"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

Friday evening, I finished evening chores and was looking forward to relaxing. I showered early and slipped into new pajamas I recently bought when the dog yard erupted.

I ran outside to find my beloved Big Brown - B.B. - in the midst of a grand mal seizure. A mean-looking storm was brewing on the horizon. It was exactly seven years ago that she had one isolated seizure, at this same time of year in the same weather conditions. Otherwise B.B. has lived a healthy happy life. She has been my main gee haw leader and run every race with me since 2009. This month, she and her sister, Ruffian, turn 10.

B.B. (driver's right, spots) and her sister Ruffian (driver's left, white) leading the team during the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race

The other dogs barked incessantly as she writhed and convulsed on the ground. I knelt down beside her, talking quietly. Even though those afflicted with grand mal seizures lose consciousness during the seizure, I still hoped my voice would calm her. Finally she came out of it. Once the clarity of recognition and consciousness came back in her eyes, I picked her up, carrying her slowly into the house.

The team returning from a training run

Once inside, I hoped the seizure would be an isolated incident, but almost as quickly as I put her on the sofa, her legs began paddling again as if swimming, her face twitched and her mouth bared teeth in an eerie grimace. Drool foamed into a white froth from her mouth, and she urinated on herself. Her head turned involuntarily to the side and looked like it would spin completely around. This time, the seizure lasted longer.

Once it stopped, B.B. looked mildly surprised to find me cradling her on the sofa. She drank some water and shivered slightly; she looked exhausted. I hoped for a reprieve, but like waves, another seizure crashed in on us, and I held her so she wouldn't hurt herself from thrashing. Again, I hoped this was the last.

B.B. had eight seizures in 30 minutes.

On the ninth, when she hadn't come out of it in a few solid minutes, I gathered her up, still in my pajamas, and began the 40 minute drive to Metropolitan Veterinary Hospital, the 24 hour emergency vet clinic. In the car, she seized violently, continuously for the entire ride. This is called a status epilepticus, and requires immediate emergency care.

If you have not seen a grand mal seizure, let me tell you, it's terrifying. It's easy to understand why, during Medieval and Renaissance times, those afflicted by epilepsy were thought to be possessed by demons. B.B. writhed, the demon that gripped her forcing her mouth open, showing her impressive canine teeth. Drool frothed from her mouth, her eyes twitched back and forth; she urinated on herself again. I felt helpless and honestly feared she might die before we made it to the ER.

Finally, I zoomed into the driveway, picking her up into my arms and ran through the doorway of the animal hospital. It was 10:30 p.m. A code was called and a team of medical professionals rushed toward me from different doorways and took B.B. from me. I ran after and one of them said "Permission to cath?"

"Of course!" I said. They told me I wasn't allowed into the ICU. I stood even more helpless in the hospital and finally broke down in tears.

B.B. greets a participant at one of our presentations this past March at Green Elementary in Logan Ohio

I purchased B.B. in April of 2009. She was nine months old, and I had no clue that she would blossom into the best lead dog I've had the pleasure of growing with. B.B. is also my education dog. She travels to schools and libraries across the state talking about dog sledding and the history of the Iditarod, meeting hundreds of children in her lifetime. Kids are B.B.'s favorite humans.

B.B. looks out over the entire student body of Green Elementary this past March

Because of their athleticism, most Alaskan huskies live extraordinarily long lives for larger dogs. A dog who was my original education dog and came from Eagle, Alaska lived two months shy of her 18th birthday! Although B.B. is retired now from racing at 10 years, she still had a lot of years left for puppy training, education with kids, and as a hiking buddy. I couldn't imagine life without her.

All of these things scanned through my mind as I waited in the small exam room at the emergency vet. I watched the clock close in on midnight, when finally, Dr. Fox entered the room. She said the medical team managed to stabilize B.B. with Valium and some I.V. fluids.

"Did you happen to take her temperature when you were at home?" she asked.

"No," I responded. To be honest, I didn't even think about that.

Dr. Fox's face looked serious. "B.B.'s temperature on admittance was 103.8. 105 is the cut off where we start to get concerned about brain damage from fever."

That explained the shivering.

Turns out, fever is a symptom of persistent seizures according to Dr. Fox. Unfortunately, the fever is an indication of brain inflammation. I was so relieved I decided to bring her in when I did.

Dr. Fox went on to say that it's uncommon for older dogs to have acute "cluster" seizures without a serious underlying cause, like liver or kidney disease or even brain cancer. Despite having one seizure in 2011, Dr. Fox felt she did not have a history of seizure activity. She wanted to do an MRI, but that would cost $5,000 or more, and to what end? If I discovered B.B. had a brain tumor, I wouldn't elect to do chemotherapy.

We decided on a conservative medical plan that included an overnight stay for observation, lots of blood work to check liver and kidney function and, if there were no more seizures, I could pick her up by 10 the next morning.

I asked if I could see B.B. before leaving, and a vet tech led me through a series of doors into the ICU. Six cats sat in separate cages, and several dogs, including B.B. were along the back wall. B.B. was slumped in a stall covered in a blanket. I crawled into her enclosure and sat cross-legged on the floor with her. Her eyes brightened for a second and she lifted her head to look at me, then dropped it again, doped up on Valium.

"Hi, B.B." I said, trying to sound cheerful. "This is just like a checkpoint camp out. You even have a blankie!"

She raised her eyes to look up at me through her lids, then fell away again in repose. I felt so scared for her, but didn't want to let her know, so I kept my voice as cheery and up beat as possible.

This is all new territory for me. For having dogs all my life from the show ring to the starting chute of races, my dogs have all been relatively low maintenance and healthy. Navigating this terrain left me feeling helpless and ignorant to dealing with real health issues.

The next morning, I called the vet and was relieved to hear she didn't have anymore seizure activity overnight. I arrived at 9:45 to pick B.B. up, and as a tech walked her out into the lobby, I could see she wasn't quite herself. She was "wobbly" and seemed almost a bit drunk. She ran into the glass of the door as we attempted to leave. Apparently this "drunk-like" state is normal after a seizure. All of B.B.'s labs and blood work came back completely normal, however - a good sign. We left the hospital with a script for an anti-seizure medication called Keppra (Levetiracetam), which is also commonly used to treat seizure disorders in humans.

My daughter, Sophie, and B.B. at Green Elementary for our dogsledding presentation in March

Here's what I've learned so far.

There are three main phases of a tonic-clonic or "grand mal" (a term that's not frequently used anymore) seizure: the aura, ictus, and postictal state.

In the aura phase, there are marked behavioral changes in a dog, and the dog may become aware that something isn't right. They may act lethargic or nervous, may hide, whine, cling to the owner, shiver or salivate.

In the ictus phase, the actual seizure takes place. All of the muscles of the body contract, and the dog loses consciousness. Other symptoms include violent paddling of the legs as if swimming, grimacing or showing teeth, dilated pupils with a fixed stare, drooling, urinating, defecating and, in B.B.'s case, turning her head in an owl-like attempt at a 180 turn, and involuntary biting anything that approached her mouth.

In the postictal phase, there is often confusion, lethargy, disorientation, restlessness, and can even include temporary blindness.

When we returned home, unfortunately, B.B. had three more seizures that afternoon and one in the middle of Saturday night. Apparently it takes awhile for the proper amount of medication to build up in her system to effectively stop the seizures. So far, there were no seizures for Sunday and as of this writing.

B.B. resting in bed with me on Sunday

If you have experience with canine seizures and know of any homeopathic remedies or any other information that might be beneficial, I am reading voraciously about anything I can and would love for you to reach out. Please send your ideas, links or helpful tips to the comments section below! Thank you!

"We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams." Jeremy Irons

We leave Thursday for our final race of the season, the Copper Dog, in Calumet, Michigan - a gorgeous part of Michigan known as "Copper Country." It was once a hub for copper mining; at one time, this area produced over half of the nation's copper. It is part of the Keweenaw Peninsula, which is a beautiful and remote area of Michigan that juts out into Lake Superior.

It is the longest distance we travel for a race at over 750 miles away. There are two races: a 10-dog, 150 mile race in three stages, and a 6-dog, 40-some mile race in one stage. We are doing the 40 mile race. Both races start at night.

Sometimes, I think I am crazy. I train these dogs for hours and hours (we have 850 miles on the team as of this writing), only to drive for hundreds of miles to races to put the dogs on the ground and drive them for several more miles. But, dreams can make us crazy, and sometimes we do crazy things in pursuit of dreams. Part of being free is having the ability to pursue "crazy" dreams - even if they don't entirely make sense. "Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose" said the late great Janis Joplin...

This morning I spent some time thinking about which dogs will race on the Copper Dog team. Here is the line up:

As always, my trusted leaders, sisters Big Brown and Ruffian will lead the way through the darkness.

Big Brown, only 38 pounds but the best little lead dog anyone could ask for

Big Brown's intense sister, Ruffian. She is the get-up-and-go. If we go too slow, she barks at the team to "Giddy up!"

In point position behind the lead dogs, I have chosen Fiona and Dirk. 

Two-year-old Dirk is an up-and-coming leader with a ton of drive and potential. All the boys hate him because he is handsome and all the girls adore him. His nickname is "Dirk the Jerk" because of it

Sweet Fiona has run such legendary races as the John Beargrease Marathon. She is tireless and just getting warmed up after 20 miles 

And rounding out our six dog team, in wheel position are brothers, Tosh and Perry.

Tosh after the Midnight Run last week. Tosh is a super sweet, sensitive two-year-old boy who is  also an up-and-coming leader

Tosh's brother, Perry, is also super sweet and sensitive and is my biggest dog on the team. At about 58 pounds, Perry is a very hard worker who brings a lot of muscle and power to the team

And I am bringing one extra dog, Cinder, just so I have an extra dog in case I change my mind for whatever reason come race time.

Cinder is also only three, but has a lot of drive and is whip-smart

We leave on Thursday after a Skype session I have scheduled for an elementary school in Roaring Brook, New York. It's hard to believe this will be our last race of the season! Our race will end sometime late Friday night/early Saturday morning. We have trained harder this season than ever before. I hate to see it end, but hope we end on a happy note! I plan to spend the weekend helping out other teams at the race and shooting photos of beautiful Copper Harbor. Stay tuned and you can follow our results on the Copper Dog site or on our Facebook page.

Mush love!
Shannon and the Diamond Dogs

Nothing ventured, nothing gained: 2014 Midnight Run

"He that nought n'assayeth, nought n'acheveth,."Troilus and Criseyde
    - Geoffrey Chaucer, 1374

The team and I set out on our third consecutive Midnight Run, a 90 mile sled dog race, this past weekend in Marquette, Michigan. There is a saying in mushing "run your race." This means, don't get caught up in stress about what your competitors are doing. Keep your focus on what's important: your team. Heading up north, my strategy was simple: run our race. On the drive home, I had lots of time to reflect - and laugh - about some things I lost on the race. Conversely, I had time to reflect on many more things gained.

There were many challenges throughout this training season right up until the last minute leading up to the race. For one, I had to teach until 10 p.m. Wednesday night. The mandatory drivers' (mushers) meeting was in Marquette, Michigan, 11 hours away at 4 p.m. the next day. Doing the math, it's clear that didn't leave a lot of time for things like, say, sleeping. I drove until 2 a.m., stopping to camp near Saginaw, Michigan. I rose about 7 a.m. the next morning, dropped dogs and hit the road again, narrowly making it to Marquette at almost exactly 3 p.m. with just enough time to check into the motel, drop dogs and head into the mushers' meeting.

I was super excited to receive a new-to-me sled that has special meaning. It belonged to one of my best friends, Emily Wade, who handled for me on my very first Midnight Run in 2012.

Me (left) and Emily (right) before my very first Midnight Run in 2012

I hoped it would be a good talisman for the race. Emily moved back home to the west last year after living in Marquette for two.
 

The "new" sled: a Sled Dog Systems K-2, inside the motel after I'd changed the runner plastic

The next morning brought new challenges, as snow fell throughout the night. I got rid of my truck and replaced it with a more fuel-efficient Mazda Tribute last summer. The Tribute was no match for a Marquette snowfall while pulling my 13 foot dog trailer, however, and it became quickly apparent I wouldn't make it to the vet check, let alone the race start in this vehicle.

Thankfully, my good friend, Sharon Curtice's brother, Paul, arrived with an all wheel drive van and pulled us to the vet check. Her friend Carl Hansen would arrive later to handle for the race with a Chevy Tahoe. Miraculously, 15 minutes late, we arrived at the vet checks.

Cinder (black dog) and Perry (brown and white dog) are listened to by the fabulous veterinary team before the Midnight Run

Ruffian gives kisses to the vet at the vet checks before the Midnight Run

All the dogs checked out with flying colors. Now we just had to wait for Carl to arrive and get to the downtown start. Not only did Carl arrive, but friends Krystal Hagstrom and her boyfriend, Josh Hudachek came from Bayfield, Wisconsin to help out, too! Suddenly, things were all falling into place. I began to relax.

We arrived at the downtown start in Marquette with almost two hours to set up and prepare. I had a GoPro to record the downtown start - something I had always wanted to do - but for some reason, it kept shutting off. Unfortunately, I do not have much footage. I am very disappointed about that!

We hit the starting chute at 8:30 p.m. with 750 training miles on the team. I was concerned about the mileage a bit because, even though we had done the Midnight Run twice before, it had never been this long. In years past, it was 70 miles. Before I had time to blink, we were off into the night, past the crowded streets of downtown Marquette, alone with my eight best canine friends - exactly where I like to be. I am always nervous until we pull the hook.

The first leg of the race runs out of town along a snowmobile trail next to Lake Superior for 17 miles, and it is my favorite part. People make bonfires and camp out along the trail on snowmobiles, cheering and clapping for the dog teams; kids hang out of car windows smiling at the dogs as they pass by, and the dogs seem genuinely jazzed by all the attention.

I had trained faster this season, but I never know how the team will gel until we are out there. Our first leg was flawless. After about 10 miles, I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. The team looked beautiful, loping along in the night. I was so proud of them. I had watched three of these dogs - who are still young two year olds - take their first breath; I had trained all of them from puppyhood with the exception of three. Watching them blossom into such phenomenal athletes loping along the shore was breath taking. I held the drag mat down for the first hour to preserve energy in the dogs, but we still hit speeds of 13 miles per hour and held our place solidly in a totally clean run for the first 30 miles. It was only in the last 15 miles, when the trail steadily climbs a long, slow grade, that we lost some time. We arrived at the checkpoint in Chatham almost exactly when I predicted, at 2:01 a.m.

After caring for the dogs, and getting a few hours of sleep myself, Josh woke me at 6 a.m. by shining a headlamp in my eyes and saying "rise and shine!" Lovely. Thanks, Josh! I rose immediately to prepare for the second leg. We left the Chatham checkpoint at 7:57 a.m. My friend and fellow photographer, Nace Hagemann drove from Minnesota to shoot photos of the teams, and he shot these beautiful photos of my team leaving the Chatham checkpoint. Please visit his web site! He is amazingly talented.

...going

...going

...gone

The second leg was beautiful and clean.  I ran along the trail with my friend, Chad Grentz, who got into this sport right around when I did. Chad and I have grown up the ranks of these races right around the same time, and so it is fitting that we seem to run together often at races. We made conversation along the beautiful trail until I finally stopped to snack my team, and he passed. It was a gorgeous day, and the team was moving well at about 8-9 mph - still a decent pace. I wondered what I had done to be blessed with such a clean moving team of wonderful dogs and such a clean race. Other teams who I considered far stronger had scratched from the race. I beamed with pride. But...I must have jinxed it.

About an hour and a half from the finish, while running along the snowmobile trail, a snowmobile came up behind us. He turned right onto a connecting trail in front of the team, and the dogs instinctively followed. I had my drag mat tied up with a neckline because the bungees were worn and it wouldn't stay up on its own like it should have, despite having worked on it at the Chatham checkpoint. I couldn't react quickly enough before my team was headed down that connector trail. I called my leaders to "come haw" which means to turn the team around to the left, and my best lead dog, Big Brown (BB for short), pulled the entire team around with all of her tiny 38 pound strength.

In dog mushing, things happen in an instant. A perfectly clean run can turn disastrous in the blink of an eye. A large part of the sport is, in fact, dealing with adversity. Cinder, a larger female in my team, hates BB. They had a spat when I first acquired Cinder last year, and neither one of them have ever forgotten it. And as Shakespeare said, hell hath no fury...and this moment was no exception. Though Cinder was two positions back from Big Brown in the team, when BB turned the team around on that narrow stretch of trail, Cinder did not hesitate to seize the opportunity to unleash her wrath upon little BB.

At that time, my friend and fellow musher, Amber Evans, came upon us on the trail. She yelled for my leaders, and eventually they came toward her. But then I realized my sled wasn't hooked down well at all. The team started to surge forward, and I watched in horror as my sled lunged forward without me while my wheel dog, Wailer, was wrapped up in the gangline, head buried in a deep snow drift. As the gangline clamped down on his rear leg, I could hear his muffled screams under the snow. The team kept surging forward, and I admit it: I panicked a bit and said quite a few choice four-letter words. I tried in vain to release Wailer's leg from the gangline. I screamed. I cursed. I started to think I would have to cut the gangline to release him. But that would mean the rest of my team would go charging up the trail. I panicked again.

Then, finally, I stopped for a second and thought clearly. In a flash, I unhooked the tug line of the dogs in front of Wailer, relieving the pressure on the gangline and, subsequently, on his leg. I gently unwrapped it from his leg and he popped up out of the snow drift as though nothing had happened.

We inched forward and I stomped the snow hook more securely into the snow. I wiped the blood from BB and examined her wounds, and stretched Wailer's leg to make sure there were no breaks or injuries. Miraculously, he was completely fine. I walked back to the sled, hupped the dogs, and away we went. I apologized to Amber as we passed her for my four-letter words :)

As we turned the corner back onto the snowmobile trail that runs along the shore and headed for Marquette, I was shocked. What seemed to take so long the night before had taken only three hours. We headed into the last 17 miles of the trail, and I began to see signs of life: people standing along the trail cheering for teams as they passed. I was concerned about BB and considered bagging her; I stopped again to check her wounds. Amazingly, she was moving effortlessly despite the puncture in her cheek. I decided to keep her in the team.

In the last 10 miles, I saw a male musher in the distance behind me. He was far enough back that I couldn't tell who he was, but I could see he was working hard to try to catch me. I was working hard to prevent him from catching me! He was very tall, though, and had a great stride when he was running. Before long, he narrowed the gap between us. He tried to pass, but his leaders clothes-lined me. I pulled the leaders around, and he called one of the dogs names; I immediately recognized the dog. I said, "hey! I know that name! Who are you?" It turned out, he was a musher from Minnesota named Mike Hoff. We chatted from there until the end of the race, leap-frogging with me passing him, and then him passing me again.

Mike Hoff and I chatting through the streets of Marquette at the finish, as captured by Nace Hagemann once again

Mike and I got lots of passing practice for the dogs and talked about all kinds of stuff along the way. It was great running along the last few miles with him. We came across the finish line with two seconds between us.

Mike and I again coming through the streets of downtown Marquette

So, another race is in the books as they say, and we placed 19th (by two seconds) out of 29 teams who started the 2014 Midnight Run with all 8 dogs on the line. One of the mushers at the awards banquet said something to the effect of, "it's taken me 12 years of running dogs to place in the money; it will probably take me another 10 to come in 1st." How true this is. There is so much to learn in this sport, and every season, I fine-tune what I know and learn so much more. I had hoped to place in the money this time, and may have done just that if I hadn't had issues along that second leg. Regardless, I am very proud of how this race went.

On the drive home, I realized I lost something during the race and giggled. Perhaps running up the hills those last 15 miles of the first leg had me grinding my teeth a little too much, for I lost a filling in a very back molar, which now has a hole in it. This caused me to reflect on some other things that I lost along the race trail, but, more importantly, made me reflect on what I've gained.

Things lost on the 2014 Midnight Run
1. A filling
2. A blinking red leader light, which was recovered by my friend, Mike Betz (thanks Mike).
3. Five pounds - of which I do not want back!
4. Considerable amounts of sleep
5. Quite a bit of money
6. My MacBook Pro, which now mysteriously will not launch since I returned to Ohio

Things gained during the 2014 Midnight Run
1. Experience. Running dogs is an exercise in calculated chaos. There are so many potentially unknown variables. Every mile down the trail brings more grace in my abilities as a dog driver and my abilities to handle and almost thrive in the unknown.
2. Poise. The ability to think calmly and clearly under pressure. When mayhem broke loose on the second leg, my first reaction was to panic. I had to deliberately breathe through that panic, calm down and find a solution.
3. Resilience. Despite the challenges this season has presented, I have found the courage to bypass those challenges and remain focused and steadfast in my goals.
4. Countless friends and a renewed faith in the goodness of people.

Much thanks to Chad Schouweiler, Sharon Curtice and Joann Fortier, who, without their countless hours of advice and endearment I would not have gotten this far. Thanks to Krystal Hagstrom and her boyfriend, Josh Hudachek for handling for my team and to Carl Hanson for taking care of my team and me during the race. Thanks to Mike Hoff and Chad Grentz for great trail conversations and to Amber Evans for sticking by me when shit was hitting the fan. Thanks to faithful sponsors, Dennis Waite, Jim and Martha Conway and SueAnn Henry who believe in me, for whatever reason! Thanks to Nace Hagemann for his beautiful photos. Thanks to countless volunteers who devote hours and hours to host these spectacular events and help keep us and our dogs safe. And, mostly, thanks to my parents for raising me to believe in myself and my dreams and thanks, most of all to my amazing, beautiful dogs.

Our next and final race, The Copper Dog, is in two weeks, on March 1 in Calumet, Michigan.

"...there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars...” - Kerouac

I look in the houses as I pass at the televisions glowing in the dim light through picture windows. People warm in their houses watching The Office. I could be home watching television. Instead, I'm out here.

Smoke hangs in the boggy recesses from distant wood stoves. The dogs alert me to things in the woods before I even notice them other wise. My leaders' ears perk up, alert, searching the thicket. Two green dots glow in the woods, something watching me, us. I look over, and the pale beam of my headlamp parts the darkness and finds a lone doe standing, staring at what must seem like a startling spectacle on the trail. A girl and 9 dogs in the night.

I'm tired. After teaching all morning, working for my other job at the medical school, zooming home to be there for Elise when she gets off the bus, and dealing with dinner, it's sometimes difficult to find the motivation to head out into the night and hook up nine screaming huskies hell bent on miles to a line and go.

But once I'm out there, under the stars breathing that cool, crisp air, I'm wide awake.

The dogs chug along, puffs of steam rising from their mouths like tiny train engines. I look up at the stars; it seems like there's a billion visible out here in the night. I think about the upcoming winter.

Mushing is not for those who need instant gratification. It takes perseverance and dedication in training to build up to a place where dogs can go miles and miles once the snow flies. Hours are logged behind dog butts to get to that point, build endurance and good habits and muscle. Keeping perspective is essential. I must remember always what the end goal is. My friend Joann Fortier has a saying for those nights when we don't feel like hooking up the dogs: you just got passed. Consistent hook ups are crucial. Even on nights when we might not want to.

I think of Kerouac and one of my favorite lines: "there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rollin' under the stars."

And we keep rollin, rollin, rollin...

Musher as coach: the symbiotic relationship between sled dogs and their person

"I don't believe in team motivation.
I believe in getting a team prepared so it knows
it will have the necessary confidence when it steps on a field
and be prepared to play a good game."
    -Tom Landry

I have a very young team this season. Out of the ten dogs in training, six are two-years-old or younger. It's been really gratifying watching them transform from puppies to athletes.

For the last two months, as training runs became longer, colder, and more strenuous, an idea began to surface for me.

There were days on training runs when we were breaking trail and moving so slow that it would have been easy (for me and the dogs) to become discouraged. Wading through knee-deep snow to hook up my 10 dogs seemed to take forever.  But the stamina and enthusiasm of the dogs is admirable and catching. Watching the snow cascade over their backs as they leap into the next drift, barking and clamoring for more despite the extreme effort of breaking trail is something to behold.

They inspire me.

But during those long strenuous runs, my role was also to coach, to inspire, to encourage them.

We have a symbiotic relationship. The energy I put into coaching and encouraging them is the same as what they give back. We rely on each other.

We have spent four months training and preparing for next weekend's Midnight Run. I have chosen the team and here's the line up:

Leading will be the dynamic sisterly duo of Big Brown and Ruffian.

Big Brown, who is neither big or brown, demonstrating how a good leader holds the line tight - even a tiny 40 lb one!

To say Ruffian is intense is an understatement. She is the "get up and go" in my team - a real cheerleader, always barking to go and barking more if we don't go fast enough!

In point are two young, up and coming stars and both young. Dirk, who is an older yearling, and my rising leader, and Cinder, who is two years old; this will be Cinder's first race ever.

Dirk, rising star leader for Team Diamond Dogs; the dogs run a full mile per hour faster when Dirk is in lead. He is young, so doesn't know commands yet, but has been a great trail leader

Cinder, who I acquired late in the season, but who has jumped right into training and become a super special girl in the team. Fantastic attitude, great feet, super eater, and beautiful to watch lope!

In team are yearling brothers from the Tak x Yeti litter, Perry and Tosh.

Always gentle, well-mannered and beautiful Tosh.

Big boy, Perry, is always playful and wagging no matter how long or difficult the run is. He has lead a few times and may have a place as a leader for the team soon

Finally pulling up the rear in wheel will be the backbone, veterans Fiona, who is 5 years old and the oldest dog on the team, and Miles, who is 2.

Fiona who is tireless and just getting warmed up after 20 miles

Miles, all brawn and muscle, and always jumping and barking to go

I have done my best to get this young team prepared so it has the confidence to play a good game. Our speed had been less than stellar from slogging through three feet of snow in the Upper Peninsula during the last month of training. And with this young team, I don't expect to win anything.

But we will enter the Midnight Run on Friday with our best paw forward - entering as mostly yearlings and emerging (hopefully) as seasoned canine athletes.

See you in Marquette and as always, mush love!

The story of Miles: Part 1

I am a bit late in posting this week's featured Diamond Dog because, frankly, I didn't know where to begin with telling the story of Miles. So I took some advice from one of my favorites, Lewis Carroll, who said "Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop." Here goes.

Miles is not only the Diamond Dogs education dog, he was the kennel's MVP last season, pulling his little heart out in his first 90 mile race at just 14 months of age. But the story of how Miles came to be here at the Ranch is one filled with heartbreak.

Miles' mother was what I consider a rescue. She was a sled dog with good bloodlines, who had fallen into the wrong hands of a musher who was over his head, allowing multiple breedings to happen rampantly. When things got to be too much, he wanted out - and fast. I bought a dog from him, and he threw Miles' mother in "for free." She ended up being pregnant at only 10 months of age. You can read more about that journey and the heartbreak that followed here.

Miles had seven brothers and sisters, and out of those, five were born with health problems or physical anomalies. Three have since died.

But Miles was hearty and thirsty for life right from the beginning.

Miles after his first meal.

One of the only all black puppies, Miles was difficult to get a picture of. Right from the beginning, I knew this little guy was special.

Originally this photo was posted to my kennel Facebook page with the caption, "Quickly becoming my favorite puppy!"

While he was growing up, my original education dog, Foxy, was growing older.

Me with my original educational ambassador, Foxy, at the Mogadore Library

I knew I needed to begin training a new education dog to take her place. I took Miles to his first educational dog sledding presentation when he was only four months old. He hammed it up for the audience and was a natural.

During his first dog sledding presentation, Miles preferred to sit in the sled basket with his big ears

Miles developed a quirky habit of literally "smiling" whenever we called his name or talked to him. He soon developed the nickname "Smiles" because of this. His personality is always beaming and happy, and he is full of energy that never seems to stop. He has truly made my dog sledding presentations what they are, and has fans from all around. Naturally affectionate, he blossomed as an education dog and ate up the attention from kids and crowds.

Miles gets a pat from a presentation participant at Lock 3 in Downtown Akron

But would he excel as a race dog?  That was yet to be proven....

To be continued...