Running With The Pack
My dear friend Sabrina recently sent me pictures from a dog sledding expedition that she and her husband took in Canada. It reminded me of when I had the opportunity to fly behind some amazing canines at the top of the world. This was my reply to Sabrina:
Mushing has to be one of the most fun things I have ever done. I had the opportunity to do it in Vail, CO a few years ago. I expected that I would be pulled in a nice warm sled while the dogs and musher did all the work. That fantasy lasted for about 30 minutes. Then the sled owner told me it was my turn to run with the dogs. And he did mean run! I wasn't up on the runners much since it seemed like we were always going uphill. Up. Up. Up. How can you do an entire run uphill without ever coming down??? We ran along a ridge of the Rockies with the whole world beneath us. And I kept thinking, "Where is the oxygen up here?" Of course, I was much chubbier and less fit then, so what little oxygen there was didn't go very far.
The dogs, on the other hand, were very fit. They were a motley crew of mixed breeds for the most part, with one that was half greyhound. His legs were much longer than the other dogs and his coat wasn't nearly as thick. He was a racing dog more than a freighting dog, but he seemed to love hauling my chubbiness around. The wheel dog was a stout fellow named Einstein. Since I was completely unfamiliar with mushing, my weight was never on the correct runner when we were turning. That made Einstein's job very hard and he would look over his shoulder at me with a baleful doggie look.
The lead dog was a young male, about 2 years old. I don't recall his name but I recall his temperment. He was trouble. I'll just call him Nasty Dog. He constantly asserted his dominance with the other team dogs and he absolutely had it in for Einstein. He was a generally unpleasant animal. Aloof, aggressive, he bullied the team dogs and was compliant only to his owner. And his owner adored him. He kept him in the house rather than staked with the rest of the team at night.
At any rate, after we returned from our run the owner staked Nasty Dog and walked back to the truck to open the transport boxes. He told me to go ahead and smooch on the team dogs if I wanted to but to leave Nasty Dog alone. He didn't like people much. The first doggie I smooched was Einstein because I had given him such a tough day. He appreciated my attention but Nasty Dog protested with wild barking and snarls. I then moved on to the other team dogs much to Nasty's displeasure. He foamed at the mouth and pulled at the stake. I was about midway up the line, smooching on a matched set of litter mates, when Nasty Dog broke free. The team wheeled around with him as he charged for Einstein and I realized I was going to get cut in half by the tugline or fouled up with the dogs if I didn't do something. Either way, I knew I was going to get hurt. So I lunged at Nasty Dog, grabbed him by his harness, and threw my considerable weight into him. He was practically lifted off the ground as I shouted "NO!" into his snarling face. Now I was the one who was foaming at the mouth. "NO!" I shouted again as I gave him a shake.
And what a baby he became! He practically wet himself. He whined and wimpered as I put him back on his feet. He tucked his tail underneath his belly and dropped his head low. I held his harness tightly and scratched him in spite of myself. He seemed to like it. He even wagged his tail. His owner came running up to restake him. "Good job," he told me. "That would have been bad." "Thanks," I gasped. I watched as Nasty was lead back to his stake and wondered, "Where the hell is the oxygen up here?" Only an oxygen deprived brain would think to grab a snarling dog and snarl back!
Mushing has to be one of the most fun things I have ever done. I had the opportunity to do it in Vail, CO a few years ago. I expected that I would be pulled in a nice warm sled while the dogs and musher did all the work. That fantasy lasted for about 30 minutes. Then the sled owner told me it was my turn to run with the dogs. And he did mean run! I wasn't up on the runners much since it seemed like we were always going uphill. Up. Up. Up. How can you do an entire run uphill without ever coming down??? We ran along a ridge of the Rockies with the whole world beneath us. And I kept thinking, "Where is the oxygen up here?" Of course, I was much chubbier and less fit then, so what little oxygen there was didn't go very far.
The dogs, on the other hand, were very fit. They were a motley crew of mixed breeds for the most part, with one that was half greyhound. His legs were much longer than the other dogs and his coat wasn't nearly as thick. He was a racing dog more than a freighting dog, but he seemed to love hauling my chubbiness around. The wheel dog was a stout fellow named Einstein. Since I was completely unfamiliar with mushing, my weight was never on the correct runner when we were turning. That made Einstein's job very hard and he would look over his shoulder at me with a baleful doggie look.
The lead dog was a young male, about 2 years old. I don't recall his name but I recall his temperment. He was trouble. I'll just call him Nasty Dog. He constantly asserted his dominance with the other team dogs and he absolutely had it in for Einstein. He was a generally unpleasant animal. Aloof, aggressive, he bullied the team dogs and was compliant only to his owner. And his owner adored him. He kept him in the house rather than staked with the rest of the team at night.
At any rate, after we returned from our run the owner staked Nasty Dog and walked back to the truck to open the transport boxes. He told me to go ahead and smooch on the team dogs if I wanted to but to leave Nasty Dog alone. He didn't like people much. The first doggie I smooched was Einstein because I had given him such a tough day. He appreciated my attention but Nasty Dog protested with wild barking and snarls. I then moved on to the other team dogs much to Nasty's displeasure. He foamed at the mouth and pulled at the stake. I was about midway up the line, smooching on a matched set of litter mates, when Nasty Dog broke free. The team wheeled around with him as he charged for Einstein and I realized I was going to get cut in half by the tugline or fouled up with the dogs if I didn't do something. Either way, I knew I was going to get hurt. So I lunged at Nasty Dog, grabbed him by his harness, and threw my considerable weight into him. He was practically lifted off the ground as I shouted "NO!" into his snarling face. Now I was the one who was foaming at the mouth. "NO!" I shouted again as I gave him a shake.
And what a baby he became! He practically wet himself. He whined and wimpered as I put him back on his feet. He tucked his tail underneath his belly and dropped his head low. I held his harness tightly and scratched him in spite of myself. He seemed to like it. He even wagged his tail. His owner came running up to restake him. "Good job," he told me. "That would have been bad." "Thanks," I gasped. I watched as Nasty was lead back to his stake and wondered, "Where the hell is the oxygen up here?" Only an oxygen deprived brain would think to grab a snarling dog and snarl back!
posted by IrishOnTheRoad @ 12:21 PM
<< Home