds, many scenarios were analyzed by the musher’s brain but none of them offered a viable solution. Then suddenly, he remembered a trail that he had surveyed a few years back that might have real potential. It would be taking the long way home but it would mean a less treacherous trek.
“What about the yearlings?” he asked himself. “Will they be capable of enduring the distance?”
“Now what about if you can’t find the right trail and you get lost? Are you ready to spend the day out there?”
So many questions and so many unknowns that needed to be dealt with. The turn-off was just around the corner and he had to make a choice soon. Then, unexpectedly this voice joined in this conversation within his mind.
“Trust the dogs.” his mentor Leonard Lanteigne whispered, “Trust the dogs.” It had been a while since the ghost of that old friend had come to visit and to acknowledge this, the dogman simply smiled to himself and said, “Hey Leonard, how’s it going?”

Coming back to the realities of this trip, he called it. “JR, Niki, Gee, Gee Trail.” Without missing a beat, they turned right at the “Y” junction and off they were gone, to explore uncharted territories. What had started as a disaster of a run was to soon turn into a most enjoyable journey. First, the dogs were working double time, excited at the prospect of discovering new smells. Down the next valley, they met up with two Bull Moose that had survived the hunting season, peacefully bobbing their heads under water and feeding on the plants at the bottom of a beaver pond. Up the next ridge and this to the musher’s great surprise, he met up with his old friends, the “Bald Eagle family, the three same birds that had been uprooted the year before when the industry had clear cut their nesting area across the river. Seeing them sailing about in the uplifting thermals maybe one hundred feet above the line of dogs, made of this reunion a real happy moment for this man. He had gone up and down the Madawaska River all throughout the previous summer in search of these birds of prey but they had been nowhere to be found. Along the way, he saw fit to get off the ATV and run so to help out with the carrying of the load. Huffing and puffing, trying to keep up with the pace was nearly impossible and this exercise was to truly suggest as to who was the weakest member of the team. “Conclusion,” he reflected, “it’s not one of the little girls in front.” Miles after miles, intersections after intersections, they pushed on. They were now deep in Quebec territory so to kill time and be in complete harmony with “Bill 101”, he started speaking to his dogs in French. “En avant, les pitous! En avant!” “Bon chiens, les copains! Bon chiens!” “Tout Droit, tout droit!” The dogs didn’t have a clue as to what he was saying but it seemed to amuse him, so they just zoned him out. All this enjoyment was soon to come to a closure as they made their way to where the Quebec side of the “four lane highway” construction site was at. “Yup,” the musher pondered, looking again at another huge clear cut patch with its millions of dollars of equipment, spread all over far and wide, “This would have been quite the training place if this project wasn’t here. But I guess that’s progress…” They eventually connected to the bicycle path and for the next seven kilometers, he let the dogs run at their own rhythm. The “old guard” was trotting along and amazingly, the yearlings didn’t seem to tire out. “Yeah, the little ones did pass the initial test.” he realized. “They actually completed their first “20 mile” outing and that for such a young bunch was quite the achievement. They had showed him that they could actually be contenders. Let’s face it – Any “couch potato” out there could run five and even ten miles at the time but it took guts, determination and a special will to go out there and do the longer distances. What is it that “Leonard” used to say? Oh yeah! “You will know that you have good distance dogs when you get back to the truck after twenty miles and they still have their “flags” up” and they’re winking at you with that third eye.”

Not only did they finish the run all happy but eventually on the way back to the lodges, they were playfully yapping at each other. Stopped and waiting to turn left because of oncoming traffic, the musher had to giggle to himself seeing the look on the faces of some of the people because of all the barking coming from the trailer. What they considered awful sounding noises, he simply loved it as it was music to his ears.

And in their own little “Dog Universe”, the young ones had cause for celebration as this to them, was a major accomplishment. “Vince” had instigated all this chanting only to be joined by “Summer”, “Kameo” and “Nikita”. Here they were all together now, singing at the top of their lungs, over and over,
“We are, we are! We are the Baisley Stars!”
Continuously, without stopping they went on repeating these lyrics. Suddenly, tired of hearing this quasi-nonsense, the “Kid” broke his long silence and piped out,
“Jeez,” he said almost in desperation, “and to top it all, now we’re stuck with a bunch of tight ass cheerleaders in the barn! What’s this world coming to?” With a smirk on his face and shaking his head, he curled into a tight ball and put his front paws over his ears to try and deafen the racket. It was somewhat working but he still could hear “Kameo” teasing him,
“Oh Uncle Kid! You’re a poor sport but we love you anyway…”
At this, he growled pretending to be upset but deep inside, he knew better. These puppies were managing to find a soft spot in his heart because according to this “Bruiser”, they had spunk…

To be continued…

THE BAISLEY MOB

So, when we got back from that run, I was satisfied as to how things had transpired. It had only been a short flat three miler but the “snot noses” had finally grasped what was expected of them. They had kept their tug lines tight for most of the way and amazingly enough had found a zone of comfort and enjoyment in doing this stuff…

Although I was somewhat impressed by my young yearlings that morning, I was even more proud of the “Old Guard”. These old veterans had showed the new prospects how things were supposed to be done and that was something that could not be easily taught by a “human”. But still, this crew did look funny standing there at the truck waiting for their “treats”. I just could not stop wondering as to where I would go with all these “shrimps”. Except for “Big Boy Vince”, the new recruits looked kind of out of place as far as I was concerned. After all, these young girls tipping the scale at maybe 42 lbs were miniscule compared to the “Baisley Mob” who were mastodons at an average of 73 lbs. But it wasn’t their fault that they were so tiny and on the encouraging side, where they lacked in power and strength, they made up for in speed and enthusiasm.

There was most truth to that statement when you looked at “Kameo” that day. With her muddy white face, oddly paired with the biggest dog in the kennel, she had no fear whatsoever of the “Kid”. Normally, he would usually be the type to try and intimidate his running partner but this little playful black and white Siberian had won his heart. She would lick his face, drop down to roll on her “I’m so cute” side, bite his ankles and even jump on his back for a piggyback ride. To lose his temper with her did not solve anything and besides, the big bruiser kind of liked his new running partner. So for the last month, they had been challenging each other down the trail. Where he would pull hard, she would try to pull harder. Where he would run, she would try to outrun him. To see “Kameo” now sporting the new nickname of “Gino’s little Camaro” work so hard reminded me of when the “Kid” and “Vixen” came into this old musher’s life…

THE BAISLEY MOB

Way back then, six years ago, when I woke up that morning, I was really glad to see that the rain had finally stopped. For those last two days, you might say, I was getting a bit discouraged. One didn’t have to see it on the news to be able to determine that it had been quite the storm. The river in front of the cottages had swollen up and this for over a good two feet. Where did all this rain come from, I had wondered. It wasn’t normal for this time of the year. But then again, I realized while brushing my teeth that I always said the same thing as October brought on these heavy rainfalls every year and this without fail.

That morning, I walked to the mud room and started putting my boots on. My faithful companion, Mosqua, didn’t have to be told what was going on. He was there sitting still like a statue by the door, just sitting there waiting for the words to come out of my mouth. So I got up and said “Let’s go buddy, let’s go feed the kids. I barely had the chance to open the door and he was out. It never stopped to amaze me to see him run out that door. He was like a sprint racer coming out of the starting block. All out and in a straight line. So down the road we headed, out to the barn now baptized by my wife, as the “Howl-A-Day Inn”. Like all mornings, he was going to win this race as it usually took me a while to get the stiffness out of my arthritis riddled legs. Anyway, we couldn’t sneak up on the dogs and were met at the barn by a symphony of jumping and howling.

Mr. Tibbs, a white Siberian Seppala and veteran of the pack, was not the barking type. Rather he was the cool dude who sang his good morning greetings and this till you let him loose after scratching his belly. He had become a beautiful dog over the past year and had accustomed himself to his new surroundings. To see how he kept his kennel clean, it was like he could really appreciate the upgraded accommodations. Tibbs was a dog that had spent three hard years on the racing circuit, having under his belt over 4000 miles. He was hard core and only knew four things in life. He ate then did his business. He ran and then went to sleep. That’s it, that’s all. When I met up with him, that past January, I noticed immediately that this guy had the heart of a lion. Unfortunately, the way I saw things, he had been kept underfed on purpose and was feeling the blunt of it. I had commented to his then owner how beautiful I thought this dog was to which he had replied, “You want him, take the fucking thing! The way he performed today, he’s on his way to becoming coyote bait. The price is right, “free” complete with harness”. Since I had to decide there and then, I took a chance and plunged head first into this world of racing sleddogs. The gamble had paid off. With tender loving care and a good diet, the dog had healed properly and was showing me what a real racer was all about. At five years old, this guy really knew his stuff and worked extra hard every time we went out. I was glad to have him on board.

His neighbor Maggie, the black Malamute/Canadian Eskimo cross, was still young and rather over enthusiastic. It would take a few minutes for her to settle down. Experience had proven that one was better to wait before opening her pen as one could be easily knocked over by this over sized lap dog. It wasn’t her fault. By the age of six months, when I rescued her, I was to be her fourth master. She had started her life as a cute pet to a teacher that had brought her south from Iqaluit. From there, it had been down hill all the way. When I found her, she was spending her entire days in a crowded 4 x 8 enclosure, being dominated by an oversexed 125 pounds male Malamute. It had taken a lot of time and patience but now she seemed to have gotten used to the idea that this was to be her forever home. She still had a few bad habits but the loyalty that she showed towards me made up for these downfalls. So, I would have to brace myself, open the door and let her jump up on her hind legs. This was the ritual. She would put her front legs over my shoulders and now I would have to hug her, whispering in her right ear that she was my favorite. I don’t think she knew what was being said but anyway… it seemed to keep her happy.

Then came the turn for the twins, Vixen and the “Kid”, two Husky/German Shepard mixes that I had found in December of the previous year, in the middle of the boonies of eastern Quebec. In the past, I had driven through that area many of times and had seen the parents. The mother, a pure bred quiet black German Shepard and the father, a large black and white Husky had always made me take notice and wonder what the off springs would look like if these two gorgeous animals ever matched. To my astonished surprise, this had happened that fall and now mother had given birth in a shed struggling to keep her eleven pups fed. I talked to the discouraged owner, offered to take a couple of the puppies off her hands and she gladly accepted. Not being able to decide which one to pick, I told them that the first two little guys that were to come to me would be going home with me to New-Brunswick. It was like they knew a good thing when they saw one. Vixen crawled over her brothers and sisters to come towards me while the “Kid” just plowed through the bunch. After an exhausting 12 foot race, the choice had been made. These two little black and beige “tikes” would be adopted. Now here they were, 10 months old, full of piss and vinegar and almost outweighing my 70 pound Mosqua. Seeing Vixen’s enthusiastic smile was always a welcoming sight and confirmed why I woke up early every morning to feed these dogs. She was affectionate. Never overly exited but always there for you to scratch her underbelly, she was most lovable. What was nice about her was that she had learned early enough not to leave the immediate area and would never wander off. The “Kid”, well, he was in a league of his own. Over the summer, he had showed me what the definition of an “Alpha dominant” male was, always testing himself and his surroundings. He wasn’t scared of anything. He challenged Tibbs and took on Mosqua. Although these clashes had always been noisy and alarming, they never had been for real. The other two dogs seemed to realize that he was still a young punk of a puppy who needed to explore and express himself. Now, when he took on old Billy the goat, this was to be another story. For a period of time this summer, he would go into the goats coral and chase them around. This would always end up with him facing down the ram who would always challenge the “Kid”. Billy would rise on his back legs, shake his horn and charge at the dog. Meanwhile, the “Kid” would run circles around him, barking and trying to nib at the ram’s hind leg. Although this seemed to always end up as a stalemate, Billy did not see the “Kid” as an overly excited puppy but rather as a real and present danger. As for the “Kid”, he always seemed to end up coming out of the coral with a cocky attitude as if he had won some prize fight. We had gotten used to the annoying barking but always hoped that he would get over this bad habit. One day, however, there was to be the final showdown. While I was preparing their food, I heard the “Kid” again edging the goat on. You could tell that Billy was in prime form and was not impressed. Up on his hind legs, he took his attack position, aimed then rammed at the dog. This time, he struck hard and solid sending the dog hurling into the fence. The “Kid” had been stopped dead in his track and was trying to catch his breath. The ram was going to write the final chapter to this daily saga and rammed the dog again, again really connecting and pinning him to the fence. The way the whole fence line shook, I was sure that the “Kid” was dead. Knowing that he had delivered the ultimate blow, Billy backed off and went back to his daily business of eating grass. As for the “Kid”, it took him at least two minutes to recover from this well placed “knock-out” punch. Eventually, he managed to get up, shook the marbles out of his head and staggered out of the coral. He had just realized that you eventually always meet your match and that the thing with the horns was not to be reckoned with. This was just one of the many lessons of life he had learned over the summer. Now, he seemed to be very mature for his young age and had somewhat settled down. He would not run to you for affection but never missed an opportunity to greet people but this according to his own agenda. After raising them all this time, these two pups had grown up to be members of our family. Seeing them here and now made me realize one thing. They had provided us with numerous good moments over the summer and a lifestyle that was unbelievably gratifying. Anyway I opened their doors and out they came greeted by Maggie as they went out the barn door.

Last but not least, it was “JR’s” turn to come out. Mr. Tibb’s son who was a souvenir left behind by “Tibbs” when he departed the previous owner’s kennel. As I had been impressed by the father, the man had thought that I might be interested in the son. The genetics had potential and besides he was snow white like his father. When I first met up with the pup, it had been hard not to fall in love with him. Six weeks old, both ears standing straight up and ice blue eyes. Although the quiet one of the bunch, you could tell that “JR” was going to be special. Just don’t know what it was but he didn’t prove me wrong. He was now seven months old, the quiet reserved type who had been a pleasure to raise. His first time in harness with the pack the previous month had showed the potential in the little guy. Like a trooper, 25 feet in the training session, he was pulling on that tug line as if he had been doing it for years. So now here they were outside, the “mob”, all jumping at each other, I guess, glad to see each other and saying Good Morning. This was alright as it gave them time to relieve themselves while I prepared their meals. When the food was ready, I banged the feed cup against the bottom of a metal bowl and called out for them to come for breakfast. This to them was one of the highlights of their day. Wherever they were, they stopped doing whatever and made a mad dash to the barn. Although looking like total chaos to see them rush, it was impressive to see them all go to their own bowl and this without ever a miss. It was a good thing because Maggie did not and would not tolerate anybody feeding in her bowl. The water had been tested and the results had been instant and drastic. Although not dominant, Maggie was very territorial about her area and did not tolerate anybody invading her space, eating her food. That was now a respected protocol and everybody was eating out of their own bowl. Everybody, except “JR” - He still figured that if he went and inspected the other dogs bowls when they were finished, he might find some leftovers. I guess he never yet realized that like him, they were all hungry sleddogs that emptied their bowl like it was their last meal. Anyway, the mob had been fed and after giving them time to digest, we would be going on a training session...

Yeah, there they were then also “rookies” and here they are now of all things, teaching others.
= -)

To be continued…

STARTING OVER

To say that they were lined up like good little soldiers would have been the joke of the day. Here they were, in front of me, on a string of ten dogs not even close to being ready to go out for a run. We had been trying to leave the trailhead for the better part of ten minutes but when you got “snot nose” beginners that don’t have a clue as to what to do well… let’s just say that things weren’t going according to plan.

While my main leader and cool dude, “JR” and his sidekick, “Nikita” were trying to hold the gangline straight and tight, I had four young rookies matched up side by side with members of the “Old Guard”. These now semi-retired dogs standing one behind the other on the left hand side had been through this hook-up routine on countless occasions and knew what the protocol was. It was simple. The boss wanted them to stand still and conserve energy till it was time to launch out. This wasn’t much to ask for but like everything else, it was something that had to be taught and eventually learnt. So for now, here we were dealing with a bunch of excited and playful yearlings doing anything but co-operate. They were jumping around, biting and teasing the neighbor and getting all tangled up. You know it’s going to be a long day when most of the team is facing north and you have two yard birds, straddled on top of another dog, harnesses over their heads, facing backwards and in a southerly direction.

One specific dog, “Orka”, my young sweetheart of a beige Siberian husky, had recently discovered the art of severing a neckline. It was a nasty habit and one that would have to be dealt with, “pronto”. It would be a delicate process as she was a good little puller and one did not want to break her spirit. So on the first outing, we tried the positive feedback approach but this met with negative results. You can’t really reward a dog for doing something bad. For some reason, as “Spock” would say, “It’s not logical”. On the second outing, the old “Tabasco” sauce in the mouth and on the string trick was used but that didn’t work either. She just licked her chops, looked up as to literally say, “Have you got more?” There was a third option contemplated and this was to put a muzzle on her and take it off somewhere down the trail but that was not a permanent solution. She had to learn and I would suggest, she would have to learn the hard way.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m right there in front of the line when it comes for being against cruelty to animals but one must also keep in mind that when you increase the numbers of dogs in the household past two individuals, the chemistry amongst them changes. All of a sudden, their primal instinct kicks in and it is a competition as to who will be the “Leader of the Pack”. If you want to keep a certain control over your dogs, you must not think that you are but must act as the “Alpha Dominant” and establish your authority. You have to be able to put to the side this “human/canine living in harmony” crap and think in their terms.

In their own little “dog world”, they live in a well disciplined structure with a complex hierarchy. This is necessary as it assures good order within the clan. Starting soon after birth, the bitch will snap at her puppy when this one is being a nuisance. The “Omega” individual is to allow everyone else to eat before him. If he decides to venture and visit someone else’s dish before it’s time, he will be punished for his lack of table manners. The females will only entertain being sniffed by the strongest males and will chase any other wimpy prospects away. If this last one doesn’t get the message, she will bite at him like there is no tomorrow. So to make short of these dynamics within the pack, they administer and associate pain with something that they should not do.

“Oh, Oh!” “Vixen” said to her partner for the day, “Summer”. “I think the musher is not too impressed.”
“Well what do expect,” “Maggie” replied. “Here we are ready to go and you have “Orka” tasting the “neckline.”

That particular morning, she had chewed through three of them in a matter of five minutes and the musher was way beyond not impressed. He was “pissed”. However, in the poor little girl’s defense, it wasn’t really her fault. She had previously been raised as a house pet and was taught to play “tug” with a nylon rope toy. So by now, you’re getting a clearer picture. She didn’t know the difference between the play toy and the gangline. All she knew was that thing in front of her had the same taste/texture and offered pulling resistance. So, being in a playful mood, as long as the musher was going to dangle that thing in front of her, she would grab it and pull. Of course, the neckline @ 1/4 inch thick was nothing to chew through when compared to the play toy which is basically an inch thick piece of rope. She did not understand the concept of leaving them alone so would have to be punished using a correction. In the sleddog environment, “Chewing necklines” is a serious flaw that can bring you heartaches on the trail. The situation might arise where you are left out there stranded because half your team has taken off on account that you have a dog that has decided to snack on the gangline. So as painful as it was to receive, as painful as it was to administer. Like I said, I don’t like correcting my dogs with negative methods but sometimes, you got to do what you got to do.

I grabbed the yearling by the nose and with one of the severed neckline in my hand, I whacked her with the snap across the bridge of her nose. This was not be a bone breaking exercise but one that would inflict enough pain for her to take notice that this was not a good experience. I again repeated the process then tapped her with the same brass item on the nose a few times, shaking her head vigorously and growling at her with a more than stern “No”. She understood that she had done a bad thing as I could easily tell this by the sad look she was giving me. I re-introduced a complete neckline to her and from her reaction, I knew I had gotten through. She shied away from it by turning her head sideways. I really felt bad about disciplining her especially when she looked up at me with her ears flopped back but it was one of those unfortunate things that needed to happen.

“Jeez!” Kameo piped up looking at the “Kid”, her partner that was towering over her, “What’s his problem?”
She wasn’t the only one to wonder about that, that morning as they were watching him have a “hissy fit”. The yearlings didn’t have a clue as to what he was saying but one thing was for sure, right now was a good time to start thinking about behaving. Walking down the line, the boss was pointing and screaming at them to sit. This was something they understood and this was something they would do. Right now was not a good time to further test the water.

“Vince,” his father, “Jacko” told him, “keep your mouth shut and don’t get involved. Save your energy and concentrate on your job. This “wheel position” is probably the hardest position on the team. You are asked to follow the faster dogs while making sure that you supply the extra effort to pull the load. On top of that, you must ensure that when you go around a corner, you guide the sled away from it so to make it around the bend. Otherwise, we end up being slapped in the face by branches.”

“Jacko” aka “the psycho” was a very colorful character. A tall and all white, broad shouldered Snowhound, he had these piercing ice blue eyes that gave the sensation that he could be dangerous but this was not the case. He was a strong silent type but with maybe a couple of serious behavior issues. While he was ever so cool with the ladies, he would never miss the occasion to let the other males in the pack know where he stood. He was not the type to start fights but he sure as hell had finished more than a few. Any other male that would walk around and even show the slightest sign of aggression, would fair game. He would explode into action and state his case. It was in his nature and the musher was aware of this. So to keep peace in the valley, he would shuffle things around so that everybody could be accommodated. So far, we’re painting a pretty bleak picture of the dog and some of us are probably wondering, “Why keep such a beast around?” Well, let’s just say that his great qualities outweigh his faults.
He is a hard worker that doesn’t know what the word “quit” means. He knows his job thoroughly and is one of the most loyal athletes, in the barn. In a bush context where he would be part of an actual “Wolf Pack”, he would be the one that protects the weaker members of the family while providing them with food. Out of all the dogs, he would be the one that would survive in the wild. He can hunt and this can be attested by the number of dead cats and skunks that he has brought to my feet over the last few years. He is a good teacher to the young ones as I have seen him show the puppies how to scavenge the river bank for dead fish and how to encircle a prey and kill it. With my own two eyes, I’ve seen the young ones chase a mallard duck off the pond in “Jacko’s” direction where he jumped six feet in the air to catch it in mid-flight. What was amazing about this incident was that he brought it back to the pups and allowed them to taste their trophy. He shows real parental qualities towards his off springs that he sired with “Alaska” and has for reasons only known to him, taken a special shine to “Vince”.

He had witnessed the fight between the “Kid” and his son that day. This had not impressed him and while waiting for the musher to sort things out, would provide “Vince” with the following advice. “When in harness, my son, work hard like there’s no tomorrow. This is where you’ll become strong. With a few muscles added to that frame of yours, eventually nobody will kick sand in your face.”

Vince had understood the message as stated by his father and the rest of the yearlings had caught on as to what the musher was saying. For the first time, there was a sense of command and control amongst the team.

The musher jumped on the ATV and like a quarterback calling a play, shouted “READY!!!”. The “Old Guard” knew what was coming and started to bang in their harnesses. Seeing this, the young ones joined in and started doing the same. This was always a tense moment as the dogs were digging in their heels in and actually moving the 350 lbs vehicle forward. Making sure one last time that there were no tangles, the musher called the next order of business. “Uptrail”, he said and like a speeding train leaving the station, they were off.

Seeing the inexperienced yearlings match the mature dogs stride for stride and actually pull, brought a sense of relief and a smile to the musher’s face. He still felt shitty about losing his temper towards the young dogs but to see them work told him that he had been forgiven. “I might be back in their good grace,” he said to himself but “Gino” you’re going to have be patient with these new prospects. Look at them. They’re doing this to please you and a bowl full of food at the end of the day. Remember how goofy the “Baisley Mob” was when they started… Yeah, they also had their moments, I guess… = -)

To be continued…

CANINE ETIQUETTES

“Vince... Vince… Are you alright?” they kept harping at him but to no answer. “Is there anything that we can do?” This, they were finding quite unusual and his three sisters were a bit worried by his dead silence. They had been trying to get him to talk for the last few hours but to no avail…

Usually, he was the life of the party at night and would never shut up but on this particular evening, he was as quiet as a church mouse. They had witnessed it all earlier that afternoon as the dramatic experience had unfolded right in front of them. To see their brother being brutally attacked like that by this huge black dog had scared the daylight out of them. They were still too young to comprehend what had transpired but knew that their brother was wounded and had been served quite the lesson.

It was early in September and as you would have it, it was “Hell Week” times five at the “Howl-A-Day Inn”. It was one of those dreaded periods in the dog kennel where chaos would reign for a while. One of the young bitches by the name of “Nikita” had started her menstrual period and her being in “heat” caused a chain reaction that made it that the other four intact females would soon follow with their own cycles. Where one cycle would normally last twenty-one days, when you had five girls going through this back to back, it made the “Best Little Whore House in Texas” look like a convent. There was no real explanation to this peculiar natural phenomena but that’s just the way things happened in a “pack”. When one started, all the other females followed.

As you would have, the males in the barn would not only take notice of these “in season” bitches, they would become totally focused on them and would actually challenge one another as to see who would get a “go” at one of the willing females. These clashes between these “macho” mutts were for real and would be at times, extremely savage.

Unfortunately, that’s what had happened to Vince earlier that day. Although extremely big, he was just still an overgrown happy go-lucky puppy. A fourteen months old “goof ball”, he didn’t really know what was going on nor did he know where he stood in the hierarchy of the pack. Till now, he had always enjoyed his time spending the better part of the last year just playing with or being a general pest to the other dogs. Everybody tolerated his antics and simply attributed his behavior to his immaturity. That was all fine till he decided to shoulder check the “Kid” who was busy sniffing and savoring an area where one of the bitches had urinated. The big black bruiser saw this as a sign of aggression towards him and he would defend his “turf”. He instantly snapped into action and took on the young “buck”.

A prudent move by the inexperienced white dog would have been to back off but Vince had other ideas and decided to hold his grounds. Ending up standing on their hind legs, both determined opponents were holding each other in enveloping “Bear Hugs” while growling and biting each other in the facial area. This “Sumo” wrestling match was for a moment at a stalemate as both dogs weighed in the 70 – 72 lbs range. However, what was to tip the scale in the “Kid’s” favor was his experience and muscle mass. He had been the “Alpha” dominant male for the longest time not because he had beautiful brown eyes but rather because he had fought his way up to that position. He had had a taste at every other male in the barn and then some and had never lost a fight. His time in the trenches made it that “Vince” was not even close to being a serious contender on this day. The “Kid” toppled the puppy on its back and jumped at his throat burying his teeth through the skin in the neck area. In pain, “Vince” tried to get free but the more he wiggled, the more the white fur in the area turned red. The jaws of the “Alpha” dominant male were well embedded and he would not let go until either complete submission or eventual death.

“Kiddddd!!” he screamed from the top of his lungs. “Leave him!” Hearing that voice and knowing that if he didn’t obey, there would be more fur flying and it would be his, the winner released his opponent before the musher could reach the scene. He ran away to a safe distance in the bushes, satisfied that he had taught a lesson to this young punk. As for the disoriented victim, not only was he scared shitless, he didn’t have the slightest clue as to what had happened or as to why. However, he did recognize the man as a trusted friend so rushed over and sat at his feet.

“Holly Shit Vince!” he eventually spoke out after closely examining him. “He got you pretty good!”
“But don’t you worry. We’ll fix you up just as good as new with a bit of peroxide and Aloe Vera”. And on that note, Vince was escorted to the house where he was to be provided with medical care.

“As for you “Kid”, he said before leaving the area, “you’ve done enough damage for a lifetime! Next week, it’s off to the vet and off with the family jewels!”
The big Shepard-Husky mix didn’t have a clue as to what the “Boss” was talking about but two things were sure. He was some pissed-off so best be on our best behavior till the storm passed…

The next morning, when the musher came to feed the dogs and let them out, the young gladiator refused to come out of his pen. He had been administered a severe blow and didn’t know if it was safe to wander outside the perimeter of his stall.

Noticing his absence and wondering how the yearling had faired throughout the night, Granddad “Irving” went to check on him.

“Are you OK there, young Fella?” was his initial question. “Are you hurt bad?”
“I don’t think so.”, young Vince answered in a very sheepish way. “My neck hurts a bit and I have a hard time swallowing but I think I’m all right…”
"Let me check that.” the senior dog of the kennel said. And on that note, he examined him by sniffing the affected area.
“Ah,” he eventually concluded, “you’ll survive. I think the best thing for you right now is to get some fresh air.”
“Yeah but is it safe out there?” his grandson queried, hesitant and worried.
“Walk with me and the musher.” the old dog replied. “Nothing is going to happen if you stick close to him.”

Vince took a chance and followed his grandfather towards the “Puppy Trail”. Quite nervous at the beginning, the young dog soon came to realize that the musher had shuffled things around. He had re-organized them so to see who would go out and in what sequence. During “Hell Week”, this was a necessary evil. All the dogs had their own characters and had their place in the pecking order. While at the bottom of the ladder some were extremely passive, the more you climbed it, the more aggressive they became. At the best of times, all would tolerate each other but when you had this enticing combination of willing bitches mixed in with horny studs, one was just asking for trouble. One would end up with dog fights or even worse, unwanted pregnancies. Even though they were domesticated, these sleddogs interacted between themselves just like a pack of wolves. The males would fight amongst each others to show their superiority thus establishing the cardinal rule of “the strongest and fittest will survive”. These were the simple facts during this time of reproduction within a “pack” and one had to find the right combinations so to give a chance to all the dogs a chance to go outside and stretch their legs.

Vince checked things out while walking with “Old Man Irving” and once feeling at ease, started talking to him.
“You know, I could have kicked his butt there, yesterday”, he said with a renewed cocky attitude. “The reason I fell on my back was because I slipped.”

The old dog didn’t say anything as he knew that it was just the nervousness that was making him talk nonsense.

“Yeah,” his grandson continued, “next time, he might just be in for a surprise.” “And you know what Grandpa? One of these days, I might just run away and form my own gang.”

Irving rolled his eyes but still kept his mouth shut. He knew better. In his lifetime of nine years, he had lived in six different kennels before he was rescued and given a forever home here at Baisley Lodges. Life out there could be cruel for an “Omega” dog like himself. For some reason, everybody would want to use him as a “punching bag”. Both in the human and canine forms, he had been at the receiving end of many fights and beatings. If one was not to believe this, the numerous battle scares that his body now sported would attest to this. Till he met up with this man walking next to him, he had never known a peaceful existence. Consequently, it had taken him a long time to trust this human but when he decided to do so, life became quite agreeable. For his hard work and dedication, he was given two great meals a day and all the water that he could drink. As a bonus, he was treated to his own dry sleeping quarters, something that was quite unusual for sleddogs. The way he saw things, it was worth being the last rung in this particular ladder as this was a good place to live.

“Yeah,” his grandson continued, “I’d like to go out there and show everyone as to what kind of stuff, I’m made of.”

The wise old dog had been observing young Vince since he was brought into this world and although he couldn’t put his finger exactly on it, he knew that this yearling was special. Acting as his mentor, he had decided to take him under his wing and teach him amongst many other things, skills necessary to survive amongst the dog community. The golden rules were simple. Avoid confrontational situations and if you can’t, walk or even better, run away from the fight. This was an excellent way to avoid getting hurt but something that Vince had a hard time to comprehend let alone put into practice. Inside him stirred this ever looming burning sensation that dictated to him that he was destined for greatness. He didn’t know what to make of this but it was there. So Irving continued to be patient with his grandson and kept on preaching the principles of living peacefully within this particular family. Today’s lesson would be “Respect your elders”.

“Vince,” he started, “if you’re going to live any length of time in this pack, it is wise for you to determine, who’s who in the zoo. Some of the older crowd that occupies this piece of real estate are pretty well hard core and set in their ways. It is up to you to adapt yourself to their way of doing things and not the other way around. The “Old Timers” have put their time in and have worked real hard for the musher over the last seven years. That alone should warrant some of your admiration.”

“Wow” the attentive pupil replied, trying to imagine how far they had traveled during that period, “Are you part of that bunch?”

“Well Vince, I have been around for a while also but only have a limited share of this particular partnership. This bunch that belongs to this particular inner circle has a special status around here. The “Baisley Mob” was the beginning of this great adventure when one day…

To be continued…

A DECADE WITH FRIENDS

You know you’re getting old when you go out there and “try” to complete a “two” mile run. Oh for sure, I still manage to plug along and struggle through it but let me tell you, it’s not easy. When one considers that he used to run triathlons, one almost tends to get discouraged when tackling this now considered “monstrous challenge”. Let’s face it, I’m not 25 anymore and as you get older, the body can’t necessarily put into action what the mind dictates.

This was most obvious the other morning when I started out for this morning jog accompanied by “Mosqua” and “Maggie”. We had been back at this particular routine for just about two months now and while the old girl was still enthused about these outings, for my faithful sidekick “Mosqua”, this was to be another story. At almost ten years old, he was no longer impressed by the scenery as he had run this mountain trail more than once in his lifetime. Throughout that decade, he had almost managed to sniff every blade of grass and cock his leg at the base of every single tree along the way. So this particular “loop” was not a mystery to him and he knew exactly where I would terminate my daily run. Therefore, instead of following me, he just went and parked it at the finish line where he would wait for me to return. I hadn’t noticed his absence, this till maybe half a mile down the trail. A bit worried that he wasn’t at his usual spot, by my side, I decided to turn around and go look for him. He wasn’t hard to find as there he was lying in the middle of the field, this big black mass of fur, soaking in the morning sun.

When I got to him, he didn’t really move. Of course, he did acknowledge my presence by slapping that huge tail of his on the dusty trail but that was about it. He was just satisfied to rest there with his head on his front paws pointing in the direction from where I would eventually come out. A bit concerned by this unusual behavior, I asked him, “Are you all right, Old Buddy?” He responded immediately, rolled on his side and started to wag his tail even faster. He had this sad look on his face that said it all… “Hey listen Boss, I can’t do this anymore. If you don’t mind I’ll just wait for you to come back. I’m really tired and this old body of mine just doesn’t want to co-operate.”

And yup, there it was - the reality of it all. Ten years of living with sleddogs had just flown by and one could not even imagine as to where the time had gone. It had simply vanished. Facing the unavoidable eventuality square in the face, this lump rose to my throat and my eyes got a bit glassy. In my old Shepard’s case, the end of this beautiful journey with my “Best Friend Forever” was coming to its end. “Mosqua” still had maybe a couple of good years left in him but who were we kidding. The days were gone where he would pull the sled or chase after me on the ATV. His will to please was still high on his priority list but now instead of retrieving “man size” sticks, he was satisfied walking around with a “toothpick” in his mouth. This bond that “Mosqua” and I had between us was unbelievable. We had shared a most memorable decade together and this through thick and thin. But now the prospect was clear and both of us would have to face the facts of it all. This was part of a dog’s life cycle and now he was probably going to spend most of his remaining time either farting on one of his favorite couches or wait for me in the truck while the younger dogs and I did our thing.

Getting a clear message from my old trusted friend, I patted him on the head, told him to stay and continued on my run. This sad moment I had just had with my “Mosqua” was to make me realize that there were more than a few in the barn that were also nearing retirement. Hell, come to think of it, I had three distinct groups in there. I had the “Viagra” crowd, the racing prospects and the upcoming but dreaded “snot nose” yearlings.

In this day and age where everybody is struggling to make ends meet, one might consider that an easy solution would be that when a dog has outlived its usefulness, it should be put down so to save on some of the expenses. And this avenue is a well traveled path by many mushers out there but not one that I care to entertain. Fortunately for my dogs, Fran and I consider them all members of our huge family first and then working sleddogs after that. When I look at specimens such as the “Kid” and “Vixen” get so excited when I touch a harness or drive by with the ATV, it’s hard to think of them as just “a dog”. Throughout the years, this old crowd has hauled my ass around for over 15,000 miles and for some reason, I feel compelled to owe this bunch of dogs some sort of loyalty. Me and these guys have had one great adventure throughout those years and I don’t think that writing about it truly draws a clear picture of the marvelous times we spent together.

That’s what I was thinking of while I was “huffing and puffing” during my “ultra-mini-marathon”. Then at one point, just as I anticipated, I got into the “zone” and forgot about my aches and pains. Instead, my mind wandered off to the days when this mushing madness started. All those crazy escapades that we had gone through, made me shake my head in disbelief but at the same time they made me smile out loud. If someone would have been out there to see me laugh to myself, he would have thought that I was “three bricks short of a load” but that’s OK… I knew that I was visiting precious periods of my life and to be pegged as an “outcast” was all right in my books. Those dogs had brought a most definite positive spin into my life and it all started with “The Baisley Mob”.

To be continued…