THE PINK SHED

When my brother-in-law and I retired from our short canoe racing career in 1999, we left that particular adventure, champions and undefeated. After that one particular race on that windy August day, I had vowed that my competitive years would be over and this forever. Let’s face it, paddling like mad men for 20 kilometers against young guys half our age had taken its toll. Winning first place and being honored for our efforts had had its moments of euphoria but the blisters in my hands and the burning sensation in my shoulders and lower back were telling me a totally different story. They were definite signs that at the age of 42, one might want to consider less intensive sports, sports like maybe golf or even lawn bowling. Serge, my canoe partner, had gone that route and I guess after ten years of playing golf, he had become quite proficient at the game. However, for some strange reason, it just didn’t “cut the pickle” for me. Oh sure, I had swung a club or two in my days but never could seem to get any satisfaction at chasing that little white ball across wide open green meadows.

But on that first Saturday of 2009, fifteen miles out on those high plateaus, running like a bastard behind my sled, with an injured dog in the basket and wearing no parka, I was way past starting to regret my choice of hobby. Add to that the fact that with the wind chill factor, the temperature was bouncing up and down in the vicinity of a January New-Brunswick tropical temperature of around - 38 degrees Celsius, and you know what? Training sleddogs was the furthest thing on my mind just at that moment. I was feeling that blistering wind reach my sweaty body and this even through four other layers of clothing. Keeping those legs moving was the only option I could come up with to stay warm so I had been at it for the last two miles and had no intentions of stopping. Hypothermia was a real possibility right now and we had another five miles before we reached that trapper’s camp. Hopefully the old man would be there and I would have a place to warm up and get reorganized. By now, some of you might be wondering as to why I’d be running in the middle of winter without my coat on and to say the least, you have a very valid question? Well let’s just say that “shit happens” and I was dealing with a whole pile of it.

You see, on that particular morning, the sun was shining and it looked like a great day to put in a “20 miler”. Although they had been out a few times during the previous week, the dogs had seen their daily training runs screwed up during the Festive Season. I could tell when feeding them that just like me, they were itching to get back on the ‘trail”. The “Holiday Crowd” had kept me hoping and awake way passed my bed time of 0800 PM. For a guy like me, this was most unusual and not necessarily something that entirely agreed with my system. I needed to settle back into my routine as I had to get back to my mundane comfort zone.

However, I would not have changed anything as after all; it was Christmas, wasn’t it? This particular one was going to be special as on the guest list for this occasion was an old “army buddy” and a real good friend, Bruce and his sweetheart of a wife, Heidi. This guy had made a supreme effort to come down from Ontario to visit. Considering that he had just finished a bout of cancer treatment during the month of November, I had promised myself that we would spend a lot of quality time together. Remembering how we used to enjoy poking them back, I was going to “go off the wagon” and make an exception so got well prepared and bought four cases of “24s”. If we were going to get some serious drinking done, we would do it right, so I thought. As it turns out, although the intention was there, the weakened condition associated with chemotherapy was to dictate how me and my friend would visit. Also, considering that he had suffered a “stroke” in the past and was presently on medication for possible blood clots, well this sort of “sobered the mood”. I was soon to realize that a true friend would not try to influence a person in such a fragile condition. This was not what he needed at the time. Instead, what “Dr Gino” would recommend was large doses of rest and relaxation and maybe some fresh air that is if he could get off the couch and leave the comfort and warmth of the wood stove. I think that both of us were mature enough to recognize the fact that this was the more prudent way of dealing with the situation. Besides, there would be future “get togethers” and I don’t think that even if we were in the middle of a world wide recession, they were not going to quit brewing beer. Bruce, I know you read this stuff so I’ll say it again, “It was great to see you. Get well and stay healthy, Buddy. There will be a next time.”

Also, although another cottage had been reserved for that same period, it remained empty as the client was stuck in a snow storm, somewhere between Montreal and here and this while traveling with eleven (11) sleddogs. I had been getting regular daily updates since his tentative departure on the 21 Dec 08. From I could gather, I could tell that this guy was a most determined person. Considering that he was so adamant about making it to destination and that I had seen his name on the “CAN-AM 30” list, I would take this opportunity to check out or even better “spy” on the competition. The principle of “know your enemy well” was as old as the hills but was one that could be adapted very well to this scenario. Being a strong believer that you don’t go into a situation without being very well prepared, I would observe and analyze this opponent. My team needed all the insights that I could muster and we would not go into that race without proper “intelligence”. This was one of the fundamentals of “winning” and besides, the “Baisley Mob” had become the talk of the town as a possible threat and some of these folks racing in Fort-Kent were now discreetly sizing me up. Although this unwanted attention had gone to my head, this had to make me laugh. If they only knew that my intentions were to simply go out there, explore new territories and enjoy the ride. But then again, after reviewing the list and assessing the possibilities, I had started to see things in a different manner. There was no way that I could win this race but the potential of finishing in the top “10” positions was in the scope of things. My guys had worked extremely hard at getting to the level of conditioning they were in and if we were to participate, why not give it our best. What I was not realizing there and then was that the old competitive nature of my inner “beast” had taken over and was dictating my existence. I had unconsciously reverted to this “GI Joe” mode and was treating this adventure as a military operation and this right down to leopard crawling up the garage attic and retrieving my old “army” webbing. This was to compliment my “Ghung-Ho” look and after slapping that sharp hunting knife on it and putting the belt on, I was amazed that it fit after all those years. Obviously, I knew that I had lost a lot of weight but this was a true testimony that I had reached my goal. I had changed that “shit locker” for an “hour glass” figure. It had been a “ruff” go on my “arthritis riddled” body but the physical exercise had done wonders to my mental state. Those doses of endorphin put me a smooth calmed “Zen” like state and I was amazed as to how I had forgotten how this “runner’s high” felt so great. I was hooked and would continue to get my daily “fix”. This was great but I was not alone in this endeavor. I was pushing the dogs too hard and it was starting to show. Some were walking with stiff hind legs while others were more aggressive than usual. These were signs but what the hell, it would teach them “tolerance”. When I would bed them down for the night, I was getting irritated by their non-eating of their meals. They had to eat as they had to keep up their strength. But this was not to happen. Instead, they would just crawl to the comfort of their dog houses and go to sleep or was it to just maybe get away from me. After a few nights of this, I got irate, shut the light out and stormed out of the barn. “Well, piss on you guys” I told them one evening, “You’ll bloody well eat when you’re hungry.” Walking away, steaming, I was pissed off that things weren’t going my way. Without realizing it, I had set myself in a frame of mind where I had entered the “dark side” of the sport and was treating my dogs as tools and a means to glorify my somewhat over-inflated ego. Now would have been a good time to suck back and reload but no, the guy was on a mission.

As you would have it, in the tradition of the “Red Lantern” where it is kept flickering till the last musher comes in, it was finally extinguished when Luc pulled in the yard on the 26 Dec 08. Parking in front of the “Bunkhouse”, I have to admit, it was an intimidating sight. This truck had to be the most expensive mushing rig, seen so far at “Baisley Lodges”. This brand new black Ford F-150 with sixteen (16) dog boxes was there, overshadowing my old 1986 “dog buggy”. Big and powerful, it seemed to project the image that said, “Welcome to the Big League. May we suggest that you get your act together or better yet, get out of the way?” After our initial meeting, I helped this individual with his settling in. This long trip had probably been hard on his dogs and this would need to be addressed immediately. At Fran’s suggestion, we turned her car porch into a “manger” and installed his “tie-outs”. As soon as I started lifting and installing the animals on the “drop chains”, I could tell that these “pups” could be serious contenders. This was soon to be confirmed when Luc introduced me to his team, ensuring that I was aware that he had gone to out of his way to “stack up his team”. If this was to be true, these dogs had pretty impressive pedigrees and quite the racing records. Compared to this, my “Canadian Snow Hounds” looked like they just did not belong. Let’s face it, they were a bunch of misfitted rejects that had been pooled together and called a “team”. This whole scene was having some psychological effect on me and the clincher was when he pulled this $2500.00 “Cooper” racing sled. This guy had spared no expenses to ensure that he would have that “winning edge”. Nothing had been left to chance. It seemed that he owned everything that the mushing racing world considered “high-tech”. And to say that most of my gear, I fabricated or bought at the local “Wal-Mart”.

Anyway, the gauntlet had been thrown my way and knowing that I would never back down from a good challenge, I started to seriously keep tabs on a future adversary. Tactics were used that sent the message that my team was a bunch of wimps. What else could I do? When I saw him pull that “4G” right-hand turn and tackle the uphill segment of “heart break” hill at just under eighteen (18) miles an hour, I just knew that the dogs and I were outclassed by this bunch of expensive purebreds, called “Alaskans”. So the poker face was put on and I sat there waiting for the right time to pull a perfect future ambush. Oh deep inside, I knew this wasn’t the right approach and such stunts should not be pulled on a fellow musher. However, the old competitive addiction was rearing its ugly face and I just couldn’t help myself, I needed to feed this old habit. So this was to set the stage as to why I was running in the middle of winter without wearing a parka.

You have to understand that the “intelligence” report suggested that I needed to test the waters so to see where I stood against other teams. During his week long stay, Luc had mentioned a thirty (30) mile race in a place called St-Pamphile, Quebec, an eight (8) dog configuration event that he had entered. Of course, this had not fallen into deaf ears as the event could serve as a good benchmark as to where my dogs rated when sizing the competition. What the hell, “Snooky” and “Gidget” had been alternating back and forth as spares to the “A” Team therefore I had enough dogs to enter. So on that faithful morning, my intention was to hitch seven (7) dogs on my way to eventually build up to a full compliment at a later stage. Not considering the fact that I’ve got brand new sections of ganglines hanging in the “main foyer”, I decided to use an old one that had been given to me by an old musher who had dropped a whole bunch of gear off last summer. I should have known better than to use this rotten segment of rope but it was closer at hand and I was too lazy to walk the extra ten steps to get a new one. At the trail head, I added this section right in front of my “wheels” then hitched the “Boys” and “Gidget” the midget. When we took off, I don’t know if it was because of the excitement of having a girl on the team or the three day rest period but the team was pulling like there was no tomorrow. We were clipping right along and were at least ten (10) miles into the run when suddenly, I heard this “snap” sound and the pulling sensation, leave my steering bow. I looked up only to see that the powerful steam locomotive had detached itself and was leaving the caboose behind. Yup, that stupid gangline had broken right in front of the “Kid” and Irving and five (5) dogs were running full tilt and leaving us in their dust. “Stay “JR”, stay” I kept screaming but this was not to happen. “Oumak” had in his mind that he would lead the “parade” today and had taken over the situation. My two “wheel dogs” were still pulling me and my sled, trying to catch up but this was not to happen. Faced with prospect of losing dogs or even worse, have some of them killed, I decided to address the problem immediately and slowed my “two dog” team. We needed to conserve energy as this could be a long haul. All this time, I’m whistling for the team to come back and from I could see in the distance, some were responding, trying to stop and wait for us. But what I was focusing on more was the leadership struggle in front of the team. “JR” and “Oumak” were snapping at each other while running. I can only guess that one wanted to stop while his partner wanted to run. When they get to the junction where we’re supposed to turn right to complete the twenty (20) mile run, they go straight instead. “Oh Fuck” I whispered to myself, “this smells like disaster.” That road led a series of avenues that we avoided visiting because of all the motorized traffic using it. The thought of them meeting up with a pick-up truck or even worst an “18 wheeler” fully loaded with logs made my stomach turn. The nausea I was feeling suddenly brought my morning coffee up and I vomited close to half a cup, leaving a brown trail along the snow bank. By now, they were nowhere in sight but I knew they were still in front by the paw tracks. From what I could gather, they were following a deer but who knows for sure. Then a ray of hope presented itself. That “dear deer” veered left into a small trail, a pack of dogs following. There was no way I would take the “Kid” and “Irving” in there, so I planted the anchor and told them to stay. In knee deep snow, I trumped after them. I didn’t know how far ahead they might be but at least they were no longer headed towards a heavy traffic area. I was huffing and puffing through the deep white stuff and had been at it for at least ten (10) minutes when I heard the jingling sound of a brass snap. I whistled so to make sure that they knew it was me and one of them responded by whining then barking. “Sox, buddy, is that you?” From the answer, I knew I had finally caught up to my dogs. This sense of relief was short lived when I saw the messy sight. The dogs were there all right, all tangled amongst each other and around trees but it was not good. There was blood all over the place on the animals as well as on the snow. Panic struck in when I saw “Jacko” lying there, motionless, wrapped around the bottom of a tree. Was he still alive, I wondered? I didn’t know but the matter had to be dealt with immediately. I grabbed that hunting knife from my belt, pulled on that gangline that was choking him and cut it. This relieved the pressure around his neck and he started to move. However, this slacked off the tension on the rope and my two leaders were still having issues and got at it. The way they were stuck, one was to survive and one was to die. There was to be a fight to the finish and they were seriously inflicting some deadly wounds on one another. I got in the middle of the “mêlée” but this was a big mistake. “Oumak” lunged at me and bit me. Protecting myself with my forearm, he fortunately settled his teeth into my thick mitten and was for now venting his anger towards it. “JR” saw this as an attack on my person and attacked him, embedding his strong jaw in his skull, initiating more blood to drip from the side of his partner’s head. “Let go, “JR”, I commanded, “let go!” This was not to transpire and from the growl and rage I could see in his eyes, I could tell that if I was to save “Oumak’s” life, drastic measures would need to be used. Without hesitation, I cocked my naked left fist and drove him one in the side of the head. The blow of the impact sent him flying backwards but he didn’t go too far as he was still being restrained by the neckline. But it had the desired effect and he came back to his senses. I managed to undo his neckline snap, releasing him from those close quarters and he backed off. My gray leader still had a grip on my mitten and would not let go. “Oumak,” I suggested, past the point of being annoyed by this dog that would listen when it suited him, “you better give it up, buddy. If you keep this up, one of us is going to stay in the woods. I can guarantee you that.” Hanging there, just standing on his two hind legs, it was like he was possessed by the devil. He was scary to look at and every time I moved that hand, he gave it a shake with his head. “Let go, Oumak, let go.” No way would he cooperate and the decision was made. Seeing the shiny chrome blade glitter in the sun, I nonchalantly recovered that hunting knife from the ground and settled it comfortably in a tight grip in my left hand. There was no way that I was not going to leave my skin out here. If this was a matter of survival, the dog would lose. “For the last time, “Oumak”, let go.” “Non, “Oumak”, I tried in French, “Non.” This struck a chord with him. His ears went back straight up in the air and that “fire” from his eyes just went out. “Bon chien, “Oumak”, bon chien.” I continued in my mother tongue. Sure as hell, I had just solved a four (4) month old mystery. This dog had been raised listening to French and I only had assumed that he would learn English. “Bon chien Oumak. Bon chien.” This seemed to re-assure him and he started to moan and then released his grip. He then just sat there wagging his tail and looked up at me with that “Colgate Smile”. “How could I stab such a beautiful face?” I wondered, still trying to sheave that knife in its scabbard. This was quite the challenge right then. I had just injected myself with an overdose of adrenaline and my hands were shaking from the rush.

I don’t really recall how long this episode lasted but when the dust settled down, I assessed the situation. My team was in sad shape. Except for “Gidget” all of them were sporting new bite marks. I don’t know exactly what had happened when they all got tangled up but I don’t think that it had been pretty. I examined the various injuries and deducted that except for a deep gash in “JR’s” left front leg, none of the other dogs would be affected too much. With a little time and some “Aloe Vera”, they would be left with a few more battle scars but would live to “soldier” on. As for “JR”, I would have to stop the bleeding so I took some snow in my hand and applied it and pressure directly to the area. While holding it there, I was looking around and trying to figure out how the hell I would get out of there.

A plan was hatched and I released all the dogs and let them run loose, all of them except for “Oumak”. I didn’t trust him. Holding on to him with one hand with my pieces of gangline in the other, we all made our way back to the sled and my two other dogs. When we got there, it was like they hadn’t seen each other for years. They were having a family reunion and all playing together like nothing had ever happened. Here again, “Oumak” was treated different. I had no plan of losing him, so I tied him up to a tree while I knitted a makeshift gangline. I used what was still good from the original one, then used the spare lines I kept in my “webbing” pouch. I still didn’t have enough to hitch the whole team so I used my boot laces as well as the draw string from my parka. Staring at this mishmash of a setup, it did not appeal to me but if it got the job done and got us out of the woods, then who cares about how it looked. I called the dogs and hooked them back on my very “low-tech” pieces of rope. When, I put “Oumak” next to “JR”, everything seemed to be back to normal. “Now, take it easy you guys. I don’t know how good this thing is.” “Oumak,” I translated in French, “gentil.” We were way off track with this run and had to find a short-cut so to get back. I didn’t know how “JR’s” leg was going to take the rest of the trip so rather take it slow and check things out. A route was chosen and “uptrail” we went. It didn’t seem to affect him and the fragile gangline was holding. Now, if I could only settle down on those runners, relax and make it back home. This seemed to be the message that the team had captured except for “Jacko”. For unknown reasons up to this day, he just didn’t want to pull. Instead, he was not only neck lining, he was trying to stop the team. Every time, we stopped and I checked him, I just couldn’t see what the problem might be with him. All I could notice was that he was shaking like a leaf. “You OK, buddy?” I asked trying to re-assure him. “You’ve got to keep up. We’ve got to make it back to the truck.” This was to no avail. He just didn’t want to run. Hoping that this was a temporary thing, I unhitched him and let him run behind. I needed to establish if he was limping. No, this was not the problem. I put him back in his spot and he just didn’t want to work. I knew we were coming to a very treacherous segment of the trail and slowed the team right down to a walking pace. Still neck lining and basically walking on his two front legs, he stepped in a “moose” track, tripped and fell, face first on the icy surface. “Bang” and he was down. Out cold, he was being dragged along by his neck, his tongue hanging and his eyes opened. For sure and this for a second time in the same day, I thought he was dead. I stopped the team, rushed to his side and unhooked him. He was stiff as a board and when I leaned over to listen, I couldn’t hear him breath. I had resurrected a dog in the past by giving him “mouth to mouth” and this seemed to be another one of these occasions where CPR needed to be performed. I started massaging his rib cage with some pumping pressures and this worked. I guess he had the wind knocked out of him in his fall and now he was coughing and catching his breath. “You OK, buddy.” I told him, looking at those sad blue eyes, “You scared the shit out of me.” I tried helping him up but he could not stand. I lifted his upper lip and saw that instead of being a normal pinkish color, his gums were white. This was a telltale sight that either he was in shock or subjected to frost bite. “Piss on this” I told myself, “Put him in your basket and take him home that way.” This did not sit well with him and he was trying to get out and away from the sled. Considering that this would have been a good time to have a sled bag along, I just couldn’t conceive as to how stupid I could be, traveling way out here without having the proper equipment. I just couldn’t leave him behind so I surrendered my parka. I put him in there, zipped it up and tied the sleeves to the side of the sled. “Oh, you stupid ass!” I kept repeating to myself, “A bag and maybe matches are not a luxury out here, you know.”

So, “Valderi, Valdera” I went, headed to that trapper’s camp. It was not easy trekking considering I had no boot laces but what the hell, the sun was shining and I was still able to continue. During that last five miles, the problems kept piling on top of on other. I broke my brake to then twist my left foot. Yup! And to think that some people play golf. Note to self, “Review this mushing crap and evaluate if it’s all worth the headaches.” By now, not only was I getting tired but I was also getting quite discouraged. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was freezing to death in that white-out, I would have stopped there, sat down and cried. “Why did I always put myself through these miseries?” At 52, one should leave such things alone. “Bull Shit” I scolded myself, “we’re not going to pack it in. We’ve seen worse and this is nothing.” There was no way I was going to let this thing beat me. I was going to make it to destination, so I closed my eyes and kept running.

I reached deep inside and went looking for that “dead soldier” rage that had helped me with this getting in shape. I was thinking of those three latest casualties, yeah three more had fallen on their swords in Afghanistan, and was looking to exploit that fury that it generated within my loins. “Hey you guys?” I asked as if they could hear me. “Are you out there? If so, I could use a little help, just about right now. If you’ve got a bit of courage to spare, I sure could use some.” Then it dawned on me. Had I become part of the silent majority? I had been so busy with my own little private life lately that I couldn’t even remember what the names of those three Canadians were. They had died and this just six (6) days before on the 27 Dec 08 and for the life of me, I just couldn’t remember. “Come on, Gino, what were their names? I concentrated trying to remember but could only recall that they were Non Commissioned Officers of different ranks. Opening my eyes once in a while to check on our progress, I would then again close them and continue my visit with these three unknown comrades. Instead of feeling a bunch of negativity, I had found myself in a zone filled with calmness and positive energy. I was thinking of all those other brave men around the world that were giving their lives for whatever cause they believed, was right. It didn’t matter which side you rooted for. At the end of the day, the blood that runs through everybody’s veins bleeds red. We were at the threshold of a global religious war and no one seemed to want to back down. I wondered if all those who believed that soldiers should die for such noble religious beliefs, had considered what happens in the “after life”. If heaven did exist for all of them then did they continue to fight up there and if not, why wait till they got there. Wouldn’t it be logical just to go to a “neutral corner” and like John Lennon would say, “Give Peace a Chance”. If living in harmony was not right now an option, at least maybe we should try to tolerate one another? I’m sure that there were some cool heads on both sides of this present conflict, wise men that could see that there would never be a resolution to this “world domination” game. Were they now looking for some form of compromise? Hell, what would happen if the next President of the United States, Barack Obama would actually come on TV one night and offer an “Olive Branch” to the so called insurgents. I know it’s kind of a simplistic way of looking at very complicated world affairs but then again war mongers were making it confusing. And besides, what would it hurt? Nothing really. The present overall plan was to fight to the bitter end and it wasn’t going anywhere. Somebody had to talk the “first step”. So why not try thinking outside the box.

I came back to the task at hand when I noticed that I was picking up speed. When I opened my eyes, I was going down that last hill. I had made it to destination but was again to be disappointed. Looking at the chimney and seeing no smoke, I could tell that my friend the trapper hadn’t been around that day. “What to do? What to do?” was the question that ran through my head. Three options were possible. First, I could bust the cottage door down and make a fire. This was logical but would not make me very popular with the owner. The second one would be to push on and continue the remainder of the last four mile trip. I wasn’t doubting the capability of the dogs as they had just finished showing me that they were up to any challenge. However, my legs and arms were gone and I needed to rest a bit. The final option was to see what was stored inside the “Pink Shed”. I would check what was available to me in there then would decide to either stay or move on. We were somewhat protected from the winds in this valley so we would make a “pit stop”.

Planting the anchor and telling the “Mob” to stay, I walked over to the tin covered building and investigated what it contained. The initial thing that I noticed was how much warmer it was in there with the sun beating down on the metal. That was a “good thing”. Amongst the beaver carcasses hanging upside down anywhere and everywhere, were located a few “Canadian Tire” plastic tarps and something that struck my fancy, something we refer to out here as a “pulp mill” blanket. The best description to identify such an item would be to say that it’s some sort of thick brown wool carpet that the pulp and paper industry uses to fabricate their product. When deemed useless, they throw this material out where it often ends up being recuperated by people, washed then made into blankets. They’re not too soft to the touch but this particular one was a welcomed sight. I grabbed it and wrapped myself in it. Immediately, I could feel the warmth of it do amazing things to my body. I touched the wall from the inside and could feel the heat. Confident that it was a lot warmer inside this shed than outside, I decided that I would tend to “Jacko”. The pour soul had not moved too much since his “head plant” and if there was a possibility, I would retrieve my parka.

I returned to my team and opted to let them all run loose. This was providing me with a better chance of not losing my sled. I didn’t trust that the anchor would hold them for any length of time and was afraid that they might take off again. When it came to “Oumak’s” turn to be untied, I hesitated then set him free. “Buddy,” I told him, “this is it. Whether you become a full member of this team or you fuck off, right now I don’t give a “rat’s ass. It’s entirely your choice and I hope you make a good one.” On that note, I attended my patient. He still didn’t look too good. He was still shivering and was kind of limp. I picked him up, parka and all and transported him to our humble abode. I grabbed one of those tarps, sat down in a corner with “Jacko” between my legs and started to share body heat. I was proceeding to bundle ourselves up in a “cocoon” when suddenly something strange happened. All the dogs showed up at the doorway and wanted to come in. Thinking that it was the raw meat that was attracting them, I scared them away. They left only to come back a few seconds later. This time, only “Sox” and “Gidget” ventured to step in. They approached us as if they wanted to check on their trail partner. “What’s up guys? You want to see if he’s all right? OK, come on and look.” I made an opening so they could sniff him and they hesitantly came. But, instead of just smelling him, they both flopped down with us. As if he was looking for some kind of approval, “Sox” put his head on my knee and looked up at me. All I could see were these new scars in his facial area and two large bags sagging under his eyes. “Yeah, Buddy! I think you’re right. I think I’ve taken this competition stuff a bit too far. I don’t think we’re enjoying this any more. Staring at us as to say “What about us?”, there stood the rest of the pack, waiting to be invited in. “All right you guys,” I signaled at them to come. “Group Hug!” All came except for my two leaders. “Now what?” I asked, specifically addressing the question to “JR”. Are you guys best of pals, all of a sudden? All right, come on “Oumak”, we’ll make some room for you.” For some reason, he knew what I was talking about and rushed in. “JR” followed suit and here we were all getting along in one mess of a gaggle but like the dogs, I didn’t care. Compared to that sub-zero weather out there, it was warm and to tell you the truth quite cozy. We stayed in that shack for close to two hours and most of the time, the dogs were sleeping, snoring and farting. “Holy Jeez, “Kid”, couldn’t you have gone outside. He just opened his eyes, fanned the smell out with his tail and went back to sleep. Lying there, I had a lot of time to think and although at no time, I had feared for my life, this entire escapade that day had been quite a lesson in humility and an eye opener. Add to that this quiet peace of mind I was feeling, sharing this very basic experience with my “friends” and you know what,? This mushing business was not for everyone but for me it beat drinking a “Manhattan” at the “19th hole”. Racing these dogs might still be part of our future but I would not do it at all costs. These guys were not machines and I was not going to treat them as such. They were too valuable “family members” to be treated like dirt.

While I pulled a four (4) inch nail out of the wall to fix my sled brake, I found some bailing twine in that “palace” and took this down time to better fix my gangline. While at it, I used some of this string to tie my boots. “Jacko” was getting some color back and looked warm wearing my parka. He didn’t seem to want to give it up, so I chose to have him continue the trip in the sled. So to compliment this “Hillbilly” look, I cut a hole in that brown blanket, put it on a coat and tucked it in, nice and snug with my “web” belt. I hitched the team up and it simply amazed me as to how they fast they could recover. It was getting dark and it was time to finish this day as we had been on this “adventure” for the last nine (9) hours. Fran was probably wondering where we were so we had to get home. We took off and were coming back to the trail head when I realized that the team had passed the ultimate test and had ran over thirty (30) hard miles today. From my perspective, they had managed to haul my sorry ass out of trouble and they had nothing else to prove and this to nobody. Yeah, we might participate in that CAN-AM race but “cool” heads would prevail.

I got to the truck, gave them their liver treats and unhitched them. All of them found the depth and comfort of a dog box, all except for “Oumak”. Instead of settling in, he jumped in his all right but laid there, his head out, front paws hanging. Looking at that grin again, I had a suspicion that he had decided that this bunch of misfits weren’t that bad after all and he might just as well hang around and stick it out. Who knows what might happen next? “Welcome Home, Buddy!” I told him patting him on the head before closing his door. “Glad, you’re on board.”

While driving home, like if they were intimate friends, the names of those three dead servicemen came back to me. “WO Gaétan ROBERGE, Sgt Gregory KRUSE and Pte Michael Freeman, wasn’t it? I was amazed as to how it seemed to be clear now. Staring at “Venus” up there in that clear dusk sky, I concluded my day by saying my version of what I’d consider a prayer. “Gents, it was a pleasure traveling with you today. Be well and God Speed!” P.S. If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.

Oh by the way, I’ve since returned to visit the trapper and explained why his blanket had gone missing for a few days. He said that it was all right and besides, he owed me one. But that’s a totally different story altogether…


Peace on Earth to one and all. Collectively we can make a difference.

Later Folks,

Gino

IT COMES IN THREES

Hi Everyone,

My name is "Leonard" and my job today was to put a smile on your faces before you read on...

Boy, was I some glad to see the last two weeks done and over with. They were more eventful than I bargained for and I guess the high levels of anxiety associated with them brought the old nemesis back visiting. When he says that I can’t handle it, I have to admit that my friend the psychologist might be on to something. It’s not that I can’t take stress, it’s just that it has real negative effects on my system and when I go into “survival” mode, I’m not exactly the most amiable individual. Let’s revisit and have an overview look of what transpired and how it played havoc with my inner self .

Well, there was “the finishing in time” of the extension on the barn. It needed to be complete for “Alaska” and the arrival of the new pups. Then there was the crappy “between season” weather. All that good training that the team and I had put in, would it be going to waste? The purchase of that new snowmobile didn’t necessarily have a positive impact. I had been struggling with this idea all summer and had now made the plunge. Now I had a brand new “Skandik” to groom my trails but was worried if it would be worth the investment. Then last weekend, we get the phone call from Winnipeg, Manitoba. My poor blind brother-in-law has to find the courage to inform us that his soon to be spouse has just passed away. While Fran is trying to comfort him, I’m watching the news where they’re announcing that three more Canadian soldiers have been killed in Afghanistan. Oh, how I could feel the “pressure cooker” on the verge of popping its top. Then to add insult to injury, I walk to the barn only to find out that two new born puppies had not survived the unexpected Sub-Zero weather. Lying there outside by the door of the doghouse, they were there, these two little lifeless bodies. Picking up these tiny tikes, I was going to check if there was something to do but by their stiffness, it was clear that they were dead. I examined them very closely and could not initially figure out what happened. Alaska came out, still wanting to protect these babies and questioning what I was going to do with them. She tried to put one in her mouth so to bring it back inside but I pulled away. “Sorry my girl, these two are gone.” I told her while petting her under the chin. “Now, how many are left in here?” I asked her. I reached in and patted around the premises but couldn’t feel anything and had drawn the conclusion that the nest was empty. All that previous excitement of the prospect of having new puppies had just been shattered and here I was full of sadness and disappointment. Holding the two “four day old babies”, I started looking for clues as to possibly identify what might have happened. Well, one thing was for sure, one was missing its tail. From the looks of it, the male must have been born, coming out in a breached position and the mother must have tugged on it to accidentally cut it off. As for the little female, I couldn’t comprehend what had transpired as she looked like she had all her parts. I was feeling sorry for them and was overpowered by this somehow familiar guilty trip. I was again wondering if I should have gotten involved in this affair or minding my own business was the right thing to do. Decisions, decisions, what should one have done? After sitting there in that tight corner of her kennel for the better part of half an hour, I had concocted a plan as to how I would dispose of the remains. On that note, I managed to erect my cramped stiff body in an upright position and headed out. I was gently putting the two babies in my parka pocket when all of a sudden, I heard this again “peep peep” sound. Surprised to hear it, I pulled them out of there, questioning if I had been wrong with my initial assessment. No, these two little guys were surely gone. So where was it coming from? This noise soon changed to a loud “crying baby” sound and it was definitely coming from “Alaska’s” doghouse. I again crawled on my “fours” and reached inside. I could feel the mother’s body and while making my way across her abdomen, I located a lump that just didn’t belong. Although it had quieted down, this thing was moving and just not part of her anatomy. “Hey Girl,” I said as if I was asking her permission to touch her there, “Are you holding out on me.” “Do you think I could look at what you got there?” She didn’t seem to mind so I again felt for the curious package. Once I homed in on the warm lump again, I ever so gently disturbed it from its meal and brought him out. Yes, here he was this little fat white fur ball of a character. With its eyes still closed shut, he was not impressed and was moaning to go back to the comfort and warmth of his mother’s belly. “Hold on there, big fella. I just want to see who I’m dealing with.” Yup, this male had survived and when I compared his size to the one of his siblings, it was obvious that in their short lifespan, they had not mastered the art of feeding. Compared to him, they were skinny, anemic and way smaller. It had become apparent that although the cold might have been the final blow, the poor things had most likely starved to death. Had I been cruel to let things run their course or should I have taken over the maternal duties. In this instance, I wasn’t too sure where the line had to be drawn. I had seen so many occasions where humans had meddled with nature that I knew that the latter option was one to be less considered. I was reminded of this every time myself and the dogs went for a walk on the “puppy trail” around the property. Ducks would swim alongside us on the river, waiting for a handout. As you see, in the summer, cottagers think it’s cute to give bread to the baby ducklings. These little quackers don’t know the difference and they get used to this routine. Consequently, they don’t learn to fend for themselves and once the summer folks are gone, us permanent residents are stuck with the chore of feeding them. There was a classic example of that earlier that morning when I let the dogs out. Here was this stupid mallard, just sitting there on the ice, its back facing a blistering north wind with its head clutched under his left wing. He heard us coming so alerted to our presence. “Good Morning, Merlin” I greeted him. “Now, don’t you just regret your decision of not going south for the winter?” “Quack, quack” he rebutted. He didn’t have a clue as to what I was talking about as he repeated the same thing every day. It was just his way to get some attention and remind whoever that he needed to be fed. I know it wasn’t right but the harm had been done way before I got involved, so guess what? I gave him his “daily bread”.

It was almost 0900 hrs, that Saturday and the undaunted task had still not been performed. It had been close to three months and to tell you the truth I hadn’t missed it one single bit. What was most ironical about the “lull in the action” was that it directly corresponded with the Canadian elections held in November. From what I could gather, our present Prime Minister was one “smart cookie”, a bit arrogant if you ask me but I was sure that the “non dying” of soldiers could be somehow directly linked to some order received from the “Ivory Tower”. Hell, the way I saw it, he didn’t want to take a chance of losing his elections by having attention drawn to the symbolic number of 100 casualties. This would make this war even more unpopular with the general public so why take a chance. Was I the only one that could see through this smoke screen. No, there had to others. Some might insist that I could be wrong with my analysis but for some reason, I doubted it. Hadn’t they completely blacked out the news broadcast of that kidnapped reporter. By pure coincidence, was she not abducted during that same election period. Come on folks, this might be a good time to wake up and smell the coffee. We were being manipulated and this had been going on for what now, close to seven (7) years. Had they just not showed us that if there is a political will, people don’t necessarily need to die. Then again, who was I to criticize. I’m just an old “brain fried” soldier that has rebelled and turned his back on this fucked up system, we call a “Democracy”. I knew I was real bitter that morning but let’s face it, what we’re looking at has no democratic values, not one single bit. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m probably the most loyal and patriotic individual that you’ll ever meet on the street. I believe in what Canada has stood for and this for ages. We are a peace loving nation that has always managed to rise to the occasion and shine, by helping our neighbor. This crazy killing of the so-called militants is not our style. Of course, I agree that if someone is trying to kill me, I’ll defend myself but what do you expect. Let’s put the shoe on the other foot and see how we would react. Let’s just imagine that the “Talibans” decided to cross the Pacific and try to invade and take over the Alberta “Tar Sands”. Wouldn’t we want to defend our livelihoods. I think that we would. And you know what, we would probably be twice as nasty and most likely even deadlier. Whether we like or not, we’re part of a huge puppet show where the “masters”, a rich spoiled kid from Texas is playing a world domination game with his rich Arab friend. Call it what you want, at the end of the day, that’s what it is. I have a solution to this present world situation. Put these two spoiled brats in a ring and let them duke it out. Winner takes all the marbles. I’m sure that none of them has got the “balls” to go one single round. But then again, picture this tall skinny white bearded fellow standing there dragging his dialysis machine around with one arm and trying to fight with the other. Quite the “ultimate fight” that would be.

Anyway, that was their problems. I had two taskings for today and they were quite simple. First, I needed to walk to “Ciment Hill” and literally climb its icy peak. It’s not that it’s high but the rainy/snow weather that we were receiving during December had caused it to be slippery and treacherous to the point where cleats would have come in handy. The steps I had initially installed to work the flag were now under 97 bags of cement and almost non-existent. Where once stood large pine logs, now sat a huge glob of gray concrete.

Finally finding some good footing while holding to the post, I gazed upwards at my old tattered flag. This old friend had served me well over the years and had accompanied me to three different continents, traveling to Africa and Europe only to then return to North America. Here at the lodges it had been an Ambassador for the fallen troops of Afghanistan but now and this with just one look, one could tell that it was way overdue to be retired. Fran had kept it going by sewing it together more than a few times but now it looked more like a rag than a flag. Oh sure, I had received a “government” replacement from a father whose son was in the “Sand Box” last summer but had refused to hoist it up as the old one was not finished with the job at hand. However, this morning, it would be lowered at half-mast for the last time. It was tired and had done more than its share of the heavy lifting. The dreaded “One Hundred Dead Soldiers” mark had been reached and as I had promised it and myself, it would be the time for the “Changing of the Guards”. However, what the flag didn’t know was that it would be headed on a final mission to Afghanistan in Mar 09. See, this young private came visiting “Ciment Hill” last July with his proud retired military grandfather. A real “Ghung Ho” type, he’s third generation infantryman and honestly believes that he must uphold the family tradition of being the finest soldier seen in the Canadian Forces. Before leaving, I will give him this particular flag with the strict instructions that he must categorically bring it back to me after his tour of duty. Considering that he still calls me “Adjudant” and snaps to attention whenever he talks to me, maybe just maybe, it might just give him that additional incentive to come back home safely. Plus, considering that his grandfather served 32 years and is well connected with the “Vandoos”, he will be carrying an envelope signed by this gentleman’s hand and addressed to the “CO” on the ground at the time. Somehow, it would get done and the “Maple Leaf” would find its way to fly its colors over there and tell the boys not to give up hope because somebody still cared about them. I might be going on a limb on this one but what the hell, it can’t hurt to try, can it?

When it slid down the length of the pole and rubbed against my face, I took a moment to think what that day had brought to me. Death, death and more death. With an audience of two, those being “Moska” standing at the base of the hill and the “Kid” sitting at attention at his post area, it wasn’t much of a ceremony but to me it was important that it be done right. I was saying goodbye to a sister-in-law that I never had the chance to meet, two dogs that never got a chance to run like the wind and most importantly, three more fellow soldiers. Taking time, making sure that this sacred piece of cloth did not touch the ground, I folded it neatly while balling my eyes out. Without an exaggeration, if I had been pouring the three prescribed cement bags at that moment, I could have supplied the water to set it with the tears that were rolling down my cheeks. They just kept coming and coming.

I heard the sound of boots on crunchy snow, coming from behind and recognized the shuffle to belong to my right-hand man “Richard”. Not wanting him to know that I was crying, I swallowed hard and buried these emotions back deep inside me and put my “tough guy” game face back on. This was a private thing and life had to go on. Knowing that these “half-mast rituals were most important to me, he didn’t crack his usual jokes or say anything sarcastic. He just stood there, waiting for me to speak. “So, what have you got on the agenda?” I finally managed to say. “I was thinking that maybe I’d clean the wood shop and make kindling.” he replied. “Sounds like a plan. I’m gone mushing.” I rebutted.

On that note, we mounted up and took off for the woods. Fresh air and exercise had always been a good cure to curb these PTSD episodes and this was one of these occasions where I needed to physically and mentally drain myself. There was a good layer of snow and this would be the first ride with the sled back in the trails of the “ZEC”. We paraded up the road and were cheered by tied-up barking dogs all the way up there. It was as if they knew what we were up to and were trying to convince me to bring them along. “Sorry boys and girls, the team and I have got some serious work ahead of us and we got no time to fool around. At the trail head, the “A” Team was hitched and ready to move out. Making sure that my precious cargo was still in my pocket, I called, “JR”, “Oumak”, ready?? This was the signal telling them to prepare for launch. When I felt the full strength of the team tugging on the gang line, I released my snug line and asked them to “uptrail”. Within thirty feet, I was back in my element gliding over this shiny new white carpet and heading out for a twenty (20) mile run. God it was great to be standing on those runners and again feel this freedom. For me this was what living was all about. We had gone for about two miles when I called for a “Haw” turn. The two leaders hesitated to turn left as this was not the usual trail. I had to stop the team and re-affirm that I wanted to go ‘Haw” down this till now unknown trail. “JR” looked back at me with this look on his face that said “Are you sure?”. “Yes “JR”, Haw trail.” On that note, he veered in the asked direction, dragging “Oumak” and the rest of the dogs with him. He didn’t know where he was going but trusted my judgment. He didn’t but I did. See in the summer, I take guests at “Baisley Lodges” for canoe rides up river to an area where a couple of bald eagles have a nest and this trail was taking us there. When we reached destination, I checked the skies and located them way above us, gliding and circling at a safe distance. I anchored the team to a fallen tree and made my way to the tree they call “home”. I kneeled down at the bottom of this huge white pine and looked towards the heavens. I asked for forgiveness for being so weak in this moment of despair and to apologize, offered a gift to the animal kingdom. With that said, I took my mittens off and retrieved the two little white dogs and layed them there on a spruce branch in plain view. See the way I figured things out, well maybe I should give the credit to a guy called “Einstein”, energy is never lost, it is just transformed. We take a spoonful of cod liver oil because the proteins found in that fish give us energy. If you spread the ashes of a cremated family member to the four winds, don’t these small particles eventually become nutrients to living things like plants and trees. So, what was wrong with this particular gesture. Nothing really. However small the contribution would be, these two tiny bodies would eventually make their way through the food chain and end up giving one particular “carnivore” the energy to continue living. Before getting up, I again looked up and told “Leonard” to take care of the two little “white angels”. Moments later, we were back on the road and headed out to familiar territories. The second part of this mission needed to be completed. I needed to vent and it would be done. When we got back to the truck after the 20 mile trek, two more observations had been noted. The dogs were in shape to take on any challenge sent their way this winter. As for the “musher”, well let’s just say that he remained the weakest link of the team. I was getting in shape but at 52 years old, I could tell that the body was just not what it used to be.

The exercise had done me good and that night although they came visiting, I dreamed that my mentor “Leonard” was by my side and taking care of business, not fighting but negotiating some kind of peace with my ghosts. Eight days later, when Cpl Thomas HAMILTON, Ptes John CURWIN and Justin JONES came to their dreadful untimely demise, the same protocol was implemented. That day I was back on the trail getting rid of some serious built-up rage and while running uphill trying to keep up with the team, I noticed the same two bald eagles in the distance playfully flying over their nest area. Seeing them casually frolic up there, a couple of things were running through my mind. First, the new addition to my expanding dog family was only twelve (12) days old and was hanging in there even through the thick and thin of this crazy weather pattern. I had now put all my hopes on his small shoulders, praying that he would carry the torch for the “Spirit Dogs”. At this stage of the game, this was not necessarily a given. As for his siblings, I was wishfully hoping that the “spirit of those dogs” had somehow found a way to continue their voyage. If all had worked according to plan, they had met up with these two birds of prey and were now safe up there in these heavens. Hell, they were probably looking down on us traveling down this trail and saying, “Hey guys, it’s us up here. Why should we run when we can fly?”

DEDICATED TO ALL OF YOU WHO WILL BE MISSING A LOVED ONE DURING THIS FESTIVE SEASON.

Merry Christmas to one and all.

Gino

TEN "PET PEEVES" DOGS HAVE

Good Morning Folks,

Sometimes, some correspondence comes across my “bow” that I just consider too good to keep to myself. These were forwarded from an old “army buddy” who received them from his daughter. Take a moment and have a laugh. And we think we’re smarter than them…

Ten Peeves that Dogs Have About Humans

'1' Blaming your farts on me....not funny... not funny at all !!!

'2' Yelling at me for barking. COME ON, I'M A FRIGGIN' DOG, YOU IDIOT!

'3' Taking me for a walk, then not letting me check stuff out. Exactly whose walk is this anyway?

'4' Any trick that involves balancing food on my nose. Stop it!

'5' Any haircut that involves bows or ribbons. Now you know why we chew your stuff up when
you're not home.

'6' The sleight of hand, fake fetch throw. You fooled a dog! Whoooo Hoooooooo what a proud
moment for the top of the food chain.

'7' Taking me to the vet for 'the big snip', then acting surprised when I freak out every time we
go back!

'8' Getting upset when I sniff the crotches of your guests. Sorry, but I haven't quite mastered
that handshake thing yet.

'9' Dog sweaters. Hello ???Haven't you noticed the fur?

'10' How you act disgusted when I lick myself. Look, we both know the truth. You're just
jealous.

Now lay off me on some of these things. We both know who's boss here! You don't see me picking up your poop, do you?

EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY. A DOG ALWAYS OFFERS UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. CATS HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT!

Have a great day, gone to feed the dogs.

Gino

JUST IN TIME

Well to see him run, matching the other dogs stride for stride made me a happy camper. It had been next to a week since we had moved to the flat terrains of the “Trans-Canada” trail and I was quite impressed to see that I had such a place to train literally in my own front yard. I knew of its existence as it’s situated right across on the other side the river in front of “Baisley Lodges”. Since its inauguration in the early 90’s, I had seen thousands of cyclists and pedestrians use it during the summer months but had never vested any interest in it. Looking for a possible place to compliment the training, I contacted the proper authorities so to see what would be the protocol to follow if I wanted to run my dogs on the bicycle path. I was quite surprised when I was informed that they did not see any inconveniences in me using it. The dogs were technically on leashes and were under control, weren’t they? “Of course they are.” I told the person at the other end of the line and rolling my eyes and thinking “Yeah right!” “Then there would be no problems using it” she had concluded. Besides, as of the 15 Oct of each year, it changed vocation and was designated as a snowmobile trail. Considering that these machines ran on snow, this gave me a window of opportunity of nearly two months where I could use it under safe and secure conditions.

So here we were running flat out at a speed of 20 mph. Usually, they would take off fast and furious but would settle down to a fast trotting pace within a couple of miles but this morning I had not held them back and thought I’d check what I had “under the hood”. The team was right into running on this old defunct train track referred to in its “Hey Days” as the Temiscouata Line and was firing on all “six cylinders”. Instead of holding them back, I let my two leaders take it upon themselves to decide when to slow down. We were at the Edmundston Airport, called that because the runway is paved otherwise it would for sure be called an air “field”, about five miles out, where I took command over the team. I slowed them to that fast trotting cadence, the one that I considered would be the pace I would run in Fort Kent and tried to hold them back at that speed. For some reason, “JR” and “Oumak” had other plans. I had noticed in the last month that these two were battling it out as to see who would be “top dog” on the team. It made for an interesting ride every time we went out but they were wasting valuable energy constantly trying to outdo each other. “JR” understood the concept of running at an easier pace but “Oumak” was a dog that had been raised with very limited social skills. He basically only knew four basic things. Eat, sleep, shit and run. However, when it came to the latter, running was one thing that he did well. It hadn’t taken him too long to get fit and now here I was faced with the reality of what a “racing dog” was all about. He had come out of his shell and consequently, I was dealing with something that I had very little control over. He had but one gear and that was “full speed and all out”. Maybe that’s what his previous owner asked of him but this did not sit well with me. He would have to learn to listen to what was asked of him. No wonder he would crash and burn at every race he had participated in. He simply had never been taught what pacing himself was all about. Add that to his being too skinny and this was to be a second flaw I had discovered but like the first one, with a bit of patience this could be curbed if not cured. As for the third bad habit well, let me tell you, this was something else. How can you describe it other than saying, “What an awful screeching sound and will it ever end.” Yeah, Sylvain had been honest when he said that this dog didn’t bark but had casually forgotten to mention that “Oumak” was quite vocal and this in a manner that is hard to describe. Let’s say that it’s a combination of a squealing pig and running your fingers on a blackboard. The shriek that comes out of that animal is so awful and loud that even my neighbors that live in the next valley wonder “what the hell that noise is.” And yes he never misses the occasion to say his piece whether it’s time to be fed, to go training or go back to the barn. Heaven forbid if I’m walking in the vicinity of the dog yard and I don’t go scratch his ears. He gets going and the rest of the dogs join the concert. But, it’s OK. He’s got this smile that’s worth a million bucks and an affectionate attitude that’s so enjoyable that you can’t get mad at him. So like I said, with a bit of patience, we would come to a mutual point where some level of comfort would be found. I wasn’t too crazy about his “let’s get this show on the road” screeching buffooneries every time I’d hitch them up. His overzealous cheerleading was too much for the moral of the “troops”. It motivated the yearlings to follow his example and they caused mischief. “Jacko” had all of a sudden figured that this was an acceptable behavior and started to jump around and join in the barking. “Sox” for his part, was soon to discover that “Tabasco Sauce” was not necessarily for cooking “Mexican Food”. For some strange reason, he had quit cutting necklines as fast as he had started chewing them. The present smell of it on his neckline was a guaranteed reminder of what it tasted like and he was avoiding having anything to do with it. These were for now my “Pet Peeves” but were little things that would be tweaked when adjusting this fine tuned machine.

However for today I was letting them “run their own race at their own pace”. By now, I would have thought that they would have slowed down but at the 10 mile mark, my two leaders were still at it, challenging each other. To see the entire team perform at such a peak level, left me agreeably surprised and happy that I had spent the previous month, “Mountain Training”. It had been most beneficial and this point was only brought further home when you saw “Irving” run. “Yes Gino” I said, smiling to myself, “look at him, he’s actually running”. You have to understand. This guy was a good team dog but had always been a “trotter”. Whether this was because he was “bow legged” or because he had been previously mistreated by his previous six owners, yes count them “six owners”, he had never really known till now what running was all about. I guess when you’re stuck at the end of a three foot chain for the better part of your first three years of existence, well let’s just say that this does not exactly cut it as a place to learn such a thing… Seeing him there enjoying himself, keeping pace with the other dogs and constantly pulling hard, brought a tear to my eye and a real sense of satisfaction. “Good Boy, Irving” I reassured him, knowing quite well that he had come a long way since his adoption, last January. Recalling what he looked like when Gaétan dropped him off that afternoon was a strong reminder that these animals appreciate a bit of tender loving care and need a sense of belonging. He had come a long way from being an underfed, flee bitten, full of worms, depressed individual to what I was seeing here today. He was full of confidence and was giving his best as if he was thanking me for taking a chance on him. “Yeah, Good Boy Irving” I confirmed.

While slowing the team through a cool down period and taking this moment to congratulate each and every member for their efforts, I was thinking of how I was more than pleased of what I was seeing. Not only had we discovered a very promising area for distance training, the “A” Team was looking good and without going too far on a limb, they might have a real chance at this CAN-AM deal. But I didn’t want to get too much ahead of myself as I knew from one particular bad experience that we still had a long way to go before the dogs developed the stamina to run 30 miles. Any dog could run 12 mile stretches but when you reached those “20 mile” outings, this is where you separated the men from the boys. At that stage, it became more of a mental thing than anything else for the dogs and regardless how strong they were physically, they needed that state of mind where they could focus and stay motivated passed the pain and boredom. Running these flats tied to a motorless ATV and constantly working in harness, pulling close to 400 lbs, might be just what the “doctor ordered” and might just build up this necessary “endurance phase”. Now if only the weather would cooperate. This time of the year was always unpredictable. The rain and snow, the plus and minus temperatures were all unpleasant factors that we would have to deal with and this till the snow really settled in for good.

Meanwhile during all this time, the girls themselves were not appreciating this segregation and were getting pretty impatient with me. To prove that they could be contenders, they worked just as hard and were showing me during their “8 mile” runs that they were no “slouches” themselves. This point was brought home when one morning “Sox” came back from “horse playing” with “Gidget”, limping on three legs and walking with his left front paw in the air. Struck with another moment of panic, especially when I saw his wrist swell up instantly, I decided to sideline him again for a couple days and hoped for the best. I hitched up “Vixen” with the boys and took her out on this “12 miler”. I didn’t know if it was the excitement of being with them or she was a “dog on a mission” but she performed just as well as any member of the “A” Team. When we got back from that particular run that day, she looked so happy and proud that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was just a temporary appointment. Scratching her head and ears, I knew quite well that she was a good runner and could go on any “30 mile” stint but not in this six dog configuration.

So the month of November went by and this without us noticing. Here we were with an accumulation of 317 miles under our belt and waiting for December and the real first snowfall to arrive. As it turns out, “Sox’s” wrist was nothing to really worry about and I can’t figure out what happened to the swelling. He was back in full form the next day as if nothing had happened. As for “Alaska”, she participated in all the autumn training, right till one week before “due date”. All that weight she had lost was now being replaced with babies growing in her. Her pregnancy had not been noticed till then and apparently from what I had read, all the exercise was good for her. But by now, she was all swollen up and her hormones were way out of whack. Instead of being her usual self, a quiet reserved dog, she was now a snarly aggressive bitch that did not tolerate any other female within a 50 foot radius. All the girls respected her space except for “Gidget”. She enjoyed teasing the older girl and would risk getting bitten and run through “Alaska’s” post and chain area, getting her all riled up. Quite the little clown that “Gidget” is turning out to be.

During all this time, I was busy putting up the extension at the barn and on the 30th November, it was complete, except for a paint job and the Christmas Tree. I moved “Maggie”, “Oumak” and “Alaska” and immediately they settled in right into their very own “Log Cabins”. Looking at them, lying there, with just their nose sticking out, I knew they would enjoy their cozy quarters especially during those cold winter nights. For some particular reason, I knew that “Oumak” would appreciate the effort even more. We had spent a lot of “one on one” time together during November and since his moving in there, we continued practicing and he had learned to “Stay”, a major accomplishment considering what I had to work with a couple of months ago. Not only was he doing it in his kennel but he was now actually doing it while holding the line with “JR” when I hitched the team up. What surprised me even more is that the day he moved in, it was as if he knew that these accommodations were his permanent home. Never again, did he crap on the floor or piss on the walls. All of a sudden, he had settled down into a mature individual and a definate candidate for the “Sled Dog of the Year” award. Go figure. As for “Alaska”, it didn’t take long for her to give her stamp of approval as she rearranged the wood shavings around so to prepare for the new arrivals.

While walking away from the “Bunkhouse”, late on 03 Dec 08, I heard some strange not normal howling sounds coming from the barn. Usually when the “Kid” starts his evening concerts, all the rest of the pack joins in but not tonight. It was a single voice and it was simple to conclude that “Alaska” was going through labor pains. Yes, it was happening and here she was cursing “Jacko” for the agony she was going through. It took a lot of restraint from my part not to head to her side and see what was going on. However, a friend of mine had brought me a few books on canine breeding and I had spent many evenings reading on the subject matter. The four different books all said the same thing. Leave the mother alone and let nature take its course. On that note, I wished her luck and headed home but instead of going to bed and falling asleep right away, I tossed and turned all night, wondering how she was making out and hoping that she was OK.

The next morning, safe to say that my first destination was straight to the barn. The atmosphere in the building was definitely different that day. The dogs weren’t barking excitedly like usual but rather were looking at me as to say, “Stay quiet, we’ve got new babies in the house”. I tried to quietly sneak up on the new mother and while doing so, I could hear these little “peep peep” sounds coming from the area of her dog house. When I carefully opened the door to her kennel area, all I could see was “Alaska” busy licking her new arrivals clean. I sat on the floor and just observed, amazed at the sight of this miracle. She looked at me and her glowing face confirmed that she had been successful with this endeavor. I couldn’t see how many or what color they were and surprisingly enough, I didn’t care. Mother and newborns seemed to be doing fine and that’s all that mattered. These details would be revealed to me at a later date. For now, I would let her rest. I discreetly got up, congratulated “my girl” and went to get my day started. It was still dark and I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet. Oh I knew that this silly game I was playing, meant a lot more to me than to anybody else but here we were, in the presence of a new generation of “Canadian Snow Hounds”. “Leonard”, I said, looking at the star filled sky, the “Spirit Dogs” will live on.

Later folks, got to go and feed the dogs. It’s been a couple of days and hopefully I’ll be able see the “new kids”. More to follow…

Gino

OH THE JOYS OF SLEDDING (2)

Listen everybody, I just thought that maybe it would be simpler just to post this segment over again. For some reason, my "charcoal operated computer" went into a loop and reprinted a bunch of edited paragraphs. Sorry about the inconvinience.

So when the 27 October 08 rolled along, it was obvious that it had been a real productive month. The dogs knew just about every nook and crannies along the various trails up there in those hills and I was just calling the “Gee/Haw” turns out of principle as they were by now saturated if not bored by the scenery. For some excitement, they would try to chase anything that moved and this from rabbits to dry leaves blowing in the wind. Even those ever vicious dive-bombing “chickadees” were no match for them. They would even chase those. Having noticed in the past that it didn’t matter how tired they were, they would still take off like “Bats out of Hell” at the sound of an alerting squirrel, I was capitalizing on this. I would edge them on, asking the dogs, “Where’s that squirrel? Is there a nasty squirrel out there around that bend? Let’s go check.” For some reason, playing this mind game with them never seemed to fail. They would seem to suddenly forget how tired they were and would find a second, third and even forth wind. Over the years, they had showed me that when they’re in good physical condition, it doesn’t take long for their bodies to recuperate. To my demise, they had proven this theory on many occasions.

There was that one time, a squirrel decided to run in front of them with this oversized acorn in its mouth. I thought it was funny to see those little legs scoot along till the tiny little tike decided to veer off to the right and they followed. I kept calling to “JR” to trail but to no avail. Him and “Sox” had in their mind that they would catch it. This was fine till they decided to go past this six (6) inch spruce tree but one on each side of it. What’s wrong with this picture and guess what happened? Well, let’s just say that the neck line attached between them got in the way and stopped them dead cold. When they finally shook the marbles out, they were facing each other, wrapped around the tree and I had a tangled mess of tug lines to deal with.

Then of course, there was the time when this moose decided to casually cross our path and stroll down this nice solid packed down path. It didn’t take long for them to pick up its scent and hold on to your dentures, here we were again pursuing another victim. By the knee deep tracks left behind, I could tell what it was and by the sound of crackling branches in front, I could tell he wasn’t far ahead. I tried to slow the team down but try all you want, they would not stop. I had ten (10) dogs pulling and the power generated was tremendous. Standing with both feet on my fancy aluminum high-tech carbide tipped brakes, the only thing I was doing was plowing my nice trail, a trail I had spent weeks grooming. Hind sight told me though that this might have been a good thing as those deep constricted holes left by those long legged animals can be extremely treacherous to sleddogs if they step into one. It’s one great way great way to dislocate a front shoulder or breaking a leg. Anyway we were on our way to finishing the front 40 acres when the mastodon came into sight. He had recognized the danger and probably thought he was being pursued by a pack of coyotes. He couldn’t necessarily figure out what that thing was behind them, yelling as there was no tomorrow but from the noise knew quite well that he would not stick around to find out. He was charging through that narrow trail smashing through the trees with his huge rack and shaking the snow from them real good. I didn’t know if this was his version of a “James Bond” smoke screen but it was doing a fantastic job. Not only was he staying camouflaged half the time, he was sending white stuff falling down my neck and it was some bloody cold. We were a lot faster and gaining on him and when I got close enough to see that this huge mammal was a full grown well-seasoned bull moose, I knew that we were headed for possible trouble. If the dogs managed to get close enough to take a bite out of its hind quarters, things might get dicey. Moose are not known to be attack animals but will defend themselves if provoked. Continuing with this pursuit smelt like disaster in the making and I had to stop it and this in a “New York” minute. Out of desperation, I grabbed my anchor and flung it behind my sled hoping that it would catch on to something. This plan didn’t seem to work too well as when I turned around all I saw was this thing spinning like crazy and bouncing around. I was just about to turn around to see where I was going when suddenly the anchor rope went taunt. The two steel claws had dug in the snow and finally found something solid to grab on. I’ve never landed an F-18 on an aircraft carrier at 165 mph but can sympathize with those pilots. The forward jolt that instantly came stopped the team dead in their tracks and contrary to those “flyboys” I did not have a five point harness holding me back. Consequently, I went swan diving over my steering bow and crashed head first against you guessed it, a tree (What did you expect, I’m in the woods). This was to be another one of these “genuine ouch” moment and although the impact had not knocked me out, I was wishing it had. The instant pain I was feeling was astonishing and I was sure that my skull was split open. When I rolled over and half sat and half leaned against that same tree, I pulled an ounce of courage and checked the damage on the top of my head. I was touching it expecting it to hurt but the entire surface was numb. So I pressed harder and for a moment there, I really thought I had crushed my skull. So to see if my assessment was correct I pushed even harder and this time my finger found some solid but one inch deeper. There it was. My skull was just hidden by this pancake size of a lump. That was an encouraging sign. When I brought my fingers to my face to inspect them, no blood could be detected so that was another positive thing. Now if only I could get my sense of balance and I’d be all set to get up. I turned my head around and checked if I still had a dog team or I was destined to walk home through ten miles of bush trail. No here they were just standing there as if nothing had happened. They probably didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying but from the tone of my voice, they knew the speech was not one of praise. I vented for at least three minutes and when I came to my senses, I took a deep breath and remembered what Leonard used to say. “You’ll never get them to work for you if you yell at them. They can feel the tension and will never cooperate.” He was right about that but “Jezez” it was sometimes hard to hold back. In this instance, there was no real harm done and other than for a major “four Tylenol” headache, things would be fine. So I dusted myself off and swallowed my pride. I located my synthetic “Made in China” fur hat and after emptying it of snow, concluded that not only was this thing not warm, it sucked “big time” as a safety helmet. Seeing me finally move, the dogs got again agitated and it didn’t take long to realize that they hadn’t had enough with the initial chase and were raring to get back at it. It was total anarchy and they didn’t want to listen even when I screamed from the top of my lungs for them to “stay”. Shout all you want, they were totally out of control and the situation was way out of hand. The thought of maybe not being so lucky the next time around did not appeal to me so it was decided. I was going to show them who ran things around here. I walked to the front of the team, grabbed the neck line between my two leaders and lifted them both off the ground. “Boys, I’m getting tired of eating your dirt. When I tell you to stay, I mean stay!” With that said I slammed them face down in the snow, put my hands on both of their heads, held them there and let them feel what it was like to be at the receiving end. “JR” cooperated and stayed in the crouch position but “Vixen” had something else in mind. She got back up, growled at me while showing me her pearly shiny white teeth. I guess she had decided that she would show me who was going to dominate the situation. The sight shocked me and I simply lost it. Shaking her violently after grabbing her by the collar, I lifted her with my right hand while I cocked the left one. I was going to give her one hell of a correction, one that she would never forget. I was ready to punch her into the next millennium but stopped short and got a hold of myself. “Holy Shit Gino, get a grip!” I scolded myself. “You’re losing it buddy. Calm down. They’re only excited because they saw a moose. You should feel happy to have been privileged to such a sight.” Looking at those totally submitted and sorry eyes, I knew I had seriously fucked up. I calmed down and before releasing her limp body, I grabbed her in a “bear hug” and said, “Sorry Girl, I didn’t mean it”. But it was too late. From the yellow spot she had dripped in the snow, I knew I had scared the daylight out of her and as you would have it, time would show that I had completely broken her spirit and had ruined a perfectly good lead dog. The rest of that run was uneventful and I could tell that the pack would have nothing to do with me. Moral was low and although they were moving along, they weren’t into it. I guess a message was being sent, “You don’t treat somebody that gives you 150% all the time like dirt and expect them to cooperate after. It’s simply not the way things are done…”

And of course there was the famous “chuck wagon” incident. It was late in the season last year, sometime in March and you couldn’t ask for a better sunny day to be out there. As I knew I’d be putting the sled away soon enough, I had decided to test the yearlings of team and see how they would make out on a “35 mile” run. The plan was to go exploring and take it easy, stopping along the way to have my favorite trail meal, a can of cold baked beans. The trip went well and when we got to the “Quebec Alps”, I anchored down and walked down the gang line, giving everyone a “one on one” scratch of the ears and a congratulation treat. We only had five miles to go and really thought they deserved a rest. Completely satisfied and not wanting the day to end, I was making my way back to my sled when all of sudden the dogs got agitated. I couldn’t see anything initially but this was a sure sign that a “victim” was out there. Then there she was, maybe half a kilometer ahead. Here was a fellow musher “Johanne” coming out of and doing the “Sand Pit” loop, on her way back to the trail head. My team started pulling and tugging forward and the anchor gave way. The team slid by me and when my wheel dogs went by, I got the “brilliant idea” to hold them back by grabbing the gang line. Yeah Right! This was one of the most stupid moves I have ever pulled in my mushing career, one that I don’t recommend to anybody. There was no way I was going to be able to hold them back and they pulled me forward, flat on my stomach.

Picture this! I’m holding on to these two segments of rope called “tug lines” being dragged along, using my highly fashionable “Carhartt” overalls as a sliding surface. I’ve somehow managed to slide under the sled between the two runners and because it’s lower to the ground than the thickness of my body, it has now settled on top of me and riding “piggy back”. Now at this stage of the game some of you might question my sanity and why one would put himself through all this agony and the question has merit. Well, let’s just say that for you folks that are non-mushers, the first golden rule of sledding is that “You don’t let go of your sled.” And besides, remember that steel clawed spinning out of control anchor we just talked about a while ago, well now there’s two of them doing their things behind me and one of them just happens to be dangling there between my “spread eagle” legs. When you can feel such an aggressive piece of hardware trying to get a grip so close to your “family jewels”, well letting go doesn’t become an option. I could only imagine releasing my grip and this thing attaching itself to the soft tissues of my “touchy”. It would have ripped me open and this scenario did not appeal to me one single bit. So I settled down, enjoying the ride, experiencing a totally different perspective of “dog sledding”. That’s not exactly what the plan was but anyway I had just figured that instead of wasting my energy on yelling, I should conserve it and concentrate on holding on as it might be a long haul. As it turns out, I traveled in this fashion for close to three (3) miles and of course had lots of time to think about many things. One thing that kept coming to mind was how stupid I had been. You have to understand that the reason I was traveling with two anchors that particular day was because it had been one of those years where the snow had stayed soft and you needed both to stay parked in place. When I stopped the team, I had been too lazy to plant both of them so here I was in quite an awful predicament. By this time, my hands and forearms were burning as the small 3/8 inch rope was cutting the blood circulation to my fingers and this through my leather mittens. I couldn’t hold on anymore and was just about to release my grip. Out of desperation, I was talking to “The Kid”, casually querying as to see if he might consider helping me out in stopping and holding the team back. “Just thought I’d ask.” I finished, totally discouraged and just about ready to face mutilation. But I would not give up and one more plea had to be attempted. Closing my eyes, I asked them, “Come on “Boyz” for Christ’s sake, please Stay!” As if they knew that I had enough with this lesson in humility, they simply came to a stand still. Making sure that it was safe to release the rope, I shoved the sled on its side and got up. I walked to the back and planted those two anchors real deep in the snow, this time making damn sure that they were in contact with something solid. I returned to the sled and sat on it. At that moment, there were two things I was contemplating on doing. First, catch my breath and the second thing, kill ten sleddogs. “Come on Gino,” I said trying to keep my temper in check and convince myself otherwise. “Look at the positive side. Your yearlings can actually run 35 miles and have all this energy to spare.” “That’s for sure.” I laughed to myself not too sure if I should be proud or upset at the team. A few more minutes passed and my pouting period was over. I looked at the dogs to see if they were paying any attention to me and sure as hell here they were all looking at me with huge “Colgate smiles”. “How can you stay mad at us?” they seemed to be telling me. “Come on, let’s go we’ve got another victim to catch”. “Sox” started tugging and jumping and got the rest of them going. “Stay” I commanded. As if they wanted to show me that they knew what it meant, they just stopped and waited for me to get the sled right side up. “Ready?” I asked, “Uptrail.” With that we were gone. When we met up with “Johanne” at the trail head, who had just pulled in, may I add, she had this smirk on her face. “Nice ride?” she chuckled. “Not bad” I replied, hoping that she hadn’t seen the show. “That’s good.” she continued nonchalantly. “Oh by the way, you’re missing half your overalls and you’re hanging out. Must be cold down there?” I grabbed and inspected what she was talking about and here I was standing there with crotch wide open. Never mind being cold, what about being totally embar “assed”. To say the least, this was not one of my proudest moments.

So if you’ve been with me since the beginning, starting way back then in September, you are probably thinking that there is not to much enjoyment to this sport. Well that’s where you’re mistaken. There is nothing more rewarding than to go out there and have the perfect run. That’s when all members of the team run to the same cadence and you hear the peter-pater rhythm of their feet hitting that hard packed snow. No slowing down. Just the same speed all the time. Try the same thing but this time, do it during a moonlit night. It’s just amazing to see this “black and white” scenery. And the solitude. Well, it’s just great to be out there, having the time to think things through without having a cell phone ringing or a TV blaring. How many of you can actually say that they’ve experience a total void of vehicular noises. The silence that you experience is out of this world and if you’re lucky enough you might just hear a branch crackling in the distance or an owl hoot through the darkness. What’s nice about all this is the peace and tranquility one gets when traveling with a bunch of dependable sleddogs. You won’t get see too much wildlife if you’re in the woods on a snowmobile or an ATV but with dogs it’s as if you belong. I’ve experienced nature like no one else has and this is thanks to my dogs.

Once we came across two female deer that were stuck in neck deep snow. I knew they were in trouble so I parked the dogs, put my snowshoes on and went and got them unstuck. One by one, I carried them to my hard packed trail and sent them on their way. The next day, I traveled through the same area to check on them. One had managed to leave the area and save itself but the other one and I suspected as much, was too exhausted from breaking trail and had decided to stay put. From the huge frozen blood pool and remnants of fur left behind, it was obvious that it had fallen prey to a pack of coyotes.

Then there’s this place where a herd of over 400 deer gathers and spends the winter grazing what’s available. As supply runs out normally by mid-January, the local snowmobilers and mushers take it upon themselves to feed and keep these animals alive. So once a week, I just stop by the “food cache” and load a bail of hay and a bag of frozen apples and head out there. Now the difference between us and our motorized friends is that the herd accepts us as being part of their daily lives and do not see us as a threat. When, may I ask, was the last time you just sat there amongst a bunch of wild animals, feeding them apples? You should try it one day. It tends to give a person a somewhat different philosophy about life for some reason.

And for sure I should mention that sight we saw on that perfect sunny day. The “Mob” and I were traveling across this bridge when we surprised this bald eagle having a meal. This majestic bird took off, circled around and flew right over the entire team starting from the back of the sled and gliding all the way to the front, following the entire length of the gang line. It flew so low that when it went over my head, not only could I hear the noise of its huge wings but I could actually feel the wind that they had generated. This is my books is what living is all about.

Yup, so these were some of the things I was thinking of while careening down this steep embankment on that particular morning of the 27 Oct 08. I was again in some sort of trouble and I had no one else to blame but myself. You see this was the morning after the second snowfall of this season and I had been too busy concentrating on putting mileage on the clock to go out there and check on the trail conditions. As faith would have it, here I was on the ATV, holding on to the brake levers, all four wheels completely locked, being pulled by this “power house” sliding down the hill and may I add, totally out of control. Call for them to stay all you want, this “Oumak” character didn’t have a clue as to what I was talking about. So here I was with half the team trying to slow down and the yearlings well what can I say, they were enjoying the moment and checking out how fast this “new guy” could drive the team. So I settled down in my seat and concentrated on getting us down the hill safely. We managed this quite well and when we got back to the dog trailer, I couldn’t but stop laughing. They didn’t have any clue as to how dangerous the ride had been. They were just all standing there covered in mud from head to toe with this “shit eating” grin. Were they excited about the first snow or were they getting in good enough shape to enjoy these outings. Personally, I think it was a combination of both things. One thing was for certain though. The “Boyz” had accepted “Oumak” as one of them and the gray wolf had proven to be a worthy member of the team. This was brought home when out of habit, I undressed him and let him loose without thinking. He simply ran to and jumped in his dog box and waited for me to come and close the door. I guess he had accepted the fact that this would be his new home. Now if only I could teach him how to speak “English”. He didn’t need to be fluent. All I was asking was that he understands what “Stay” means. “Right Oumak?” I told him when I reached in and petted his ears. “It’s going to be quite the adjustment but we’ll be fine my friend.” What I didn’t know at the time and was soon to find out was that this dog was a very smart individual.

When we got back to the lodges, I let the “A” team out for their drink of water at the river routine. There, while waiting for them to finish, I noticed that most of them were walking around with imprints of their harnesses right in their fur. Why not, I concluded, they’ve practically lived in them all month. By the way they were horsing around chasing each other, I could tell that they weren’t really tired and were ready to move on to the next phase. The rigorous mountain training had done what it was supposed to do and November would be concentrated on something else. These eight (8) mile runs just didn’t cut it anymore. This year’s goal was to run some mid-distance races and not to build a bunch of muscle bound freaks. Right now, all of them were sporting some mean looking sets of back legs. They somehow reminded me of those “Tour de France” cyclists with those bulging athletic legs. Hell, I didn’t want to be sidelined in Fort Kent and checked for steroids (tongue in cheek). Anyway, this phase would end today but only after I was finished with the girls. They were waiting impatiently at the barn, yapping away since they had heard the “4 wheeler” pull in the yard. The snowy hills were less of a concern for me when dealing with the “B” team and besides, I kind of enjoyed the “Adrenaline” rushes provided by these little bouts of excitement.

Well folks, I could write for another possibly ten (10) pages before closing but think I should keep some stuff for later. If you stick around, you’ll find out how my pregnant “Alaska” faired out and how the construction went. So for now, I’ll just bid you farewell and meet you back here in, oh say, maybe in two weeks.

To my American friends, “Happy Thanksgiving!” To the girls, remember, “One minute on the lips equals an eternity on the hips.” Anyway, have a good one. Got to go and stoke the fire and make another pot of coffee.

Gino

OH THE JOYS OF SLEDDING!

So when the 27 October 08 rolled along, it was obvious that it had been a real productive month. The dogs knew just about every nook and crannies along the various trails up there in those hills and I was just calling the “Gee/Haw” turns out of principle as they were by now saturated if not bored by the scenery. For some excitement, they would try to chase anything that moved and this from rabbits to dry leaves blowing in the wind. Even those ever vicious dive-bombing “chickadees” were no match for them. They would even chase those. Having noticed in the past that it didn’t matter how tired they were, they would still take off like “Bats out of Hell” at the sound of an alerting squirrel, I was capitalizing on this. I would edge them on, asking the dogs, “Where’s that squirrel? Is there a nasty squirrel out there around that bend? Let’s go check.” For some reason, playing this mind game with them never seemed to fail. They would seem to suddenly forget how tired they were and would find a second, third and even forth wind. Over the years, they had showed me that when they’re in good physical condition, it doesn’t take long for their bodies to recuperate. To my demise, they had proven this theory on many occasions.

There was that one time, a squirrel decided to run in front of them with this oversized acorn in its mouth. I thought it was funny to see those little legs scoot along till the tiny little tike decided to veer off to the right and they followed. I kept calling to “JR” to trail but to no avail. Him and “Sox” had in their mind that they would catch it. This was fine till they decided to go past this six (6) inch spruce tree but one on each side of it. What’s wrong with this picture and guess what happened? Well, let’s just say that the neck line attached between them got in the way and stopped them dead cold. When they finally shook the marbles out, they were facing each other, wrapped around the tree and I had a tangled mess of tug lines to deal with.

Then of course, there was the time when this moose decided to casually cross our path and stroll down this nice solid packed down path. It didn’t take long for them to pick up its scent and hold on to your dentures, here we were again pursuing another victim. By the knee deep tracks left behind, I could tell what it was and by the sound of crackling branches in front, I could tell he wasn’t far ahead. I tried to slow the team down but try all you want, they would not stop. I had ten (10) dogs pulling and the power generated was tremendous. Standing with both feet on my fancy aluminum high-tech carbide tipped brakes, the only thing I was doing was plowing my nice trail, a trail I had spent weeks grooming. Hind sight told me though that this might have been a good thing as those deep constricted holes left by those long legged animals can be extremely treacherous to sleddogs if they step into one. It’s one great way great way to dislocate a front shoulder or breaking a leg. Anyway we were on our way to finishing the front 40 acres when the mastodon came into sight. He had recognized the danger and probably thought he was being pursued by a pack of coyotes. He couldn’t necessarily figure out what that thing was behind them, yelling as there was no tomorrow but from the noise knew quite well that he would not stick around to find out. He was charging through that narrow trail smashing through the trees with his huge rack and shaking the snow from them real good. I didn’t know if this was his version of a “James Bond” smoke screen but it was doing a fantastic job. Not only was he staying camouflaged half the time, he was sending white stuff falling down my neck and it was some bloody cold. We were a lot faster and gaining on him and when I got close enough to see that this huge mammal was a full grown well-seasoned bull moose, I knew that we were headed for possible trouble. If the dogs managed to get close enough to take a bite out of its hind quarters, things might get dicey. Moose are not known to be attack animals but will defend themselves if provoked. Continuing with this pursuit smelt like disaster in the making and I had to stop it and this in a “New York” minute. Out of desperation, I grabbed my anchor and flung it behind my sled hoping that it would catch on to something. This plan didn’t seem to work too well as when I turned around all I saw was this thing spinning like crazy and bouncing around. I was just about to turn around to see where I was going when suddenly the anchor rope went taunt. The two steel claws had dug in the snow and finally found something solid to grab on. I’ve never landed an F-18 on an aircraft carrier at 165 mph but can sympathize with those pilots. The forward jolt that instantly came stopped the team dead in their tracks and contrary to those “flyboys” I did not have a five point harness holding me back. Consequently, I went swan diving over my steering bow and crashed head first against you guessed it, a tree (What did you expect, I’m in the woods). This was to be another one of these “genuine ouch” moment and although the impact had not knocked me out, I was wishing it had. The instant pain I was feeling was astonishing and I was sure that my skull was split open. When I rolled over and half sat and half leaned against that same tree, I pulled an ounce of courage and checked the damage on the top of my head. I was touching it expecting it to hurt but the entire surface was numb. So I pressed harder and for a moment there, I really thought I had crushed my skull. So to see if my assessment was correct I pushed even harder and this time my finger found some solid but one inch deeper. There it was. My skull was just hidden by this pancake size of a lump. That was an encouraging sign. When I brought my fingers to my face to inspect them, no blood could be detected so that was another positive thing. Now if only I could get my sense of balance and I’d be all set to get up. I turned my head around and checked if I still had a dog team or I was destined to walk home through ten miles of bush trail. No here they were just standing there as if nothing had happened. They probably didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying but from the tone of my voice, they knew the speech was not one of praise. I vented for at least three minutes and when I came to my senses, I took a deep breath and remembered what Leonard used to say. “You’ll never get them to work for you if you yell at them. They can feel the tension and will never cooperate.” He was right about that but “Jezez” it was sometimes hard to hold back. In this instance, there was no real harm done and other than for a major “four Tylenol” headache, things would be fine. So I dusted myself off and swallowed my pride. I located my synthetic “Made in China” fur hat and after emptying it of snow, concluded that not only was this thing not warm, it sucked “big time” as a safety helmet. Seeing me finally move, the dogs got again agitated and it didn’t take long to realize that they hadn’t had enough with the initial chase and were raring to get back at it. It was total anarchy and they didn’t want to listen even when I screamed from the top of my lungs for them to “stay”. Shout all you want, they were totally out of control and the situation was way out of hand. The thought of maybe not being so lucky the next time around did not appeal to me so it was decided. I was going to show them who ran things around here. I walked to the front of the team, grabbed the neck line between my two leaders and lifted them both off the ground. “Boys, I’m getting tired of eating your dirt. When I tell you to stay, I mean stay!” With that said I slammed them face down in the snow, put my hands on both of their heads, held them there and let them feel what it was like to be at the receiving end. “JR” cooperated and stayed in the crouch position but “Vixen” had something else in mind. She got back up, growled at me while showing me her pearly shiny white teeth. I guess she had decided that she would show me who was going to dominate the situation. The sight shocked me and I simply lost it. Shaking her violently after grabbing her by the collar, I lifted her with my right hand while I cocked the left one. I was going to give her one hell of a correction, one that she would never forget. I was ready to punch her into the next millennium but stopped short and got a hold of myself. “Holy Shit Gino, get a grip!” I scolded myself. “You’re losing it buddy. Calm down. They’re only excited because they saw a moose. You should feel happy to have been privileged to such a sight.” Looking at those totally submitted and sorry eyes, I knew I had seriously fucked up. I calmed down and before releasing her limp body, I grabbed her in a “bear hug” and said, “Sorry Girl, I didn’t mean it”. But it was too late. From the yellow spot she had dripped in the snow, I knew I had scared the daylight out of her and as you would have it, time would show that I had completely broken her spirit and had ruined a perfectly good lead dog. The rest of that run was uneventful and I could tell that the pack would have nothing to do with me. Moral was low and although they were moving along, they weren’t into it. I guess a message was being sent, “You don’t treat somebody that gives you 150% all the time like dirt and expect them to cooperate after. It’s simply not the way things are done…”

And of course there was the famous “chuck wagon” incident. It was late in the season last year, sometime in March and you couldn’t ask for a better sunny day to be out there. As I knew I’d be putting the sled away soon enough, I had decided to test the yearlings of team and see how they would make out on a “35 mile” run. The plan was to go exploring and take it easy, stopping along the way to have my favorite trail meal, a can of cold baked beans. The trip went well and when we got to the “Quebec Alps”, I anchored down and walked down the gang line, giving everyone a “one on one” scratch of the ears and a congratulation treat. We only had five miles to go and really thought they deserved a rest. Completely satisfied and not wanting the day to end, I was making my way back to my sled when all of sudden the dogs got agitated. I couldn’t see anything initially but this was a sure sign that a “victim” was out there. Then there she was, maybe half a kilometer ahead. Here was a fellow musher “Johanne” coming out of and doing the “Sand Pit” loop, on her way back to the trail head. My team started pulling and tugging forward and the anchor gave way. The team slid by me and when my wheel dogs went by, I got the “brilliant idea” to hold them back by grabbing the gang line. Yeah Right! This was one of the most stupid moves I have ever pulled in my mushing career, one that I don’t recommend to anybody. There was no way I was going to be able to hold them back and they pulled me forward, flat on my stomach.

Picture this! I’m holding on to these two segments of rope called “tug lines” being dragged along, using my highly fashionable “Carhartt” overalls as a sliding surface. I’ve somehow managed to slide under the sled between the two runners and because it’s lower to the ground than the thickness of my body, it has now settled on top of me and riding “piggy back”. Now at this stage of the game some of you might question my sanity and why one would put himself through all this agony and the question has merit. Well, let’s just say that for you folks that are non-mushers, the first golden rule of sledding is that “You don’t let go of your sled.” And besides, remember that steel clawed spinning out of control anchor we just talked about a while ago, well now there’s two of them doing their things behind me and one of them just happens to be dangling there between my “spread eagle” legs. When you can feel such an aggressive piece of hardware trying to get a grip so close to your “family jewels”, well letting go doesn’t become an option. I could only imagine releasing my grip and this thing attaching itself to the soft tissues of my “touchy”. It would have ripped me open and this scenario did not appeal to me one single bit. So I settled down, enjoying the ride, experiencing a totally different perspective of “dog sledding”. That’s not exactly what the plan was but anyway I had just figured that instead of wasting my energy on yelling, I should conserve it and concentrate on holding on as it might be a long haul. As it turns out, I traveled in this fashion for close to three (3) miles and of course had lots of time to think about many things. One thing that kept coming to mind was how stupid I had been. You have to understand that the reason I was traveling with two anchors that particular day was because it had been one of those years where the snow had stayed soft and you needed both to stay parked in place. When I stopped the team, I had been too lazy to plant both of them so here I was in quite an awful predicament. By this time, my hands and forearms were burning as the small 3/8 inch rope was cutting the blood circulation to my fingers and this through my leather mittens. I couldn’t hold on anymore and was just about to release my grip. Out of desperation, I was talking to “The Kid”, casually querying as to see if he might consider helping me out in stopping and holding the team back. “Just thought I’d ask.” I finished, totally discouraged and just about ready to face mutilation. But I would not give up and one more plea had to be attempted. Closing my eyes, I asked them, “Come on “Boyz” for Christ’s sake, please Stay!” As if they knew that I had enough with this lesson in humility, they simply came to a stand still. Making sure that it was safe to release the rope, I shoved the sled on its side and got up. I walked to the back and planted those two anchors real deep in the snow, this time making damn sure that they were in contact with something solid. I returned to the sled and sat on it. At that moment, there were two things I was contemplating on doing. First, catch my breath and the second thing, kill ten sleddogs. “Come on Gino,” I said trying to keep my temper in check and convince myself otherwise. “Look at the positive side. Your yearlings can actually run 35 miles and have all this energy to spare.” “That’s for sure.” I laughed to myself not too sure if I should be proud or upset at the team. A few more minutes passed and my pouting period was over. I looked at the dogs to see if they were paying any attention to me and sure as hell here they were all looking at me with huge “Colgate smiles”. “How can you stay mad at us?” they seemed to be telling me. “Come on, let’s go we’ve got another victim to catch”. “Sox” started tugging and jumping and got the rest of them going. “Stay” I commanded. As if they wanted to show me that they knew what it meant, they just stopped and waited for me to get the sled right side up. “Ready?” I asked, “Uptrail.” With that we were gone. When we met up with “Johanne” at the trail head, who had just pulled in, by the way, she had this smirk on her face. “Nice ride?” she chuckled. “Not bad” I replied, hoping that she hadn’t seen the show. “That’s good.” she continued nonchalantly. “Oh by the way, you’re missing half your overalls and you’re hanging out. Must be cold down there?” I grabbed and inspected what she was talking about and here I was standing there with crotch wide open. Never mind being cold, what about being totally embar “assed”. To say the least, this was not to be one of my proudest moments.

So if you’ve been with me since the beginning, starting way back then in September, you are probably thinking that there is not to much enjoyment to this sport. Well that’s where you’re mistaken. There is nothing more rewarding than to go out there and have the perfect run. That’s when all members of the team run to the same cadence and you hear the peter-pater rhythm of their feet hitting that hard packed snow. No slowing down. Just the same speed all the time, all the way. Try the same thing but this time, do it during a moonlit night. It’s just amazing to see this “black and white” scenery un So when the 27 October 08 rolled along, it was obvious that it had been a real productive month. The dogs knew just about every nook and crannies along the various trails up there in those hills and I was just calling the “Gee/Haw” turns out of principle as they were by now saturated if not bored by the scenery. For some excitement, they would try to chase anything that moved and this from rabbits to dry leaves blowing in the wind. Even those ever vicious dive-bombing “chickadees” were no match for them. They would even chase those. Having noticed in the past that it didn’t matter how tired they were, they would still take off like “Bats out of Hell” at the sound of an alerting squirrel, I was capitalizing on this. I would edge them on, asking the dogs, “Where’s that squirrel? Is there a nasty squirrel out there around that bend? Let’s go check.” For some reason, playing this mind game with them never seemed to fail. They would seem to suddenly forget how tired they were and would find a second, third and even forth wind. Over the years, they had showed me that when they’re in good physical condition, it doesn’t take long for their bodies to recuperate. To my demise, they had proven this theory on many occasions.

There was that one time, a squirrel decided to run in front of them with this oversized acorn in its mouth. I thought it was funny to see those little legs scoot along till the tiny little tike decided to veer off to the right and they followed. I kept calling to “JR” to trail but to no avail. Him and “Sox” had in their mind that they would catch it. This was fine till they decided to go past this six (6) inch spruce tree but one on each side of it. What’s wrong with this picture and guess what happened? Well, let’s just say that the neck line attached between them got in the way and stopped them dead cold. When they finally shook the marbles out, they were facing each other, wrapped around the tree and I had a tangled mess of tug lines to deal with.

Then of course, there was the time when this moose decided to casually cross our path and stroll down this nice solid packed down path. It didn’t take long for them to pick up its scent and hold on to your dentures, here we were again pursuing another victim. By the knee deep tracks left behind, I could tell what it was and by the sound of crackling branches in front, I could tell he wasn’t far ahead. I tried to slow the team down but try all you want, they would not stop. I had ten (10) dogs pulling and the power generated was tremendous. Standing with both feet on my fancy aluminum high-tech carbide tipped brakes, the only thing I was doing was plowing my nice trail, a trail I had spent weeks grooming. Hind sight told me though that this might have been a good thing as those deep constricted holes left by those long legged animals can be extremely treacherous to sleddogs if they step into one. It’s one great way great way to dislocate a front shoulder or breaking a leg. Anyway we were on our way to finishing the front 40 acres when the mastodon came into sight. He had recognized the danger and probably thought he was being pursued by a pack of coyotes. He couldn’t necessarily figure out what that thing was behind them, yelling as there was no tomorrow but from the noise knew quite well that he would not stick around to find out. He was charging through that narrow trail smashing through the trees with his huge rack and shaking the snow from them real good. I didn’t know if this was his version of a “James Bond” smoke screen but it was doing a fantastic job. Not only was he staying camouflaged half the time, he was sending white stuff falling down my neck and it was some bloody cold. We were a lot faster and gaining on him and when I got close enough to see that this huge mammal was a full grown well-seasoned bull moose, I knew that we were headed for possible trouble. If the dogs managed to get close enough to take a bite out of its hind quarters, things might get dicey. Moose are not known to be attack animals but will defend themselves if provoked. Continuing with this pursuit smelt like disaster in the making and I had to stop it and this in a “New York” minute. Out of desperation, I grabbed my anchor and flung it behind my sled hoping that it would catch on to something. This plan didn’t seem to work too well as when I turned around all I saw was this thing spinning like crazy and bouncing around. I was just about to turn around to see where I was going when suddenly the anchor rope went taunt. The two steel claws had dug in the snow and finally found something solid to grab on. I’ve never landed an F-18 on an aircraft carrier at 165 mph but can sympathize with those pilots. The forward jolt that instantly came stopped the team dead in their tracks and contrary to those “flyboys” I did not have a five point harness holding me back. Consequently, I went swan diving over my steering bow and crashed head first against you guessed it, a tree (What did you expect, I’m in the woods). This was to be another one of these “genuine ouch” moment and although the impact had not knocked me out, I was wishing it had. The instant pain I was feeling was astonishing and I was sure that my skull was split open. When I rolled over and half sat and half leaned against that same tree, I pulled an ounce of courage and checked the damage on the top of my head. I was touching it expecting it to hurt but the entire surface was numb. So I pressed harder and for a moment there, I really thought I had crushed my skull. So to see if my assessment was correct I pushed even harder and this time my finger found some solid but one inch deeper. There it was. My skull was just hidden by this pancake size of a lump. That was an encouraging sign. When I brought my fingers to my face to inspect them, no blood could be detected so that was another positive thing. Now if only I could get my sense of balance and I’d be all set to get up. I turned my head around and checked if I still had a dog team or I was destined to walk home through ten miles of bush trail. No here they were just standing there as if nothing had happened. They probably didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying but from the tone of my voice, they knew the speech was not one of praise. I vented for at least three minutes and when I came to my senses, I took a deep breath and remembered what Leonard used to say. “You’ll never get them to work for you if you yell at them. They can feel the tension and will never cooperate.” He was right about that but “Jezez” it was sometimes hard to hold back. In this instance, there was no real harm done and other than for a major “four Tylenol” headache, things would be fine. So I dusted myself off and swallowed my pride. I located my synthetic “Made in China” fur hat and after emptying it of snow, concluded that not only was this thing not warm, it sucked “big time” as a safety helmet. Seeing me finally move, the dogs got again agitated and it didn’t take long to realize that they hadn’t had enough with the initial chase and were raring to get back at it. It was total anarchy and they didn’t want to listen even when I screamed from the top of my lungs for them to “stay”. Shout all you want, they were totally out of control and the situation was way out of hand. The thought of maybe not being so lucky the next time around did not appeal to me so it was decided. I was going to show them who ran things around here. I walked to the front of the team, grabbed the neck line between my two leaders and lifted them both off the ground. “Boys, I’m getting tired of eating your dirt. When I tell you to stay, I mean stay!” With that said I slammed them face down in the snow, put my hands on both of their heads, held them there and let them feel what it was like to be at the receiving end. “JR” cooperated and stayed in the crouch position but “Vixen” had something else in mind. She got back up, growled at me while showing me her pearly shiny white teeth. I guess she had decided that she would show me who was going to dominate the situation. The sight shocked me and I simply lost it. Shaking her violently after grabbing her by the collar, I lifted her with my right hand while I cocked the left one. I was going to give her one hell of a correction, one that she would never forget. I was ready to punch her into the next millennium but stopped short and got a hold of myself. “Holy Shit Gino, get a grip!” I scolded myself. “You’re losing it buddy. Calm down. They’re only excited because they saw a moose. You should feel happy to have been privileged to such a sight.” Looking at those totally submitted and sorry eyes, I knew I had seriously fucked up. I calmed down and before releasing her limp body, I grabbed her in a “bear hug” and said, “Sorry Girl, I didn’t mean it”. But it was too late. From the yellow spot she had dripped in the snow, I knew I had scared the daylight out of her and as you would have it, time would show that I had completely broken her spirit and had ruined a perfectly good lead dog. The rest of that run was uneventful and I could tell that the pack would have nothing to do with me. Moral was low and although they were moving along, they weren’t into it. I guess a message was being sent, “You don’t treat somebody that gives you 150% all the time like dirt and expect them to cooperate after. It’s simply not the way things are done…”

And of course there was the famous “chuck wagon” incident. It was late in the season last year, sometime in March and you couldn’t ask for a better sunny day to be out there. As I knew I’d be putting the sled away soon enough, I had decided to test the yearlings of team and see how they would make out on a “35 mile” run. The plan was to go exploring and take it easy, stopping along the way to have my favorite trail meal, a can of cold baked beans. The trip went well and when we got to the “Quebec Alps”, I anchored down and walked down the gang line, giving everyone a “one on one” scratch of the ears and a congratulation treat. We only had five miles to go and really thought they deserved a rest. Completely satisfied and not wanting the day to end, I was making my way back to my sled when all of sudden the dogs got agitated. I couldn’t see anything initially but this was a sure sign that a “victim” was out there. Then there she was, maybe half a kilometer ahead. Here was a fellow musher “Johanne” coming out of and doing the “Sand Pit” loop, on her way back to the trail head. My team started pulling and tugging forward and the anchor gave way. The team slid by me and when my wheel dogs went by, I got the “brilliant idea” to hold them back by grabbing the gang line. Yeah Right! This was one of the most stupid moves I have ever pulled in my mushing career, one that I don’t recommend to anybody. There was no way I was going to be able to hold them back and they pulled me forward, flat on my stomach.

Picture this! I’m holding on to these two segments of rope called “tug lines” being dragged along, using my highly fashionable “Carhartt” overalls as a sliding surface. I’ve somehow managed to slide under the sled between the two runners and because it’s lower to the ground than the thickness of my body, it has now settled on top of me and riding “piggy back”. Now at this stage of the game some of you might question my sanity and why one would put himself through all this agony and the question has merit. Well, let’s just say that for you folks that are non-mushers, the first golden rule of sledding is that “You don’t let go of your sled.” And besides, remember that steel clawed spinning out of control anchor we just talked about a while ago, well now there’s two of them doing their things behind me and one of them just happens to be dangling there between my “spread eagle” legs. When you can feel such an aggressive piece of hardware trying to get a grip so close to your “family jewels”, well letting go doesn’t become an option. I could only imagine releasing my grip and this thing attaching itself to the soft tissues of my “touchy”. It would have ripped me open and this scenario did not appeal to me one single bit. So I settled down, enjoying the ride, experiencing a totally different perspective of “dog sledding”. That’s not exactly what the plan was but anyway I had just figured that instead of wasting my energy on yelling, I should conserve it and concentrate on holding on as it might be a long haul. As it turns out, I traveled in this fashion for close to three (3) miles and of course had lots of time to think about many things. One thing that kept coming to mind was how stupid I had been. You have to understand that the reason I was traveling with two anchors that particular day was because it had been one of those years where the snow had stayed soft and you needed both to stay parked in place. When I stopped the team, I had been too lazy to plant both of them so here I was in quite an awful predicament. By this time, my hands and forearms were burning as the small 3/8 inch rope was cutting the blood circulation to my fingers and this through my leather mittens. I couldn’t hold on anymore and was just about to release my grip. Out of desperation, I was talking to “The Kid”, casually querying as to see if he might consider helping me out in stopping and holding the team back. “Just thought I’d ask.” I finished, totally discouraged and just about ready to face mutilation. But I would not give up and one more plea had to be attempted. Closing my eyes, I asked them, “Come on “Boyz” for Christ’s sake, please Stay!” As if they knew that I had enough with this lesson in humility, they simply came to a stand still. Making sure that it was safe to release the rope, I shoved the sled on its side and got up. I walked to the back and planted those two anchors real deep in the snow, this time making damn sure that they were in contact with something solid. I returned to the sled and sat on it. At that moment, there were two things I was contemplating on doing. First, catch my breath and the second thing, kill ten sleddogs. “Come on Gino,” I said trying to keep my temper in check and convince myself otherwise. “Look at the positive side. Your yearlings can actually run 35 miles and have all this energy to spare.” “That’s for sure.” I laughed to myself not too sure if I should be proud or upset at the team. A few more minutes passed and my pouting period was over. I looked at the dogs to see if they were paying any attention to me and sure as hell here they were all looking at me with huge “Colgate smiles”. “How can you stay mad at us?” they seemed to be telling me. “Come on, let’s go we’ve got another victim to catch”. “Sox” started tugging and jumping and got the rest of them going. “Stay” I commanded. As if they wanted to show me that they knew what it meant, they just stopped and waited for me to get the sled right side up. “Ready?” I asked, “Uptrail.” With that we were gone. When we met up with “Johanne” at the trail head, who had just pulled in, may I add, she had this smirk on her face. “Nice ride?” she chuckled. “Not bad” I replied, hoping that she hadn’t seen the show. “That’s good.” she continued nonchalantly. “Oh by the way, you’re missing half your overalls and you’re hanging out. Must be cold down there?” I grabbed and inspected what she was talking about and here I was standing there with crotch wide open. Never mind being cold, what about being totally embar “assed”. To say the least, this was not one of my proudest moments.

So if you’ve been with me since the beginning, starting way back then in September, you are probably thinking that there is not to much enjoyment to this sport. Well that’s where you’re mistaken. There is nothing more rewarding than to go out there and have the perfect run. That’s when all members of the team run to the same cadence and you hear the peter-pater rhythm of their feet hitting that hard packed snow. No slowing down. Just the same speed all the time. Try the same thing but this time, do it during a moonlit night. It’s just amazing to see this “black and white” scenery un So when the 27 October 08 rolled along, it was obvious that it had been a real productive month. The dogs knew just about every nook and crannies along the various trails up there in those hills and I was just calling the “Gee/Haw” turns out of principle as they were by now saturated if not bored by the scenery. For some excitement, they would try to chase anything that moved and this from rabbits to dry leaves blowing in the wind. Even those ever vicious dive-bombing “chickadees” were no match for them. They would even chase those. Having noticed in the past that it didn’t matter how tired they were, they would still take off like “Bats out of Hell” at the sound of an alerting squirrel, I was capitalizing on this. I would edge them on, asking the dogs, “Where’s that squirrel? Is there a nasty squirrel out there around that bend? Let’s go check.” For some reason, playing this mind game with them never seemed to fail. They would seem to suddenly forget how tired they were and would find a second, third and even forth wind. Over the years, they had showed me that when they’re in good physical condition, it doesn’t take long for their bodies to recuperate. To my demise, they had proven this theory on many occasions.

There was that one time, a squirrel decided to run in front of them with this oversized acorn in its mouth. I thought it was funny to see those little legs scoot along till the tiny little tike decided to veer off to the right and they followed. I kept calling to “JR” to trail but to no avail. Him and “Sox” had in their mind that they would catch it. This was fine till they decided to go past this six (6) inch spruce tree but one on each side of it. What’s wrong with this picture and guess what happened? Well, let’s just say that the neck line attached between them got in the way and stopped them dead cold. When they finally shook the marbles out, they were facing each other, wrapped around the tree and I had a tangled mess of tug lines to deal with.

Then of course, there was the time when this moose decided to casually cross our path and stroll down this nice solid packed down path. It didn’t take long for them to pick up its scent and hold on to your dentures, here we were again pursuing another victim. By the knee deep tracks left behind, I could tell what it was and by the sound of crackling branches in front, I could tell he wasn’t far ahead. I tried to slow the team down but try all you want, they would not stop. I had ten (10) dogs pulling and the power generated was tremendous. Standing with both feet on my fancy aluminum high-tech carbide tipped brakes, the only thing I was doing was plowing my nice trail, a trail I had spent weeks grooming. Hind sight told me though that this might have been a good thing as those deep constricted holes left by those long legged animals can be extremely treacherous to sleddogs if they step into one. It’s one great way great way to dislocate a front shoulder or breaking a leg. Anyway we were on our way to finishing the front 40 acres when the mastodon came into sight. He had recognized the danger and probably thought he was being pursued by a pack of coyotes. He couldn’t necessarily figure out what that thing was behind them, yelling as there was no tomorrow but from the noise knew quite well that he would not stick around to find out. He was charging through that narrow trail smashing through the trees with his huge rack and shaking the snow from them real good. I didn’t know if this was his version of a “James Bond” smoke screen but it was doing a fantastic job. Not only was he staying camouflaged half the time, he was sending white stuff falling down my neck and it was some bloody cold. We were a lot faster and gaining on him and when I got close enough to see that this huge mammal was a full grown well-seasoned bull moose, I knew that we were headed for possible trouble. If the dogs managed to get close enough to take a bite out of its hind quarters, things might get dicey. Moose are not known to be attack animals but will defend themselves if provoked. Continuing with this pursuit smelt like disaster in the making and I had to stop it and this in a “New York” minute. Out of desperation, I grabbed my anchor and flung it behind my sled hoping that it would catch on to something. This plan didn’t seem to work too well as when I turned around all I saw was this thing spinning like crazy and bouncing around. I was just about to turn around to see where I was going when suddenly the anchor rope went taunt. The two steel claws had dug in the snow and finally found something solid to grab on. I’ve never landed an F-18 on an aircraft carrier at 165 mph but can sympathize with those pilots. The forward jolt that instantly came stopped the team dead in their tracks and contrary to those “flyboys” I did not have a five point harness holding me back. Consequently, I went swan diving over my steering bow and crashed head first against you guessed it, a tree (What did you expect, I’m in the woods). This was to be another one of these “genuine ouch” moment and although the impact had not knocked me out, I was wishing it had. The instant pain I was feeling was astonishing and I was sure that my skull was split open. When I rolled over and half sat and half leaned against that same tree, I pulled an ounce of courage and checked the damage on the top of my head. I was touching it expecting it to hurt but the entire surface was numb. So I pressed harder and for a moment there, I really thought I had crushed my skull. So to see if my assessment was correct I pushed even harder and this time my finger found some solid but one inch deeper. There it was. My skull was just hidden by this pancake size of a lump. That was an encouraging sign. When I brought my fingers to my face to inspect them, no blood could be detected so that was another positive thing. Now if only I could get my sense of balance and I’d be all set to get up. I turned my head around and checked if I still had a dog team or I was destined to walk home through ten miles of bush trail. No here they were just standing there as if nothing had happened. They probably didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying but from the tone of my voice, they knew the speech was not one of praise. I vented for at least three minutes and when I came to my senses, I took a deep breath and remembered what Leonard used to say. “You’ll never get them to work for you if you yell at them. They can feel the tension and will never cooperate.” He was right about that but “Jezez” it was sometimes hard to hold back. In this instance, there was no real harm done and other than for a major “four Tylenol” headache, things would be fine. So I dusted myself off and swallowed my pride. I located my synthetic “Made in China” fur hat and after emptying it of snow, concluded that not only was this thing not warm, it sucked “big time” as a safety helmet. Seeing me finally move, the dogs got again agitated and it didn’t take long to realize that they hadn’t had enough with the initial chase and were raring to get back at it. It was total anarchy and they didn’t want to listen even when I screamed from the top of my lungs for them to “stay”. Shout all you want, they were totally out of control and the situation was way out of hand. The thought of maybe not being so lucky the next time around did not appeal to me so it was decided. I was going to show them who ran things around here. I walked to the front of the team, grabbed the neck line between my two leaders and lifted them both off the ground. “Boys, I’m getting tired of eating your dirt. When I tell you to stay, I mean stay!” With that said I slammed them face down in the snow, put my hands on both of their heads, held them there and let them feel what it was like to be at the receiving end. “JR” cooperated and stayed in the crouch position but “Vixen” had something else in mind. She got back up, growled at me while showing me her pearly shiny white teeth. I guess she had decided that she would show me who was going to dominate the situation. The sight shocked me and I simply lost it. Shaking her violently after grabbing her by the collar, I lifted her with my right hand while I cocked the left one. I was going to give her one hell of a correction, one that she would never forget. I was ready to punch her into the next millennium but stopped short and got a hold of myself. “Holy Shit Gino, get a grip!” I scolded myself. “You’re losing it buddy. Calm down. They’re only excited because they saw a moose. You should feel happy to have been privileged to such a sight.” Looking at those totally submitted and sorry eyes, I knew I had seriously fucked up. I calmed down and before releasing her limp body, I grabbed her in a “bear hug” and said, “Sorry Girl, I didn’t mean it”. But it was too late. From the yellow spot she had dripped in the snow, I knew I had scared the daylight out of her and as you would have it, time would show that I had completely broken her spirit and had ruined a perfectly good lead dog. The rest of that run was uneventful and I could tell that the pack would have nothing to do with me. Moral was low and although they were moving along, they weren’t into it. I guess a message was being sent, “You don’t treat somebody that gives you 150% all the time like dirt and expect them to cooperate after. It’s simply not the way things are done…”

And of course there was the famous “chuck wagon” incident. It was late in the season last year, sometime in March and you couldn’t ask for a better sunny day to be out there. As I knew I’d be putting the sled away soon enough, I had decided to test the yearlings of team and see how they would make out on a “35 mile” run. The plan was to go exploring and take it easy, stopping along the way to have my favorite trail meal, a can of cold baked beans. The trip went well and when we got to the “Quebec Alps”, I anchored down and walked down the gang line, giving everyone a “one on one” scratch of the ears and a congratulation treat. We only had five miles to go and really thought they deserved a rest. Completely satisfied and not wanting the day to end, I was making my way back to my sled when all of sudden the dogs got agitated. I couldn’t see anything initially but this was a sure sign that a “victim” was out there. Then there she was, maybe half a kilometer ahead. Here was a fellow musher “Johanne” coming out of and doing the “Sand Pit” loop, on her way back to the trail head. My team started pulling and tugging forward and the anchor gave way. The team slid by me and when my wheel dogs went by, I got the “brilliant idea” to hold them back by grabbing the gang line. Yeah Right! This was one of the most stupid moves I have ever pulled in my mushing career, one that I don’t recommend to anybody. There was no way I was going to be able to hold them back and they pulled me forward, flat on my stomach.

Picture this! I’m holding on to these two segments of rope called “tug lines” being dragged along, using my highly fashionable “Carhartt” overalls as a sliding surface. I’ve somehow managed to slide under the sled between the two runners and because it’s lower to the ground than the thickness of my body, it has now settled on top of me and riding “piggy back”. Now at this stage of the game some of you might question my sanity and why one would put himself through all this agony and the question has merit. Well, let’s just say that for you folks that are non-mushers, the first golden rule of sledding is that “You don’t let go of your sled.” And besides, remember that steel clawed spinning out of control anchor we just talked about a while ago, well now there’s two of them doing their things behind me and one of them just happens to be dangling there between my “spread eagle” legs. When you can feel such an aggressive piece of hardware trying to get a grip so close to your “family jewels”, well letting go doesn’t become an option. I could only imagine releasing my grip and this thing attaching itself to the soft tissues of my “touchy”. It would have ripped me open and this scenario did not appeal to me one single bit. So I settled down, enjoying the ride, experiencing a totally different perspective of “dog sledding”. That’s not exactly what the plan was but anyway I had just figured that instead of wasting my energy on yelling, I should conserve it and concentrate on holding on as it might be a long haul. As it turns out, I traveled in this fashion for close to three (3) miles and of course had lots of time to think about many things. One thing that kept coming to mind was how stupid I had been. You have to understand that the reason I was traveling with two anchors that particular day was because it had been one of those years where the snow had stayed soft and you needed both to stay parked in place. When I stopped the team, I had been too lazy to plant both of them so here I was in quite an awful predicament. By this time, my hands and forearms were burning as the small 3/8 inch rope was cutting the blood circulation to my fingers and this through my leather mittens. I couldn’t hold on anymore and was just about to release my grip. Out of desperation, I was talking to “The Kid”, casually querying as to see if he might consider helping me out in stopping and holding the team back. “Just thought I’d ask.” I finished, totally discouraged and just about ready to face mutilation. But I would not give up and one more plea had to be attempted. Closing my eyes, I asked them, “Come on “Boyz” for Christ’s sake, please Stay!” As if they knew that I had enough with this lesson in humility, they simply came to a stand still. Making sure that it was safe to release the rope, I shoved the sled on its side and got up. I walked to the back and planted those two anchors real deep in the snow, this time making damn sure that they were in contact with something solid. I returned to the sled and sat on it. At that moment, there were two things I was contemplating on doing. First, catch my breath and the second thing, kill ten sleddogs. “Come on Gino,” I said trying to keep my temper in check and convince myself otherwise. “Look at the positive side. Your yearlings can actually run 35 miles and have all this energy to spare.” “That’s for sure.” I laughed to myself not too sure if I should be proud or upset at the team. A few more minutes passed and my pouting period was over. I looked at the dogs to see if they were paying any attention to me and sure as hell here they were all looking at me with huge “Colgate smiles”. “How can you stay mad at us?” they seemed to be telling me. “Come on, let’s go we’ve got another victim to catch”. “Sox” started tugging and jumping and got the rest of them going. “Stay” I commanded. As if they wanted to show me that they knew what it meant, they just stopped and waited for me to get the sled right side up. “Ready?” I asked, “Uptrail.” With that we were gone. When we met up with “Johanne” at the trail head, who had just pulled in, by the way, she had this smirk on her face. “Nice ride?” she chuckled. “Not bad” I replied, hoping that she hadn’t seen the show. “That’s good.” she continued nonchalantly and putting her dogs in her truck. “Oh by the way, you’re missing half your overalls and you’re hanging out. Must be cold down there?” I grabbed and inspected what she was talking about and here I was standing there with crotch wide open. Never mind being cold, what about being totally embar “assed”. To say the least, this was not to be one of my proudest moments.

So if you’ve been with me since the beginning, starting way back then in September, you are probably thinking that there is not to much enjoyment to this sport. Well that’s where you’re mistaken. There is nothing more rewarding than to go out there and have that "perfect run". That’s when all members of the team run to the same cadence and you hear the peter-pater rhythm of their feet hitting that hard packed snow. No slowing down. Just the same speed all the time, all the way. Try the same thing but this time, do it during a moonlit night. It’s just amazing to see this “black and white” scenery unfold in front of you. And the solitude. Well, it’s just great to be out there, having the time to think things through without having a cell phone ringing or a TV blaring. How many of you can actually say that they’ve experience a total void of vehicular noises. The silence that you experience is out of this world and if you’re lucky enough you might just hear a branch crackling in the distance or an owl hoot through the darkness. What’s nice about all this is the peace and tranquility one gets when traveling with a bunch of dependable sleddogs. You won’t get see too much wildlife if you’re in the woods on a noisy snowmobile or an ATV but with dogs it’s as if you belong. I’ve experienced nature like no one else has and this is thanks to my dogs.

Once we came across two female deer that were stuck in neck deep snow. I knew they were in trouble so I parked the dogs, put my snowshoes on and went and got them unstuck. One by one, I carried them to my hard packed trail and sent them on their way. The next day, I traveled through the same area to check on them. One had managed to leave the area and save itself but the other one and I suspected as much, was too exhausted from breaking trail and had decided to stay put. From the huge frozen blood pool and remnants of fur left behind, it was obvious that it had fallen prey to a pack of coyotes.

Then there’s this place where a herd of over 400 deer gathers and spends the winter grazing what’s available. As supply runs out normally by mid-January, the local snowmobilers and mushers take it upon themselves to feed and keep these animals alive. So once a week, I just stop by the “food cache” and load a bail of hay and a bag of frozen apples and head out there. Now the difference between us and our motorized friends is that the herd accepts us as being part of their daily lives and do not see us as a threat. When, may I ask, was the last time you just sat there amongst a bunch of wild animals, feeding them apples? You should try it one day. It tends to give a person a somewhat different philosophy about life for some reason.

And for sure I should mention that sight we saw on that perfect sunny day. The “Mob” and I were traveling across this bridge when we surprised this bald eagle having a meal. This majestic bird took off, circled around and flew right over the entire team starting from the back of the sled and gliding all the way to the front, following the entire length of the gang line. It flew so low that when it went over my head, not only could I hear the noise of its huge flapping wings but I could actually feel the wind that they had generated. This is my books is what living is all about.
Taking in these little moments and cherishing them for a lifetime.

Yup, so these were some of the things I was thinking of while careening down this steep embankment on that particular morning of the 27 Oct 08. I was again in some sort of trouble and I had no one else to blame but myself. You see this was the morning after the second snowfall of this season and I had been too busy concentrating on putting mileage on the clock to go out there and check on the trail conditions. As faith would have it, here I was on the ATV, holding on to the brake levers, all four wheels completely locked, being pulled by this “power house” sliding down the hill and may I add, totally out of control. Call for them to stay all you want, this “Oumak” character didn’t have a clue as to what I was talking about. So here I was with half the team trying to slow down and the yearlings well what can I say, they were enjoying the moment and checking out how fast this “new guy” could drive the team. So I settled down in my seat and concentrated on getting us down safely. We managed this quite well and when we got back to the dog trailer, I couldn’t but stop laughing. They didn’t have any clue as to how dangerous the ride had been. They were just all standing there covered in mud from head to toe with this “shit eating” grin. Were they excited about the first snow or were they getting in good enough shape to enjoy these outings. Personally, I think it was a combination of both things. One thing was for certain though. The “Boyz” had accepted “Oumak” as one of them and the gray wolf had proven to be a worthy member of the team. This was brought home when out of habit, I undressed him and let him loose without thinking. He simply ran to and jumped in his dog box and waited for me to come and close the door. I guess he had accepted the fact that this would be his new home. Now if only I could teach him how to speak “English”. He didn’t need to be fluent. All I was asking was that he understands what “Stay” means. “Right Oumak?” I told him when I reached in and petted his ears. “It’s going to be quite the adjustment but we’ll be fine my friend.” What I didn’t know at the time and was soon to find out was that this dog was a very smart individual.

When we got back to the lodges, I let the “A” team out for their drink of water at the river routine. There, while waiting for them to finish, I noticed that most of them were walking around with imprints of their harnesses right in their fur. Why not, I concluded, they’ve practically lived in them all month. By the way they were horsing around chasing each other, I could tell that they weren’t really tired and were ready to move on to the next phase. The rigorous mountain training had done what it was supposed to do and November would be concentrated on something else. These eight (8) mile runs just didn’t cut it anymore. This year’s goal was to run some mid-distance races and not to build a bunch of muscle bound freaks. Right now, all of them were sporting some mean looking sets of hind legs. They somehow reminded me of those “Tour de France” cyclists with those bulging athletic legs. Hell, if Iwasn't careful, I might just be sidelined in Fort Kent and checked for illegal steroids (tongue in cheek). Anyway, this phase would end today but only after I was finished with the girls. They were waiting impatiently at the barn, yapping away since they had heard the “4 wheeler” pull in the yard. The snowy hills were less of a concern for me when dealing with the “B” team and besides, I kind of enjoyed the “Adrenaline” rushes provided by these little bouts of excitement.

Well folks, I could write for another possibly ten (10) pages before closing but think I should keep some stuff for later. If you stick around, you’ll find out how my pregnant “Alaska” faired out and how the construction went. So for now, I’ll just bid you farewell and meet you back here in, oh say, maybe in two weeks.

To my American friends, “Happy Thanksgiving!” To the girls, remember, “One minute on the lips equals an eternity on the hips.” Anyway, have a good one. Got to go and stoke the fire and make another pot of coffee.

Gino