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…