CopperDog recap and top 5 mushing myths debunked

I put my sled away today. The dog trailer is cleaned out and put away as well. It would seem the season has come to an end. And I haven't even updated here!

At the very top of a map of Michigan is a wide strip that runs along Lake Superior known as the Upper Peninsula (U.P.). This area of Michigan is confusing to most of the U.S. population and even some Midwesterners. The U.P. is like no other place I've ever been, and has an identity and culture all its own. Separated from lower Michigan by Lake Michigan and the Mackinaw bridge - the "Mighty Mac," - the U.P. is a stones-throw away from Canada. Once, on a pier in Whitefish Point, I walked to the end and my cell phone thought I was in Canada.

If you continue to look at that map of Michigan, and the U.P., you'll notice at the top of that long strip a peninsula, called the Keeweenaw.

Some call Grand Rapids in the lower part of Michigan the "thumb," but the Keeweenaw is the real thumb. Jutting out into Lake Superior, the Keeweenaw is the "thumbs up" of the U.P. - the fat phalange that says "Say yea to the U.P., eh"; the hitchhiker of Lake Superior; the universal symbol of approval. This particular phalange gets quite cold in February. Best bring some mittens.

Snow whirled around in the arctic equivalent of a dust devil on the horizon as we headed across M-28 again for the second time in two weeks. Only this time, it was a balmly 10 degrees. The dogs were tired of riding in their dog boxes - individual wooded dog compartments that, in my case, sit atop a 13-foot flatbed trailer. A traveling dog condo on wheels. We had traveled 582 miles, and still had nearly 200 miles to go to Calumet, the little thumbnail in the thumb of the Keeweenaw, the very tippy-top of the Keeweenaw Peninsula.

Dog races, for me, are a blur of traveling hundreds of miles, scrambling to mandatory musher meetings, gearing up and heading out on the race trail for hours. This particular race - the 40 mile portion of the Copper Dog 150 - is especially blurry. I worked until 5 p.m. Wednesday evening, and left with eight dogs early Thursday morning traveling 760 miles. Our veterinary check was at 11 a.m. on Friday morning, leaving little time for dilly dally. Or sleeping.  Our start time for the race was 8:18 p.m.

It may all sound exhausting from an outsiders perspective. Many have remarked that it sounds "stressful," or "draining." But this is what gives me energy, fills me up and brings me joy. Which got me to thinkin'...

As I drove across the U.P., I thought of all of the things others have said to me about this sport. These mushing myths are so common, I can't begin to recount how many times I've heard them. Aside from debunking the most common myth -- that sled dogs are all Siberian huskies (that only happens in Disney films) -- I thought I'd set the record straight about some of the other myths I hear so often. Here goes.

5. "Do you ever sleep?" I seem to hear this often. I think it's because most of the races I run are at night. Um, yes I sleep. In fact, I guard my sleep time like a proverbial mother bear guards her cubs. And while it might be true that mushers have a higher tolerance for functioning without regular sleep, most mushers I know make up for the sleep they don't get when they're not racing. I prefer running dogs at night, though on this particular race last weekend, my headlamp malfunctioned. Not to worry: mushers are required to carry a spare as part of their "mandatory gear" for just such an occasion. Only my spare was a cheap-o 80 lumen dim flicker I'd bought at a local feed store for $15. Luckily, unlike the Jack Pine two weeks earlier, we ran under the light of a perfect 3/4 moon and clear, star-filled U.P. sky. But I never want to run a race in the dark again! I've already purchased a new headlamp, and I am catching up on sleep - hence the slow blog post.

4. "Your dogs must love the cold!" While it is true that Alaskan huskies are made for cold weather, not all of them are equipped to run headlong into a blizzard at 30 below. Like people, their coats vary; some of them are shorter coated, have less body fat or just prone to being chilled. In fact, we mushers carry just about as much gear to protect our dogs from the cold and wind as we do for ourselves. We slather goop onto our dog's paw pads and cover their feet with booties to protect them from ice and snow. During the race this past weekend, I ran two of my dogs in custom-made jackets to protect them from the temperatures. And, when it gets really cold, mushers have special covers made to protect a dog's "private parts" from frostbite.

3. "I expected your dogs to be bigger." This is probably the number one thing I hear at sled dog demonstrations, races and from non-mushers. I can't speak for other musher's teams, and the sizes of Alaskan huskies varies, but, in general, the average size of my males is about 55 pounds and 45 for the females. My main leader, Big Brown, is 37 pounds. The dogs were bred for speed and endurance, and the fact is, Malamutes are pretty darned slow! My typical response to this comment is "you don't see many large marathon runners, do ya!"

My tiny main leader, Big Brown, on my bed

2. "You must love this weather!" a coworker said to me as several more inches of snow fell the week before we left for the race. My retort is always the same. There is a Swedish saying "there is no bad weather, only bad clothing." 

Taken during the "storm Neptune" a few weeks ago, do I look thrilled? No. 

Mushers have no higher tolerance to cold than anyone else. And, with back problems and a family history of Rheumatoid arthritis, I feel the cold, lemme tell ya! When you go swimming, you dress appropriately, right? Well, the same is true for mushers - or any other winter athlete. If you're going to spend hours outside in the cold, you dress appropriately. We invest in good gear, and that usually starts with excellent base layers, wool socks, winter parkas and snow pants specifically made to protect against severe winter cold.

So many people seem to shut themselves off to the unique beauty, awesome silence and pristine views of winter. As we ran the last 15 miles of the race last weekend, I turned my headlamp off (trying to reserve some of the battery). Shadows danced with us across the snow-covered forest and on as we ran along a frozen lake. The moon seemed to reflect off of each tiny crystalline snowflake that rolled on into the distance as each tree, bush and rock created long shadows across the white tundra. I thought about how many would never see that beauty simply because they shield themselves off from winter. I want to be open to take in all of life and what it has to show me. In all seasons.

1. "What kind of dogs are those?" This is, by far, the number one remark I hear. Numero uno. The most common myth - that all sled dogs are fuzzy, blue-eyed beasts - is one propagated by Disney. This is not to say that there aren't Siberian huskies at sled dog races; there are. But the more common type of dog is the Alaskan husky, a "mutt" if I'm being honest. Alaskan huskies are not an AKC registered breed. But they have pedigrees carefully traced back to some key recognized players in the sport of dog mushing: Roxy Wright-Champaigne, Doug Swingley, Lance Mackey, Mitch Seavey. Some Alaskans have blue eyes, but some have brown or even gray and gold colored eyes. Some Alaskans have fluffy gray coats, but others have shorter coats that are black, brown, spotted, or any variation or combination in between. Alaskan huskies are a varied breed.

So, to recap, we placed 10th in the Jack Pine in a veritable blizzard the likes of which I've never run dogs in. We placed 14th out of 21 in the Copper Dog in a very fast field of teams. Considering I didn't think I would be able to race at all this season, I am quite pleased with the fact that we were able to manage two races and place solidly in the middle-of-the-pack.

That's a wrap on the 2014-2015 season! Stay tuned for puppy harness breaking! And as always...

When the heart says yes, but the body says no

The snow falls effortlessly, slowly gathering on his gray head as he sits on the roof of his house. It's quiet, save for a dog barking in the distance. He appears stately, as almost a statue, until he slowly raises his head skyward, opens his long mouth and howls.

Soon the others emerge from their houses, shaking off sleep and greeting the day. Bright-eyed and eager, they join his lonely song, a cacophony of 16 dogs singing, and they say "let's go." But there is no going for me.  They see me and stop their chorus in unison. They eye me, all looking at me expectantly, waiting. When are we going. There is no going for me, and that is heartbreaking. Heartbreaking beyond what I'm able to convey. Days like today are what mushers - and sled dogs - live for.

I'm not one to let pain stop me. I joke often that my middle name is "tenacious." A very special person once told me that I train and race dogs "against all odds." I pride myself on that.

But sometimes, things happen that force our hand. Like a football player with a sudden injury forced to sit out the season, I now mull over the "should haves" and "if onlys." I should have worn the back brace. Regret is a bitter pill.

A bone density scan showed degenerative disc disease in 2007. I get it honestly. My mother's mother had rheumatoid arthritis, her fingers curved in deformed "S" shapes. Still, she crocheted. My aunt had back surgery when I was young. I remember hearing stories of her in traction. My mother has the tell-tale signs of her mother's genetics as well. And, two years ago, I saw my first rheumatologist.

For the last two years, I've struggled with the glaringly obvious effects of this "disc disease" - what I call the result of a life well-lived. Backpacking, long bouncing rides with my mountain bike, and miles and miles of cross-country running in college undoubtedly jarring tiny fragments into my L5. The last nine years on the back of a dog sled undoubtedly further eroded bone, like water washing away rock. This erosion. Spine turning to dust.

I was in denial. This past spring, I took up trail running again, determined to be stronger for the upcoming dog season. It hurt like hell, but with my back brace - a black nylon support wrapped around my waist - and firmly gritted teeth, I could bite through the pain. I worked up to four mile runs, sweated out sets of crunches to firm my core and stabilize the spine, muscles forming support for bone. I was determined. Tenacious.

Friday, winter finally set in. Excited, I loaded nine dogs in the dog trailer, strapped my sled to the roof, and we headed to Punderson State Park for our first run with the sled. I met my friend Ron there with his dogs. In my haste, I forgot the back brace. I never went without it last season on any sled run.

The trails were gorgeous, and despite the lack of a good base, I hooked six dogs for a 10 mile run, then another.

My six dogs with Ron and his six leading ahead of us

On the second time out, I noticed my sled kept tracking to the right. To compensate, I rode with more weight on my left side. I also noticed during that second run that the area in my back with the herniated disc began to hurt. Our second run was short.

When we returned to the staging area, I hobbled through the pain to unhook, unharness and put the dogs away. I put the rest of my gear away, but mentioned to Ron that I was in a lot of pain. I felt better on the 40 minute drive back home, but as I started to get out of my car once at home, my left leg practically gave out from under me. Breath-taking pain shot through my back and down my leg. I limped inside.

Saturday morning found me in excruciating pain and unable to walk. I ended up at the emergency room where I received injections of morphine and toradol, both powerful pain relievers. I filled scripts for vicodin, two kinds of muscle relaxers and an oral steroid for inflammation, and was on bed rest for the remainder of the weekend.

The best laid plans of mice and men. And mushers.

At the time of this writing, I am still awaiting results from x-rays. But the tech allowed me to take a peek at them after I had them done, and what I saw wasn't pretty. Spinal stenosis - a narrowing of the spine - with a possible fracture on the vertebrae, and undoubtedly, sciatica - a pinched nerve that shoots pain down the leg.

For the safety of my dogs, other mushers' teams and myself, I have withdrawn from my favorite race, the 90-mile Midnight Run. I am able to walk now thanks to medication, and I am still debating on running the IronLine and Copper Dog 40, which are shorter, six-dog class races.

My heart wants to be out there on the trail with them. More than anything. But my body says no. And the argument that has ensued between the two is heartbreaking. 

Where my heart longs to be

Mid-fall updates: "Watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow..."

Several thoughts come to mind this time of year regarding training. One, and I've said this before, November is "make it or break it" month as far as training. The runs get longer, the temps get colder (at the time of this writing, it is like full-blown January instead of mid-November), and this is the time when running dogs isn't necessarily always fun. Today, we did a touch over 15 miles, and it was 24 blowing, blustery degrees with six inches of fresh, heavy snow.

Dreamed I was an Eskimo
Frozen wind began to blow...

The team stopped along one of the snow-covered trails we run on 

Training was compromised somewhat during October because of Mojo and Feist contracting parvo; my days were consumed with caring for them. We are subsequently behind a bit on miles to where I would like to be. But we are hitting it hard again with runs every other day and the dogs are looking strong. 

Under my boots 'n around my toe
Frost had bit the ground below

A panoramic of my favorite spot on our training trails

This is also the time of year to count our blessings, and I count seven of them every day: their names are Buddha, Bonanza, Blaze, Cisco (The Cisco Kid), Voodoo, Halo, and Mirage. 

Elise and Halo

Sophie and Voodoo

The rest of the puppies are thriving and growing like crazy. I cannot wait to harness break them in the spring. They will no doubt bring the kennel into a new level of competitiveness in the future.

Plans are underway for the 2014/2015 racing season. They are here. If you would like to sponsor a puppy or an active member of the race team, please throw us a bone. We are currently actively looking for sponsors for this season.

As always...

....and watch out for the yellow snow

Puppy Update

I'm beginning to think the Ohio tourism slogan "so much to discover!" was written with puppies and not Ohio in mind. The puppies - a.k.a. the "little monsters" - were seven weeks old this week and have settled into their home outside in their own private kennel run with mama, Cinder. Every day they spend hours outside of the dog kennel ...discovering. And it seems, like some fish and reptiles do, the puppies have also grown tremendously to adapt to their bigger space.

Halo, also sleeping in the dirt under the propane tank...

And they are increasingly adventurous. On our daily puppy outings at the ranch, they venture around the property, wagging at the other dogs...

Buddha brazenly barks at kennel patriarch, Yeti

...running along the puppy paths ... 

Elise: official puppy trainer/herder

and making other discoveries like garden hoses...

Halo and the garden hose

...giant holes dug by the other dogs out of summer boredom ...

Buddha and Halo rest inside one of Tosh's giant excavation projects

...chickens...

"Come here, chicken!"

...and even coffee! 

Blaze slurping from my coffee mug

They have discovered that pulling on your sister's tail is great fun....

BIG BROTHERS! UGH!

...and how to annoy your very big brothers...

Three-year-old, Tosh, rolls his eyes at me as if to say, "mom, can you make the toddlers go away?"

...and the joys of running...

Cisco 

There are more puppy portraits on the Diamond Dogs Facebook Page

Sweet dreams ....

and, as always...

"I am so over this damsel in distress nonsense." Daphne, TheScooby-DooMovie, 2002

A few months ago, some friends were teasing me about a reputation I have developed. My friends, Sandy and Karyn, "rescued" me, my two kids and my dog crew last fall when I had not one, but two flat tires on the dog trailer on separate occasions during a trip to Michigan. After that, we had a good laugh. I said, "I'm going to develop a reputation for these kinds of things!" Sandy replied without missing a beat, "I think you already have!"

I have a vehicle that is four years old for a reason. I wanted something reliable for the amount of driving I do, but also fuel efficient. I abandoned my V8 truck last summer for a fuel-efficient SUV, but hauling a 13 foot dog trailer through blizzards proved too difficult for it last season. I drove 10 hours in a snow storm to Newberry, Michigan for the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race in January, only to have 18 inches of snow fall over night. I woke up stranded the morning of the race. Were it not for a friend and fellow musher, Ron and his big diesel Dodge, I wouldn't have made it to our first race of the season.

This pattern continued throughout last season. It seemed every time I went to a race, some small disaster was sure to follow. Freezing rain and snowfall trapped my little SUV at the hotel in Marquette, MI before the Midnight Run last year. And once again, I got by with a little help from very good friends who, by now had to be growing weary of my damsel in distress nonsense. This time it was Sharon Curtice, and her brother Paul.

Amazingly, I went to my final race of the season last year, The Copper Dog, without mishap.

This weekend, I had planned a trip to the Pocono Mountains to meet friends Susi and Eric, who were adopting two of my dogs. The girls and I had really been looking forward to the five-hour drive through the mountains and forests of Pennsylvania and a mini-vacation with like-minded folks.

But Friday night, my car had different plans.

I work nights, and as I fired her up to head to work at 5:15 p.m., I heard a noise. It's never good to hear strange noises coming from under the hood. I stopped at the end of my driveway, and popped the hood. There, I found a half way shredded serpentine belt flipping wildly. I quickly shut the engine off.

After some fretting, I decided to tackle this project myself. After all, I was raised knowing how to do routine car work - oil changes, tune ups, etc - how hard could it be, right?  A quick trip via a friend up to Autozone for a new belt, I dove headlong into the project, determined not to be a damsel in distress. Armed with Google, YouTube and diagrams, what could go wrong?

a handy diagram of the serpentine belt of my car ... sort of

Only, when I started removing the remaining pieces of the old belt, I found copious amounts of oil all over the engine.

Yessir, that is oil...Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea. 

Putting the belt on proved far more difficult than I could have imagined. I texted my friend Julie to see if her husband could come help. Within minutes, Denis and Nick, their daughter, Hannah's boyfriend, were in my driveway; within an hour, they had the belt on. I was so relieved.

But this still didn't explain the oil, which was also concerning to Denis.

I took it out for a test drive, and it seemed fine. No noises. I thought that possibly the oil happened when the belt broke, but it seemed to run fine. So, the next morning, we loaded up the car bright and early and headed to the Poconos.

The girls and Sirius the puppy pose with a Totem just over the Pennsylvania border

Elise and Sophie

It rained the entire drive into the mountains

It rained the entire drive. We were relieved to finally make it to Saylorsburg and the beautiful home and kennel of friends Eric Walker and Susi Marsh of Arctic Paws Dog Sled Tours. The trip was bittersweet because Susi and Eric had purchased Sirius, one of Cinder's beautiful puppies and my long-time fearless leader, Yeti, who had been the backbone of my kennel for the last six years. At nearly seven years old, Yeti was dropped from training last season because he just couldn't keep up with the speed the rest of my dogs run. It just about killed him to watch me hooking up teams and leaving him behind. So I made the very tough decision to rehome him. And I cried a lot this past weekend.

Eric and Susi took us to a great little winery for some brick oven pizza and Sangria, and we laughed and laughed over dinner telling stories. 

The wait staff was overwhelmed with a wedding party at the winery, so Susi jumped in as a server! 

During dinner, I mentioned to Eric, who is an automotive engineer with 30 years' experience in the trade, that my oil light came on during the short drive to the winery. Given the issues I'd had the previous night, he became alarmed. We checked my oil before heading back to their house, and Eric went to get more oil, strongly warning me against driving my car one more inch.

Back at their house, we degreased the engine and everything under the hood to try to pinpoint a leak, if any. After degreasing and hosing off the engine, we started my car and there appeared to be no leaks. I breathed a sigh of relief, and we had wine. 

Elise and Susi cuddling puppy, Sirius

The next morning, I promised the girls a small hike behind Susi's house. There was an awesome Easter Island-type statue in the woods that the kids thought was pretty cool. 

Easter Island in the Poconos

The girls found a salamander and skipped rocks at the pond. 

Little salamander 

Skipping rocks

We packed up to head for home. But 20 minutes into the drive, I heard a loud squealing when I changed gears. We were only about 20 minutes from Eric and Susi's home when I stopped at an Exxon station. There, under the hood, was my engine caked in oil again. I feared the worst.

We limped back to Susi and Eric's home, and Eric took a look again. Then he said, "well, you're going to have to take my truck home." Surprised, I said, "what? I can't take your truck." His truck is my dream truck! It's a 2013 Chevy Silverado 4x4. It's a beautiful vehicle. I was humbled and awe-struck by his generosity.

So, in the end, we drove home happily and I woke up to find a beautiful truck in my driveway! I am awaiting the final diagnosis of what is wrong with my SUV from Eric. But the moral of the story is this:

If you MUST break down, do it at the home of a 30 year mechanic who is mind-bogglingly generous! 

It's true that I have had my share of issues with vehicles on my adventures traveling to places mushing has taken me. But I am continually amazed and grateful for the generosity of mushers! Several years ago, I started writing a book about the culture of mushing - the people, the dogs - the places. Mushers are such an awesome group, and this experience has rekindled my desire to finish that book!

Thanks so much to Susi and Eric! 

Eric's truck

To add to my list of vehicle troubles, my four wheeler is still in need of repair and we haven't even begin fall training yet! Prayers that my luck will change soon!! 

As always, thanks for reading and ...

Struggle in the Whelping Room

There is a struggle going on in the whelping room. These 10 spirited tiny canines may be blind and deaf, but they are certainly not helpless!

Newborn puppies are born functionally deaf and blind with their ear canals and eyelids sealed shut.  They are essentially mostly mouth and programmed instinctively to do one thing: eat. At all costs.

Cinder and her family resting on day two

The gestation period for dogs is short: just 63 days on average. Dogs are hunters by nature, and part of the reason they are born deaf and blind can be explained by their hunting instinct. Simply put, getting the pups out of the mother's belly and onto the ground as quickly as possible aids in mom's ability to hunt and feed herself and her offspring. When pups are born, their eyes, ears and critical parts of their brain are still forming. Despite their birth, the eyes, brain and hearing still needs about another 10 days to two weeks to develop. Even when the eyes and ears do open, they're not perfectly formed yet and will require another few weeks to fully develop.

Newborn puppies are born deaf and blind. Pictured here is Halo, center gray pup

Cinder's pregnancy lasted exactly 63 days from the first breeding. But her kids are hardwired for survival, as this video will show. Right now, 10 pups are competing for eight nipples, and sometimes things get tense. Even while nursing, the puppies growl and push each other off the nipple, each jockeying for the lion's share of Cinder's milk.

from the whelping room. Kinda...grrr!


YOU CAN WATCH VIDEOS FROM THE WHELPING ROOM! CLICK HERE!

We're Expecting!

It's been a hot summer, and the dogs have been enjoying their time off with lots of free runs, play time and romps in the kitty pool at the Ranch. We are counting down the days until fall training starts (only about six weeks now!) but before training starts, we are counting the days for something even more exciting: puppies!

It has been three years since Diamond Dogs have had babies, and I decided it was time to expand the kennel once again. I am super excited about the gene pool chosen! 

Cinder, who is 4 years old, came to Diamond Dogs late in the 2012 season but quickly proved herself an amazing athlete. Though she had been off training for about six weeks when I acquired her, she jumped right in with the team, started running and never looked back. She ran lead with my gee/haw leader, Yeti and ran the Midnight Run that season. Last season she ran in the Tahquamenon Sled Dog Race and The Midnight Run. She is a beauty to watch run: smooth, straight gait, and light on her feet, she makes loping look effortless. What's more, she always has a smile on her face and gives everything she has on the line.

Cinder this past spring

Cinder's bloodlines are pretty sweet. Her dad, Hobo, is out of Iditarod and Yukon Quest champ, Lance Mackey's kennel. And her mom, Bruny, is out of Beargrease Marathon veteran, John Stetson's kennel. 

I put a lot of thought into choosing a stud. Despite Cinder's bloodlines, which are primarily distance dogs, she is fast. But I wanted a male who could contribute an added element of speed, preferably one who was a lead dog. After talking with a few mushers, I decided to add the speed of Swingley into Cinder's solid endurance lines. The natural choice was Pete and Sharon Curtice's Elrond. 

Elrond has been a natural leader for the Curtice's kennel since he was a yearling. He was on their winning Midnight Run team in 2006 as a yearling, and ran lead on their 2nd place Beargrease 150 race. And his genetics are impressive. Elrond's mom is leader, Hurricane; his dad is  Ceasar who was also a leader (both Swingley origins). It is interesting to note Elrond is also the grandfather to my last litter, the Reggae Litter. 

I made a quick trip up to visit the Curtice's over Memorial Day weekend where Cinder had a date with Elrond. She should be due around July 26th. She is starting to show, and Elise is super excited to help with puppy socialization. 

Elise helping pose Cinder for a photo

We will be at the Green Branch Library tomorrow, July 9, at 1 and 3 p.m. for a presentation of Backyard Iditarod. If you're in the area, stop by! Hopefully my next post will be about tiny little toes!

A Christmas Story from Diamond Dogs Ranch

My sled runners sound like the hull of a ship parting cold water. At least that's what they remind me of. They creak rhythmically as they part the snow, matching the cadence of the dogs' jingling collars. We fly down the side of County Road 407 and turn sharply into the woods - the first few miles of our 41 are already behind us.

The Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race is always our first race of the season, and our first test of four months of training. While children anticipate Kriss Kringle's jovial ride down their chimneys, I  anxiously await the first jovial ride on the race runners shortly after, on January 4.  

In preparation for race time, I have been busily preparing many things which made me reflect on all the things required to be a musher besides balance on the runners. Here is a list of occupational vocations mushing has forced me to wrestle with. 

Seamstress 

To tackle these last couple weeks of training, and because I have been unable to buy dog booties from my normal supplier in the size I need, I launched into bootie-making, with a lot of help from my mom. I obtained a simple pattern from my mushing friend, Jenn, and set out to make a few dozen booties. How hard could it be, right? 

Future dog booties

Mom sewing booties while I cut them

Making booties ended up being a lot more time consuming and labor-intensive than I originally anticipated. Because of several mishaps with my mother's ancient Singer sewing machine, circa 1962, making one bootie took about two hours. The bobbin inside the machine refused to thread properly.

After several unsuccessful attempts at threading, mom, obviously frustrated with the endeavor, tossed the stubborn bobbin aside with an exasperated sigh.

"But mom," I reasoned. "Think of all the memories we are making."

"All this is making me is p*#sed off!" mom said with a laugh.

Finally, we achieved the end result.

The finished product

One down, 35 to go!

Carpenter

Because my former dog-hauling trailer didn't have tires that could sufficiently carry the weight of dog boxes and dogs to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and back without several hundred dollars in repairs, flat tires and tow trucks in October, I recently invested in a larger, more sturdy trailer for the dogs.

The new-to-me trailer in the process of being converted into dog trailer

Anyone unfamiliar with how sled dogs travel to races? This is how. Each dog has a box which mushers typically call "holes." This trailer will be an "eight hole box" - meaning it will comfortably carry 8 dogs safely in cozy little traveling dog houses.

The beginnings of two new boxes, thanks to my friend Greg for helping!

There are so many vocations mushing has forced me to tackle in life: mechanic (trouble-shooting four wheeler problems is a common mushing conundrum); dietitian (balancing proper nutrition for these high-octane beasts is a challenge!); pseudo veterinarian (administering vaccinations, vitamins, medications); guide (navigating 40 miles of trail and having a good trail sense isn't for everyone).

But the most important thing my dogs have taught me is to be prepared for anything, and to have perseverance in the face of adversity. And that leads me to the other vocation mushing has brought to me: story teller.

Sit down, grab a cup of Christmas hot cocoa, and listen to a story about adversity.

The other day during a training run, I took a different trail than normal and came head on with a fairly large downed tree across the middle of the trail. There was a steep drop to my left and a bog to my right; the tree was long and very thick. There was no going over or around it. And the trail was narrow - too narrow to simply turn the team of dogs around.

I had no choice but to unhook the team from the four wheeler, hook them to the tree, turn the four wheeler around by driving over saplings and other thicket, and rehook the team.

This was only eight miles into a 30 mile run. Translation: the dogs were still quite amped!

Unhooking an entire gangline of nine "hot" dogs from a four wheeler while still keeping them on the gangline is a delicate maneuver. A black lab pulling its owner down the sidewalk on a leash has nothing on a team of sled dogs! I unhooked 6 of 9 tuglines (what the dogs pull with) so they couldn't get the leverage to drag me down the trail; they were connected to the gangline by only their necklines. I grabbed an extra tugline I had stowed in the four wheeler for emergencies and wrapped it around the tree; then I secured the gangline to this rope. Once this was done, I had the four wheeler turned around and backed up to the wheel dogs in no time. Easy peasy....

But when I unhooked the line from the tree, the dogs became excited and pulled me down hard onto my butt, dragging me a good 10 feet down the trail in the mud before I managed to stop the team.

Whoever invented Gortex® is a God.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa!!" I yelled.

Ruffian, my inquisitive and ever-in-tune white lead dog turned to look at me, head cocked to one side slightly. Something was amiss with mom, she could tell.

The team on the trail. Ruffian (left) and her sister, Big Brown (right) in lead

I had a few seconds. In the time it took her to process that, I quickly pulled the dogs back and slipped the gangline back into the carabiner on the four wheeler. Now they were reattached to the 500 pound machine with brakes. Whew! I quickly reattached all of their tuglines, and away we went!

I know many people who do not have the patience or tolerance to sort through a situation like that. Making critical decisions quickly, calmly and efficiently is a life skill I largely attribute to mushing.

We leave shortly for our first race. As I wrap up this post, Christmas is officially over. In the last couple days, the dogs and I have logged over 50 miles. This is always our last strenuous training weekend before our first race.

And there, to my team I will give a whistle, and away they will fly like the down of a thistle. And you'll hear us exclaim as we drive out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"