Running with the Big Dogs

by Cynthia Glaze (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown USA

Howling and barking filled the air as warm curls of breath escaped the dogs’ mouths. They were excited, ready to go, straining at their harnesses. The thermometer on the tent read -14. The exposed skin of my cheeks burned with the cold but my heart was racing, my blood pumping. I had been looking forward to this experience since childhood. A 45-minute drive with little active GPS had landed me in the middle of Alaska at the center of dog-sledding paradise. Precisely where I wanted to be. I breathed the biting air deeply as the images of Akiak and Balto that had filled my mind since I was a kid came rushing in. I was finally here. My guide for the morning greeted me warmly at the opening to the tent and brought me to sit near a heater among some sweet retirees looking for pets. I was already in doggy heaven. Her hands moved constantly as she enthusiastically explained the daily working and training of the dogs. The Iditarod was coming up soon and the air was thick with preparation and anticipation. After checking our clothing to be sure we were adequately prepared, she bustled us out to meet the dogs. Stepping into the dog yard for the first time can be a bit of a shock to those of us who pamper our pet children. Nearly 50 dogs ranging in color from solid black and white to multi-colored blacks, tans, and browns are tethered by chains to stakes. They have just enough reach to run in circles, snuggle up in their houses, and completely annoy their neighbors if in the mood. I admit it was a bit unsettling. However, as I approached, the dogs began wagging their tails and jumping to greet me. Playful and loving, they wanted only to be petted, played with, and to steal my mittens. They seemed well taken care of and happy. These are not house pets bred for good manners. They are working dogs bred to run. I was jumped on, licked, and playfully nibbled upon. Again, heaven! Worn out and warmed up after playing with the pups it was time for my first lesson in dog mushing. “Straddle the pup, fold the collar, put it over the neck, tap one front leg it goes up and through, tap the other, up and through, pull out the ring, connect to sled.” I had just harnessed my first sled dog! Although successful, I was none too quick at this new skill, so my guide finished the job. She demonstrated how to stand on the runners of a tag sled and work the brake. I was encouraged to yell loudly if (when) I fell off. Not feeling entirely confident I began the 4-mile tour comfortably seated in front of the guide. I’d let my husband fall off the tag sled, thank you. The barking increased as the 10-dog team grew impatient, jumping and jostling each other, looking for the musher to give the word. Then, we were off. The sun was bright, the snow shimmering with reflected light as the trees flew past. The vast expanse of Alaskan wilderness stretched out before me in all its glory. My eyes were stinging with the cold air, but sunglasses fogged up quickly with my warm breath. These dogs were on fire, each running with the drive and desire they were born with. Straight, left, right, commands were given and they responded as one. A break half-way along allowed them to catch their breath and bury their heads in the snow. I could have lingered there for hours knowing this last stretch would bring me to the end of this dog-day adventure. The call rang out and the world and final moments were again flying by as we headed home to the yard. Tired and happy dogs, and an ecstatic and tearful rider were greeted by the yips and yaps of other pups as we entered the yard. Filled up and joyful, I gave a few last pats in the puppy yard as I walked toward my car. A lifetime dream had been realized. A lifetime memory had been created.