THE LONG WAY HOME

If you were to put it in physical terms, it would be best be described as follows: "PTSD is not like a broken arm. Rather it`s like having that limb amputated and having to re-learn how to live without it." Author: Adrienne Turnbull

According to the GPS, the team was clipping along at an average of 5.8 MPH. This same instrument was also indicating that they had covered almost three-quarters of the distance in this 60 mile race and this was excellent news. However, what was impressing the musher the most was the fact that although the trail conditions were absolutely miserable, not only were the dogs looking in good shape and in great spirits, he was actually relishing the challenges of the experience. Just like an Olympic “8 man” sculling crew, his trail partners were focused and holding that beautiful synchronized cadence. The “Boyz” as well as the only female of the bunch, the mighty “Twister”, all were in the frame of mind that they could not be disheartened at this stage of the game. To put it in canine terms, the going had been “Ruff!” and no “walk in the park” but they would succeed.

The previous evening, the weather channel had forecasted a heavy snow fall and the “white gold” had started to fall early in the morning. Freakishly enough, when they had left the starting chute, the meteorological conditions resembled a lot to what they had seen the previous year when they had run the same CAN-AM race. They had predicted eight to ten inches and from the looks of it they were not wrong as the competitors were being plummeted hard by the system in the backwoods of the Allagash Mountains. So far at that point, the second thirty mile segment had proved to be a grueling twelve miles. Not only would the participants have to deal with a punchy trail, they would have to contend with the extra white thick blanket that now covered it. Where there was once a proper four foot wide avenue, this was now buried and reduced to a single “follow the disappearing tracks of the sled in front of you and hope for the best” type of affair.

“Twist”, a secret weapon if not a ringer that the man had borrowed for the season, could no longer keep up with her lead partner, the musher’s main man, “JR”. Through the last forty-two miles, she had put in herculean determination but the snow was too thick for her small frame and the exhaustive efforts had taken their toll. She was done for the day and would have to be replaced as a leader.

“Sounds like it’s time to take a break there Boyz!” he spoke out loud to the listening team. Then thinking to himself, he reflected, “And now would be a good time to see what he’s made of”.

“Stay” he sang out! And with this said and without the slightest hesitation, all the dogs stopped dead in their tracks. They knew exactly what would be coming next in this well established routine and welcomed this “snack break” wholeheartedly. Going down the line, each and every one got a “pat on the head and a good scratch behind the ears”. This was the least he could do to thank them for that splendid ride they had given him so far. He could tell that they appreciated these gestures but what they really long-awaited for, was savouring that small chunk of “Roast Beef” when he stuck his hand out and presented it to their mouths. That was always the highlights to these “Pit Stops” and the musher always got a kick at seeing them devour that dried up piece of meat. He was always left amazed at seeing that they would work so hard for such a small reward. When he got to the front of the line, he looked into those tired brown eyes and knew that he was making the right decision. Those cute floppy black ears and that sad stare that she was wearing spoke volumes. Although she had done all the rigorous training with the “A” team throughout the season, the “Twister” had proved to be more comfortable being employed as a “speed demon” and did not necessarily take well to being used as a “snow plow”. Right now, the trail settings warranted that the front of the team necessitate that it be fitted with strong long legged dogs that could first of all, find the trail and break it to then guide the team at a decent pace. “JR” had no difficulties with this concept but it had been hard to match him with a partner that would keep up with this “trail eating snowdog”. The musher knew that there was another dog on today’s string that had the balls to take on the challenge but there was one problem… Every time they were loose in the yard at Baisley Lodges, these two “Alpha Dominant” males would clash and sparks would fly between them. Simply put, they just couldn’t stand the sight of each other. The dog that the musher had in mind was a good leader in his own rights but had always worked alongside good old quiet and dependable “Oumak” on the “B” Team. Unfortunately at this juncture, there were not too many tricks left in this “Magician’s Hat” and he needed to pull one more magic trick.

“Rhum, Old Buddy! What do you think? Do you figure that you and JR could get along for the rest of the trip? What about you, JR? Are you willing to put your differences to the side and work with the red guy?” Both dogs were looking at their boss with a certain puzzled stare on their faces. They knew that he was talking to them but weren’t too sure if what they had heard was right. As a matter of fact, all the other dogs were looking around at each other as if to say, “Rhum in lead? Did the musher go completely nuts?”

“Don’t worry about it there Boyz!” he said to Jacko and Vince as if he felt the need to reassure them. “Things are going to be just fine!” Switching them around, Twist was dropped back to point position while Rhum, now partnered with his nemesis JR, would replace her in lead. At this point, the man knew that if they were going to succeed with this specific mission, it was essential that they pick up some speed to make up for some lost time. They had trained long and hard all throughout the winter and right here, right now was where it would be decided. The task at hand was not to win this event. He was racing against some of the biggest names that the East Coast mushing world could muster and it was clear in his mind that he was outdogged. He knew that he had to work within the confines of these parameters and accepted these terms. However, a goal had been set, now six racing seasons ago and he needed to push the envelope so to make this happen. The clock was ticking and it would not wait for anyone.

“All right Boyz, let’s blow tis pop stand!” he said out loud while slugging through the thick snow and making his way back to his sled. “Let’s see if we can qualify”. By this time while he had been snacking his dogs, four other mushers had passed him and were now breaking trail in front of him. Although still very punchy and treadmill like, at least now there was some sort of a defined pathway and the dogs seemed to enjoy chasing the rabbit instead of being the rabbit. He had stuck to a pre-set strategy and from what he was seeing on the string, it was paying off full dividends. The team all had their harnesses embedded deep in their furry bodies and under the leadership of JR and Rhum, they were effectively working together as a finely tuned running machine. To those who were in this race for the glory, this particular team was never considered a serious threat and they would probably mock him behind his back after the final results would be tallied. Our musher was quite aware of this and although it really irked him to the point of crushing his ego, he was really proud of not venturing to the “Dark Side” of racing. Don’t get me wrong, he was strongly tempted to throw caution to the wind out the window with the baby and the bath water but had resisted this invitation. What he was seeing right there, right then and now, was what it was all about. The dogs didn’t look like a bunch of tired run-down mutts. Instead, they were full of confidence with an attitude that they had proved to themselves that they were an all-around dependable dog team that could go anywhere and anytime they felt like it. And that spoke volumes as to what this sport was all about to this old soldier. These four legged friends of his had butted heads with the best of them over the last six years and although he had never even come close to a podium position, the man had always stayed true to his dogs because for some reason, he felt like he owed them something and this something was what they called loyalty. He was most loyal to them and vice versa they were most loyal to him. This strong bond that they had, was for life and not just for one season or two.

The best example of this was “Old Man Irving”. Here he was at nine years old, still doing his thing in the wheel position and this after a grueling six years and with more than 10,000 miles under his belt. Once considered a reject of the racing circuit, he had been rescued for the musher because of his connection to the “Spirit Dogs” world. At that time, he had visited six different locations before finding permanent residence at the “Howl-A-Day” Inn and you could actually tell that he appreciated his upgraded living standards. Contrary to now, the first three years of his life could best be described as a pitiful existence where he had travelled from one kennel to another on both sides of the border and lived under appalling conditions. He had been beaten with chains, almost starved to death and once at his stay forever home, would need to be bombarded with constant treatments for a bellyful of worms and parasites. The person that had brought him had done it out of guilt because he had before reneged on his words and had sold Irving to someone else even after the musher had told him that he would buy the dog. As a result, this had caused a volume of friction between the two “dog men” and this was the guilty party`s way to make things right. When the scared animal had been pulled out of the dog box from the back of that truck, he had this “death stare” in his eyes and looked like hell. After reflection, the musher had still welcomed him aboard. He had figured that with a bit of tender loving care and proper exercise, this poor soul would most likely become a good sleddog and if this was not to be the case, it wouldn’t matter. He would still be accepted as a family member as he was a direct descendant and the son of the original “Vince”. And that was most important to our mushing friend.

According to his mentor, it was imperative that the legend of the “Spirit Dogs” be kept alive. The Tutchone native people of the “Land of the Midnight Sun” believed in their magical powers and so did his old Malecite friend. The original “Vince” had been saved from a certain death by Leonard Lanteigne and he believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that the then puppy possessed such mystical powers. They had gone through almost an entire lifetime together and through those years, there were many instances where “Vince” had pulled some spectacular “tour de force” that at best, could not be explained rationally. Oh for sure, all this Hocus-Pocus could be accredited to exaggerated stories told around a campfire by someone somewhere up there in the “Yukon” but still, there had to be some sort of legitimacy behind all these folktales.

Regardless as to where the truth lied, although our musher did not necessarily believe in the power of the “Spirit Dogs”, he did in fact believe in the power of the “Spirit of the Dogs”. Through his struggles with his particular affliction, these faithful companions of his had brought tremendous amount of joy and comfort and this on a regular and most daily basis. This particular event that they were now participating in, was more than a race against the clock. Instead, it was to be the prelude of an extremely long journey through the darkest dark of all tunnels. The dogs and him had shared thousands of miles together and his canine friends had guided him at getting through this ordeal so to see the bright light at the end of it. To the musher and this was just a personal thing and a matter of principles, it was most gratifying to see these three generations of “Spirit Dogs” out in front on the same gangline. Pushing towards retirement, this would most likely be “Old Man” Irving`s last race as he did not have the needed stamina to keep up with the younger crowd. Although this was true enough, the fact remained that he had many other great qualities. And that Folks was why he had been brought along. Not neglecting the fact that he had always been most dependable, as a bonus he had the heart of a lion. In as such over the years, he had earned his stripes the hard way and had definitely earned the right to be there today. Subsequently, it was only natural that he be allowed to set the “not too fast” or “not too slow” trotting pace for the rest of the team to follow. This was certainly one purpose but the two main reasons for him to be participating in this race, were rather more basic than this.

First, this was the musher`s way to honour this dog`s great contributions at making who the Canadian Snowhounds were – A bunch of recruited misfitted rejects that were to eventually gel into a most loyal and trustworthy bunch of dogs that had kept this old trooper on an even keel. “Old Man” Irving had always been a main participant during those years, never missing a training run and always pounding the grounds through the good times as well as the bad if not hellish ones. For the duration of it all, he had been a faithful mutt and the driver of the sled considered that he owed him this privilege and much more.

Secondly, his grandson had joined them on this trek and this was of some concern to our musher. Young Vince was still a yearling and this was his first real “60 miler” and his first real test at being a mid-distance racing sleddog. At twenty months old and sporting a whopping 65 pounds of muscle mass, he was a hard working concentrated dog who had more than impressed throughout his first training season. Regardless of all this potential and if you were to put it in human terms, he was just a twelve year old child and nobody would expect such a youngster to run competitive marathons. He was in spite of everything still a growing boy and his joints were not fully developed. These grueling events were at the best of times, hard on any seasoned veterans let alone such a young yearling. So yes, even though that through his hard work and dedication, he had forged himself a spot on the team, it was crucial that this race be run with a smart and well-thought out strategy.

So this is why this particular dog team took so many “snack” breaks during this event –“Old Man Irving” could enjoy his last “Kick at the Can” and retire with his head held high while his grandson could learn the ropes so to follow in his footsteps. To see young Vince trotting side by side with his father, Jacko and seeing these three generations run together in the same team was most gratifying to the guy on the runners. Just thinking about it brought a tear to his eye and a lump in his throat. “So many years have gone by since I had this true sense of being part of a great team.” he thought to himself. Then he added, “I really appreciate sharing this moment with you guys.”

Yes just like those “Boyz” that he had the honour to serve with while in the Canadian Armed Forces, this bunch of dogs that shared his daily activities back at the lodges, filled a huge void in his heart which gave him this sense of pride and responsibility. It was so true that there was not much he could do about the circumstances that surrounded certain events that had triggered this long period of seclusion and it was also true that he would never be by far “out of the woods”. However, during those past six winters spent with these beautiful animals on the trail, he had come to realize that the “Baisley Mob” was to be the lifeline that he so desperately needed to keep him sane and alive. Out there in the backcountry with all that solitude, he could focus and find the peace and quiet to really sort things out in his head. Not only had this had done wonders for his state of mind, it had in fact helped him crawl out of his “basement” so to face the realities of what the outside world had to offer. For a career obsessed military man who had lived during all that time with this “kill or be killed” attitude, this was to be no easy task. But, here he was beating the odds set by the “bookies” and proving to others that it could be done. Not too many would have believed then that this more than obese drugged up alcoholic could accomplish such a feat. Nonetheless there he was now, slim and trim and as sober as a judge out there racing sleddogs in mid-distance events. To the many that hadn`t been there to “get the T-Shirt”, this would never be construed as a big deal but to those who could relate to what he was talking about, to them this was a major personal accomplishment. It set the stage to say that for sure there were many other options when it came to dealing with this awful syndrome called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Although in a lot of instances, the prescription pills were a necessary evil to numb the memories and nightmares, there were limits to this gobbling of multi-colored “Smarties”. Besides, there were still these individuals that wanted to face their everyday living and this without becoming that subdued walking-talking pharmaceutical zombie living on “cloud nine”. And for this breed of particular true soldier, that “Man of War”, that so-called “rebel” who still wanted to have control over his own existence, he would dare venture out there so to find that sense of escape. And this folks is what this was all about for our snow covered musher. The “Spirit of the Dogs” had made it so that he could actually live with the past and not be at war with it. It had been a long and arduous journey and this race would be the culmination of what he had learned during this exciting voyage. In his mind, he had reached the other side of that darkest tunnel where there stood a very simple sign that read, “PTSD IS NOT WHAT`S WRONG WITH YOU. RATHER IT`S ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU.” And that, for this simple man was all he needed as an explanation. It brought him the answer that would provide him with that true inner peace that he had been searching for all those many years…

Spotting a shadowy figure in the distance, this brought him back to reality and to the task at hand. He had just become conscious of the fact that he wasn`t the only dog team struggling to finish this race. Here was a perfect opportunity to complete that specific mission that he had set out for that morning. It could still be achieved but this all depended on the dogs.

“What do you think there Boyz? Do you think we still got enough fuel in the tank to get her done? JR, Rhum, what do you think? Do you think we can catch these clowns way out there in front?” It was as if they were just waiting to get the “Go Ahead”. They started yanking on that gangline like there was no tomorrow and the musher could feel that they meant business by the extra boost of energy that exploded through the steering bow right down his arms. They didn`t need to be told twice as to what had to be done and it was as if they were communicating through telepathy. “OK then Boyz, let`s go for it!” he said out loud, confirming with a “Witt- Witt” whistle. “Let`s get her done!”

They were within close to ten miles of the finish line when the two lead dogs together sounded out in one single loud enthusiastic bark. The boss had given them the green light and here they were these two old arch enemies, pulling in harmony and matching each other`s gait, stride for stride. It was beautiful to finally see them put their differences to the side and work together for the betterment of the squad. Never breaking their rhythm, when the entire team brought their trotting speed to a faster pace of 9.8 MPH, this was going to be a “hold on to your hat” affair. Never mind trying to help by peddling or poling, the best and safest thing to do was just to hang on and enjoy the rush. That silhouette grew bigger by the minute and just to make sure that they knew they would be barreling through, the driver belted out “Trail! Coming Through!” Stunned by the unexpected request, this worn-out musher just pulled to the side and waved them on. “Thank You!” the man said as they whizzed by, “We`d chat but we`re late for a very important date.” This same scenario would draw itself two more times in front of them down the trail and our enthused crew of “head cases” was leaving them behind in their dust. This was exhilarating to our musher but when he came across this “30 miler team” stuck and exhausted on the final stretch home, he soon came to his senses, now recognizing the fact that this year`s CAN-AM had been a doozy of a race. All teams had been walloped by stormy conditions and records would eventually show that all contestants of the three events would develop a renewed respect for “Mother Nature”. Seeing this person hunched over the back of her sled and not moving brought some worrisome thoughts to the man. He honestly didn`t know if she was dead or alive. There was also another problem. Where she was stopped, in this tree line, there was very little room to get by her and he was hoping that he could get by without incident.

“JR, Rhum, Haw Boyz!” he requested to his leaders, “Haw!” Like pros that they were, they responded spontaneously to the command and zigzagged their way through a cluster of trees. Pulling up to the side of the other sled, he asked this woman as to how she was making out and she responded that her team was “toast”. He tried encouraging her by telling her that there was only five miles left but she had in her mind that the best thing to do was to scratch. He parked his dog team in front of her leaders and walked down the line checking her dogs. They were a bit beaten up but still had that glitter in their eyes that suggested that they could do it.

“I think that you can do this” he suggested to the discouraged sledder “and if you want to, we`ll wait for you guys.” This seemed to comfort his new trail partner and on that note he went to her leaders and got them motivated. “OK you guys, you follow us!

"JR, Rhum, Uptrail!” Looking behind them, the musher smiled and said surprised at the scene, “Well I`ll be damned. It seems to me like we`ve got a convoy!” Yup, with all this time spent helping this stranded musher, the other teams had caught up. They were now to be no threat to the “Snowhounds” and would be most likely very satisfied just to wait in line so that they could just complete this grueling event. Every time he looked back, the greater the distance was getting between them. Judging that she could probably make it home on her own, he called out his last order of the day. “JR, Rhum, take us home. We`ve got a job to finish!”

When they reached the top of the ski hill, the dogs still had lots of power to spare. Nonetheless, he needed some time alone with them just so that he could thank them for not giving up on him during his times of need. Stopped there, he planted his snowhook and while giving them their last well deserved treats, he talked to them as he would have done when governing his troops.

“You know guys,” he said to them with honest modesty, “it was a real pleasure to have shared these many adventures with such a bunch of swell fellows. In a few minutes, when you do cross that finish line, do remember to hold your head high and feel great about what you`ve accomplished. Although it is true that we have always been considered the “underdogs”, remember what the initial goal was and what we have achieved. As individuals, all of you have brought joy and happiness into my life and for this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. As a collectivity, you proved to the mushing world that even a bunch of “losers” could realize great things when given half a chance. You have shown real strength of character and this is most important and something that should never be forgotten. Yes, she was a tough journey at times and yes we did take the long way home. Regardless of all this, we did finally make it to destination and now the racing sleddog does have a strong voice that speaks for him, a voice that advocates his well-being. Let`s not kid ourselves! It didn`t make us very popular with some of the competition but it was most certainly the right thing to do. “Joe Public” needed to find out that although it appears all rosy viewed from the outside, this is not essentially the entire truth when you look closer at things behind the scene. With our efforts, his perspective has now changed and he is better educated as to how these fine athletes are and should be treated. That Gentleman, in itself, is a major coup and one that you have all participated in!”

After lowering it and after a long pause, he raised his head again to speak directly to the retiring member of the team.

“Irving my man, you were a great trail partner and your determination was certainly most commendable. Today, it is a privilege for me to be standing here in front of you, presenting you with this salute.” Not giving a hoot as to who might be watching, the ex-military man snapped to attention and presented the old dog with this gesture of respect. “Now, if you don`t mind, the lesson is not over. Young Vince still needs to earn his first stripe so at any time that you feel like it, you may lead off this parade.” His old faithful companion and the rest of the mob actually knew what he was talking about and without further direction, they trotted down and marched past the applauding crowd as if to say, “Hey Folks, we`re back! And guess what? We are the proud Canadian Snowhounds and we just qualified for the 250.”

As for our mushing friend, well let`s just say that he had once again one of these “moment”… THE END

Or is it?

PEACE ON EARTH TO ONE AND ALL! AND REMEMBER THAT COLLECTIVELY, WE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE… = -)

Meanwhile back at the barn…

That evening, after the race, when they heard the truck pull into the yard, this brought some more than usual excitement in the barn. “They`re back!” Summer and Nikita were announcing to the remainder of the cheerleaders, “They`re back!”

“So how did it go Vince?” they were all shouting at the same time through their windows. “Did you make it?” The poor young dog was nearly too exhausted to walk to the building never mind answer their questions. Right now, all he wanted to do was to curl up in his dog box and get a good night`s sleep.

“He did quite fine!” Jacko, the proud father interjected while prancing along, escorting him. “He passed his first exam with flying colours.” “Yeah but we want to find out what he thought of it” Kameo insisted. “We want to know all the details!”

“I think that this can wait till the morning, there Girls!” the Kid directed with authority. “I think that for now we`ll just let the young fellow go to bed and call it a day.” This was the old black Husky`s way to acknowledge that he was in the presence of greatness and that young Vince was certainly the chosen one to carry on the work of his ancestors. “Vince my boy,” he finished, “I`m really proud of you, son!”

They were very few basic words but coming from the old bruiser, they would have meant a lot but there was one problem. They had fallen onto deaf ears as the young white yearling was already snoring, dead to the world, already visiting “Dreamland”. There in a sunny snow bright valley in this peaceful Tutchone village, he was welcomed by the elders of the “Wolf Clan” who were celebrating his finding of this forever home. It had been a two century long quest but they were now quite re-assured that at that location he would be able to continue their traditional ways and guide others towards the safety of the bright light.

“Welcome young Vince!” Leonard Lanteigne said, calling him over with open arms and a big smile. “We`ve been waiting a long time to meet you, me and this guy.” And pointing to this beautiful wide chested, crystal blue eyed white dog, he added, “This is your great-grandfather, the other Vince.”

Both dogs walked towards each other, sized each other out then introduced themselves. “Pleased to meet you!” the young one said in genuine embarrassment, “Now, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

“You will find that out, all in due time, young man. For now, let`s just say that the work of the “Spirit Dogs” will be in good hands. “Yeah but?” he tried to continue. “No buts”, his senior insisted, “It is a long story and one that we`ll continue later on…