"...and miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost

She walks gingerly through the grass, picking her feet up high in a sort of prance, as if the grass contains some substance she detests. She lifts her long slender legs, exposing the shaved ring around her left forearm which betrays her gallant attempt to pretend all is well. That ring tells a story; it hasn't been too long since that horrible night of relentless seizures I thought would kill her. The discharge papers from the hospital said status epilepticus.

That night, as I carried her convulsing body into the hospital, a tech ran toward me.

"Permission to cath?" the tech yelled to me over the chaos. She wanted permission to place an IV line.

Life for Big Brown - B.B. - would change irrevocably that night.

"Yes! Of course!" I yelled back.

We returned home with Keppra, an anti-epileptic medication B.B. would take for the rest of her life, and questions, mainly, why? Why would a 10-year-old dog suddenly have violent grand mal seizures? My suspicions were that things were not good.

Since that night we've returned for more tests and x-rays in a more controlled, less acute and chaotic climate, and my suspicions were confirmed. I've put off writing this post because somehow I thought if I didn't write it, it wouldn't be reality. But it is reality.

B.B. has always been thin, and for a sled dog, a finicky eater. But her weight has held consistent her whole life at 38 pounds. This day, the scales revealed she'd lost five pounds in just 13 days.

Dr. Kaegi met me in the dark x-ray room. 

"Can you see anything?" I asked. 

"Yes," she said as she flipped the lights off "and unfortunately, just as we suspected, it's not good." 

On the screen were two films, one clearly showing B.B.'s ribcage, heart, and trachea illuminated from behind, and the other of her gut. She's had relentless diarrhea since this whole thing started despite my best efforts to alleviate it with over-the-counter remedies, so we elected to take x-rays of her gut to get a clear picture of what's going on inside. 

On the film on the right, in front of the iridescence of florescent light, beside the darkish mass of B.B.'s heart was another, darker mass. This dark mass, a dull cloud in an otherwise normal film, was home to rampant and unchecked cell division. Cells gone to the dark side and run amok. I pictured them as wild, unkempt, unruly children laughing manically. It was undeniable and evident even to an untrained eye.

Cancer.

The film showed three small metastases or "mets" within B.B.'s lungs. About 20 months ago, I discovered a small, quarter-sized lump on her chest. I promptly had it removed within a week of discovery, with clean margins that I'd hoped meant cancer would be gone forever. Breast cancer metastasizes to two places, primarily: the lungs and the brain. 

In the nine days since learning this news, my focus has been on comfort care. We left that office visit with more drugs and probiotics, and I've kept beef, chicken and rice stocked in the kitchen to whet B.B.'s palate. She has good days and not so good days. On good days, she prances in the grass in what's become her trademark high-stepping stride. She eats heartily and goes for car rides. On not-so-good days, she quivers on the sofa, seemingly cold, but simultaneously panting and drooling. On good days, the light is in her eyes and she smiles. On not-so-good days, she seems disoriented, confused, and sleeps a lot.

This last winter, I took B.B. and four other dogs one what would be her last sled run. Of course, I didn't know it at the time. I wonder now if those mutant cells were working to proliferate even then.

As she pranced through the grass today, it struck me that these are the final days of her life. But then I remember what an extraordinary life she's led.

B.B. has become my main education dog, doing presentations and dog sled demos all over Ohio and into Michigan. In March, B.B. attended her biggest school presentation in Logan, Ohio, meeting and greeting about 500 elementary school students as we presented about dog sledding.

B.B. at a library presentation in 2014

With about 500 students of Green Elementary School in Logan, Ohio

My daughter, Sophie, came over from Ohio University to help with the presentation at Green Elementary

I think of all the dogs I've lost over the years for a variety of reasons: Kahlua, Gracie, Foxie, Gwennie, Thelonious, Mojo, Punk, Feist... and all the dogs I've known, trained and worked with - literally hundreds - over the years, and I don't know if I've spent as many solid hours adventuring and working as I have with Big Brown.

She has been with me on almost every single race I've done in my mushing career from triumphs

 and through adversity.

Over the last 10 years, we have spent hundreds and hundreds of hours in the deep recesses of forests in the midwest hiking, camping, running, and racing. She has helped train young leaders...

And shouldered dogs twice her size into turns.

We have grown together, from our humble beginnings...

Punderson Sled Dog Classic. Photo by Nicolas Skidmore

Taquamenon Sled Dog Race. Photo by Sigurd Utych

to larger races...

Midnight Run. Photo by Aladino Mandoli

Tahquamenon Sled Dog Race. Photo by Aladino Mandoli

Midnight Run. Photo by Nace Hagemann

We've run along the shores of Lake Superior...

in fierce blizzards and storms...

And magical places that look like something out of Narnia.

We've run at night...

Copper Dog. Photo by Brockit

We've run alone in the silence only winter can bring.

We've camped out...

And stayed in...

B.B. has met many people, from tiny ones...

To grown ups ...

To people who cared for her...

With one of our favorite members of the Copper Dog veterinary team

We've loved...

And in the end, that's all that matters, right?

Thinking about losing B.B. is so painful I haven't wanted to write about it. I intermittently become emotional at the strangest times. I think of all the adventures I still wanted with her. I owe my entire racing career to this dog... and she is so much more than "just a dog." Mushers spend more one-on-one hours with their dogs than anyone I know. The bond that develops is so, so deep from those hours spent in the woods.

For now, B.B. sleeps contentedly on the sofa as I type. And we wait, cherishing every moment.

Eben Ice Caves and The Midnight Run - some photos

The day after winter storm Neptune swept dramatically through Marquette, the snow cleared and the sky became beautiful and blue. We decided to stop by our friends, the Curtices, who live in Rumley, a tiny place (can't really be called a "town" because as far as I know, there is only a general store) about 30 minutes outside of Marquette just outside of Chatham. My daughter Sophie and I decided to take a hike with Caitlin Curtice to the Eben Ice Caves, a place I had always wanted to stop but never had been to. The following are some photos from the Eben Ice Caves.

looking up

looking up again

A wall of ice

I also shot some photos of our friends at the Midnight Run....

Joann and Daisy

Larry and Zeus

Martha and Bebop

Another of Martha and Bebop

Mike Bestgen preps lead dogs while Amy is ready at the helm

Friends Mike and Meagan before the race.

Next stop: CopperDog 40! 

Big Brown's story: this week's featured dog

This week's featured dog doesn't live up to her name at all. See her there, in the picture above, yelling out orders to go? That's Big Brown - BB for short -  and she is neither big or brown. But I didn't name her.

She was named after a race horse, along with her sister, Ruffian (next to her in the above photo) by my good friend, mentor, and horse racing fan, Joann Fortier.

Big Brown at four weeks in 2008

I bought Big Brown and Ruffian from Joann in March of 2009 when they were only 10 months old. She had barely been harness broken with only four runs under her, but from the very minute I met her, I knew she was special. She was clearly very smart, and I loved her outgoing and silly personality. Joann says she gets her silliness from her mom, Odessa.

BB looks at me upside down in her house

Over the last two seasons, I faithfully ran BB in point position, behind the leaders, without thinking much of trying her in lead until this past season. Ruffian was a natural leader, but a little too intense for Yeti, my main leader. Ruffian would bark in his face if he didn't take a turn immediately, and things got to the point where Yeti cowered from Ruffian's intensity.

So, on a whim, I put BB up front with Yeti one training run early last fall. BB looked so small in her 40 pound frame next to a hulking Yeti, who is about 65 pounds. But, suddenly, BB had found her birthright.

I blinked my eyes in wonder as I shot this photo last fall in Michigan, BB holding the line taut and strong in lead. How could I have not seen this before? Without hesitation, right from the first time in lead, she shouldered big Yeti into turns the second I called them out. What's more, she kept a naturally fast pace - far faster than Yeti. Suddenly, I had found my natural "crack" leader. Right in my kennel. (For a detailed description of a "crack" leader - as well as other types of lead dogs, click here.)

Navigating a twisty part of the Tahquamenon trail last winter. Big Brown and Ruffian in lead. Photo by Dino Mandoli

Big Brown blossomed in lead last season. At just three years of age, she led every race I competed in.

Munching on a Cliff bar on the second leg of the Midnight Run last season. BB in lead with Yeti. Photo by Dino Mandoli

Big Brown models her new dog jacket at a race in upstate New York

Big Brown is, paws down, one of the most valuable dogs in my kennel. She is a super leader, super sweet, super smart, and doesn't take up much space :)

On the trail in Michigan with Ruffian and Big Brown in lead

I am looking for a sponsor for Big Brown for the 2012/2013 season. Won't you consider sponsoring a dog?

The story of Miles: part deux

Miles quickly grew from that adorable little puppy into a big, leggy young man. He was still a ham and a big baby though. 

Miles sitting in Sophie's lap like a baby

I began harness breaking Miles when he was about nine months old, and he did the usual puppy shenanigans when he was first in harness: trying to turn around, playing with his neighbor while running, being easily distracted, etc.  Before long, though, he was running like a champ. He's never been the most focused dog in the world on the line. And he barks at anything unusual - Oncoming mushers, other dogs, something in the woods - a strange, high-pitched bark that can be startling. But even if he barks, he does not skip a beat.

He had nearly 1,000 miles on him when we hit our first race in January last year, and he did phenomenal. He is a strong, flawless puller who is always happy to please.

Miles at the checkpoint early on the second day of the Midnight Run

Miles has become a cornerstone of my kennel with his amazing personality, his tenacity, great attitude and willingness to please. What's more, he has become the sole education dog for my dog sledding presentations. This is why I named him one of the kennels "MVPs" last season. He also became a semi-famous local celebrity when he was pictured with me in Akron Life and Leisure magazine last January. Smiles might never be a leader, but he is a huge asset to the kennel and my race team.

Photo by Shane Wynn

We are looking for a sponsor for Miles for the 2012/2013 season. Won't you consider sponsoring a dog?

Midnight Run: the arrival

There is something so precious and beautiful about waiting until the perfect moment to arrive at a goal and then meeting that goal.

Every musher thinks their dogs are wonderful. And I'm no different. I'm in awe of my dogs.

Freya freight train hugs a volunteer at the vet check the day before race day

Maybe it's the lack of sleep catching up to me, but I have been an emotional roller coaster this morning, overwhelmed with gratitude and humility about my awesome dogs and our most memorable journey. So I decided to brew a big pot of coffee, sit down, and write about it.

I signed up for the Midnight Run in 2009, but withdrew on the advice of several "elder mushers"who said I wasn't ready. At that time it was a bitter pill to swallow, but in hindsight, they were correct.

A reoccurring thought I had while on the Midnight Run trail this past weekend was how sweet it is to arrive at the perfect moment in time to reach a goal: capable, confident and relaxed. I used to worry and stress about getting to goals, to the point where I almost forced things, and the Universe always had a way of smacking me down and reminding me that the time wasn't right. Similarly, the Universe rose to meet me this weekend with blessings and a clean run. Now the Midnight Run - our first 90 mile checkpoint race - is under our harnesses, and I am savoring with gratitude its arrival.

Here are some thoughts (and photos) from the race trail and the experience.

The Race: "That was pure wild animal craziness!" Mr. Fox
For once, there is no harrowing story to tell. We arrived downtown in Marquette, MI at our designated time of 5 p.m. to prepare for the ceremonial start, set to kick off at 7:10 p.m. We had plenty of time for our bag check, set up, and to mingle and talk with friends. The ceremonial start was an amazing experience that I will never forget, and I was honored to see hundreds of people lined up along the start to watch the teams in their sled dogger procession down Washington Street.

My awesome handler, Emily Wade,  rockin' her infamous sock monkey hat at the ceremonial start

Friends and mentors, Larry and Joann Fortier of Coyote Run Kennel at the ceremonial start

My friend, fellow writer and sister from another mother, Michelle Hogan (right) and me before the ceremonial start

We then had to drive to Chatham for the real start, and this was a bit intense. After the drive, parking, and getting my gear ready and new runner plastic on (thanks to the volunteers who helped), we literally made it to the starting chute in the nick of time! It was quite intense.

We headed out into the night at 10:27 p.m., bib #107 (seventh out of the chute): alone with my eight best friends, and I thought to myself, "okay, this is it."

 I didn't feel nervous like I thought I would, however; I felt completely ready. The trail was super well-marked, fast, but packed enough to hook down, and we had a totally clean run for the most part. I decided to run Yeti, my main leader, and I am sure glad I did: we didn't miss a single turn, and my three-year old female, Big Brown, led with Yeti the entire 90 miles!

The dogs were on fire and held their pace well on the first leg. Larry Fortier, husband to my main mentor Joann, tried once to pass us, but couldn't quite make it. Then about 20 miles in, I slowed a bit and let him pass; then he couldn't shake us! My GPS clocked our fastest speed at 15.9 mph. Around 2:30 a.m. we hit a very slick flat patch, and I was amazed when I called the dogs up, after running for four hours, and they hiked up, all loping beautiful through the night.

Midnight Riders: my team loping along around 2:30 a.m. on the Midnight Run trail

We arrived to the checkpoint back at Chatham at 3:28 a.m. - almost exactly five hours after leaving. The checkpoint summary is here

Emily, my other handler Ron, and I quickly and quietly fed the dogs, checked feet, massaged, rubbed, jacketed and blanketed the dogs. Yeti literally melted in his straw bed, he was so tired. We then all climbed into my truck and I was amazed at how quickly I fell asleep. I had worried the whole time about the lack of sleep more than anything, but after three hours of hard sleep, the alarm went off at 7 a.m. and I awoke feeling surprisingly good!

As we emerged, shaking sleep from our hair, Larry Fortier called me over to his truck.

"Wow, your dogs looked great last night!" he said. "First I couldn't pass you, and then I couldn't shake you!"

I beamed with pride at this compliment from my friend and a musher I admire. "Thank you, Larry! I was as surprised as you were!"

There was only one spot where I had problems that first leg and had to stop the team.  It was a very sharp left turn where the trail began to loop back to Chatham. A musher before me had apparently taken a left turn too soon and cut into the trees just a hair before the actual turn. I saw someone lost their lead dog's blinky light in the deep snow here.

My dogs followed this trail, and it was nearly a 180 degree left turn; I dumped the sled here, and it was a doozy of a dump. I was dragged briefly before landing on my knees and righting the sled, and then I lost time trying to right my hooks, which had flown somehow under the runners and were tangled. It was here that several mushers finally caught up to me and passed me. I was bummed.

It was here I also received my race war wound.

Not the greatest picture, but this is my left knee after the race

Regardless, the dogs came in tired but strong. We were set to depart the next morning at 9:14, and I didn't know what to expect of the dogs since I had never asked them to run a second leg after running 48 miles before.

The first mile of the second leg: a vast white expanse that reminded me of a photo that could have come from the Iditarod

Almost immediately, I noticed they were off. Yeti, my leader, stopped to poop right away, and had awful diarrhea. Then Ruffian, my other leader, stopped and had the same thing. Then Miles, then Freya...

My worst suspicions were confirmed when Yeti stopped dead and promptly projectile vomited his breakfast all over the trail.

My dogs had caught a virus. We struggled on the second leg. Our average speed was only 7.5 mph, and we stopped frequently for the effects of this virus to work itself out. We were down to a march rather than a run; still, we marched on.

Aside from the virus, we had a flawless run. No tangles, chewed necklines or escapees (see the previous post about Aspen's get away here). The last five or six miles of this leg was quite intense and was the most technically challenging of my racing career thus far. Hair-pin turns wound around trees and down moguls left by snowmobiles. I literally saw the imprint of a musher's body and sled in a snow bank along these hills. Still, we had a clean run.

My friend and fabulous photographer and supporter, Dino, shot this photo of us running along the railroad bed. I was munching on a Cliff bar :)

We finished our rookie Midnight Run in 27th place out of an original starting line up of 31 teams. Two people scratched. And we didn't get the red lantern.

Coming over the finish!

I have so much gratitude for everyone that helped to make this season happen. Yesterday, as I walked outside to check the mail, I teared up thinking of what an incredible season we had, and how lucky I am to have such amazing canine athletes to share my life with. My dogs inspire me to reach higher, run stronger, do more. I have an overwhelming amount of love and patience for them - really, I am in awe of them. They are the best bunch of doggers ever!

A special Mush Love Call Out: I want to say a special "mush love" to my sponsors this season, to my parents for helping out with keeping things moving at home while I was away training and racing, and to Chris. Without all of you, this season would not have happened. I also want to recognize my amazing handler, Emily Wade, without whose help during this weekend I would have surely crumbled. I also want to say thank you to Jodi Bailey, David Gill, and Joann Fortier for their friendship and mentoring along the way.