An ode to dogs: a commentary on Seasonal Affective Disorder

The snow is falling lightly, haphazardly floating through the cold air like a daydreaming grade schooler.

It is 27 degrees, and the dogs are amped, pacing back and forth as I grab a three-pound bag of frozen meat and begin to soak it in steamy hot water for them. Some are barking, some are howling. Miles and Freya are my worst pacers. They circle their houses all day long, itching to run and begging for more when we stop running.

I need the dogs' enthusiasm. They ground me, keep me focused during the dark winter months.

It started when I was young, about fifteen. Winter felt like a shroud that engulfed me. I slept too much, but still felt tired. I was listless, despondent. I pushed my friends away inadvertently.

In college, it grew worse. Without the structure of my parents' home and daily routine, I fell into a deep depression that first winter away. I gained weight and skipped classes just to sleep. And northeast Ohio winters didn't help.

Many people experience this in the winter. Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D)affects people most commonly between the ages of 15 and 55, and women are more at risk. It is thought to be triggered by lack of sunlight.

I admit, sometimes I struggle with these feelings even now.

But, this is one proactive reason why I got into dogs and winter sports.

One way to combat S.A.D. - or any depression - is to get active! 

Having the dogs here, with their endless energy and vivacious appetite for living motivates me. They make me happy. Seeing them doing what they love, watching them grow and training them from puppies to be the amazing athletes they were born to become - this is happiness to me.

Being outside with them is the best medicine for almost anything that ails me. 

My new leader, Big Brown, being bossy on the trail

A dog doesn't question why. A dog is the moment. 

Perry, one of Tak's six month old pups, howling out of the roof of his kennel. We had a huge wind storm with 45 mph winds at the Ranch recently, and it partially blew the roofs off some of the kennels.

Traveling to distant beautiful places to train and race is one of my favorite things.

Crossing a frozen lake on the Jack Pine race trail in 2010

Dogs are the ultimate Zen animal. Neither looking to the future nor reminiscing about the past, they move in the pure joy of the here and now. They work hard when they work, play hard when they play, and sleep hard when they sleep. And they want nothing more. 


I am thankful every day for my dogs: for their spirit and lust for life. Here's to my amazing dogs, to life, and to dogs everywhere.

An homage to dogs: in fierce defense of a lifestyle

The team trekking along a frozen lake on the Jack Pine 30 trail last weekend

"Come, see my dogs.

They carry me
into all things, all things I will be;
all things that will come to me
will come to my dogs.

Come, see my dogs.

My dogs are what lead me,
they are what move me.
See my dogs in the steam,
in the steam of my life.

They are me."

Gary Paulsen - Dogsong

Occasionally, people question or test my loyalty to my dogs. This weekend, I have been tested.

I currently have eleven dogs. This is small compared to other kennels.

The person who comes closest to expressing in words my relationship to my dogs is musher and writer, Gary Paulsen. The passage above is at the end of Dogsong.

Love me, love my dogs

The dogs are not something I have part-time; they are not a fad, a hobby, or a passing phase. Keeping dogs is a lifestyle, and numerous sacrifices go into that lifestyle. There is never a "day off" from caring for my dogs. There are no vacations without the dogs, and Christmas morning finds me doing kennel chores same as any other day.

We are a team, always. I will spend money on my dogs before I will spend money on things for myself. My dogs eat better than I do, with fresh meat and high-octane kibble at every meal.

I am the dogs and the dogs are me. Our connection to each other is deeply rooted. They are an extension of my family. My dogs are not "pets," although they live a wonderful life. They are part of a team, and each has a role to play. I, too, have a role to play. I work for them, and they work for me.

The dogs connect me to the earth through the many trails we have ventured on together; they connect me to history, through the many people who have hunted, lived and moved via dogsled. Like Paulsen says, the dogs carry me to what is important, and conversely, away from what is not important in life.

I am grateful for my dogs.

I have learned from them as much about life and about myself as from anything. Sometimes we communicate best in an ancient language of quick short grunts, glares or tail wags; sometimes we have extended conversations.

My connection to my dogs is as intrinsic and important to me as the air I breathe. There will not come a time when I will not have dogs, work with dogs, laugh with dogs, live with dogs.

For a well-written editorial about Why Sled Dogs Run featured in the NY Times, click the link.

Thoughts on snow (and grudges, and dogs)

I just sat down. It seems days and nights are running together lately in a whirlwind of puppy squeals and feedings with Lucy.

Abigail Thomas says in A Three Dog Life that, "Dogs are never in a bad mood over something you said at breakfast. Dogs never sniff at the husks of old conversations, or conduct autopsies on weekends gone wrong. An unexamined life may not be worth living, but the overexamined life is hell. We talk too much."

It's true. We are the ones who hold grudges. Dogs are so utterly in the moment.

So, I just finished feeding Lucy, scooping and feeding the rest of the dogs and was tallying miles and finalizing my race schedule when, out of no where, Yeti and Jack had a huge dog fight. Then Chris's brain dead Aussie decided it looked like fun, and he jumped in the mix.

I admit, I'm not one to get overly excited about a dog fight. I've learned over the years when it's serious and when it's just mostly a noisy display of testosterone. So, I watched for about eight seconds to see if they were even serious or not. Yup, they were serious.

Sigh.

I set my kennel records and calendar down on the deck and moseyed over to pull apart the testosterone that had congealed into one mass of fur and teeth. I tied the boys up, but they seemed perplexed, having forgotten already about whatever was worth practically eating each other about not five minutes before.

Truth is, I'm not in a mood to get too excited about much of anything today, even a dog fight. I feel as flat as white paint, lacking luster and as apathetic and unforgiving as concrete.

This is what happens to me when the snow melts: I'm left to face a dull, gray, lifeless January in northeast Ohio. And the glorious foot of beautiful perfect snow has all but melted. Today, I'm definitely holding a grudge for January in northeast Ohio.

Snow is nature's highlighter, calling attention to the spaces in between - things often missed. Where winter without snow is drab and depressing, a snowy January is lively and festive.

Tonight, I am praying for snow. Until then, looks like I resume cart training with the dogs tomorrow.

Reminiscence of a winter's heart

I had a fairly major surgery a week ago tomorrow, and have spent the better part of the last week sleeping. Yesterday was the first day I felt fairly normal in a week. I made it out to the kennel to see my four-legged kids, who seemed as happy to see me as I was to see them. It was a good day until, quite suddenly last night, I spiked a 101.3 temperature and was, literally, quaking with chills under several layers of clothes and blankets. Run-of-the-mill, post-op infection. I am back in bed, taking antibiotics and waiting for life to begin again.

In moments like these, it is sometimes difficult to remember that age-old adage: "This, too, shall pass."

Perhaps it was my febrile state that led me to reminiscing of things that bring me most joy in this world, trying to remind myself that this, too, shall pass. I know there are many who don't understand the love of this expensive sport. In my reminiscing, I stumbled on several videos I'd taken last season while running the trails surrounding Jim Warren's Sleddog Lodge.

The dogs are so much a part of my life and my joy. I feel so helpless this last week being cooped up inside, not spending time with them.

Funny, I wrote to my friend Jason: even in the heat of July, we reminisce about winter, training practically all the rest of the year for one or two or three big races. Ever wonder why we put so much stock in these relatively short claims of glory?

Because we have a winter's heart, and a love for the simple joys being behind a team of well-toned athletes cooking down a pristine hardwood trail covered in nature's glory.

Take a peek: click on the video below to see my six-dog team cooking down a beautiful, sunlit trail on a perfect winter day in the U.P.

Happy birthday, America, but it's not a good time to be a dog

People gathered to watch the re-creation of America's independence

Every year, I struggle with the 4th of July. Like the dogs, fireworks make me nutty. I want to run under the bed. I get stomach cramps. And the dogs have the same reaction. As a dog person, I worry tirelessly about my dogs freaking out on the 4th, breaking their chains and getting loose. One year, Foxy climbed our 10 foot heat-pen on the 4th of July because she was so terrified. Face it: it's just not natural to hear earth-shattering KABOOMs! Our first instinct - or at least mine anyway - is to run and hide.

But, I tried to set aside my own neurosis for my kids.



We trekked downtown to Main Street to watch the fireworks. Instead of freaking out, I tried to focus on practicing my night time photography skills.


Fire eater





I always worry that my dislike of the 4th means I'm somehow un-patriotic. I am not. I just prefer to show my appreciation for and celebrate the birth of our wonderful country in quieter ways.

Here's to America. Where I can celebrate however I want, and solitude is always attainable. Generally.

Summertime Fun for Huskies

There's still loads to do for fun even though we're not running. The huskies demonstrate:


Click the video above to see Big Brown playing hide and seek inside one of Yeti's giant holes in our kennel area.

There are sandbox toys to chew on


Plastic dinosaurs to carry around


Plastic dinosaurs to steal from fellow dog friends


Play sand to eat


Food to beg cute five-year-old girls for


And containers of wet wipes to attempt to devour


Stay tuned for a big surprise tomorrow as we finally bring Gwennie home!

Happy Birthday Sophie and Elise!

At 4:20 Mountain Time (6:20 Eastern Time), Sophie was born in Jackson Hole, Wyoming 10 years ago.

Amazing how time flies, isn’t it?



Last night, she was upset about a homework assignment and crying. I started singing her favorite Bob Marley song to her: don't worry about a thing cause every little thing's gonna be alright.... I thought back to when she was a colicky infant who wouldn't stop screaming. I used to sing Bob Marley songs to her to quell her colicky cries. The sound of the streams swelling full with mountain run-off seemed to lull her. She's always been my easy going nature girl.



Ten years ago yesterday, I was holding a newborn in my arms for the first time. Tiny and impatient from birth, Sophie came three weeks early while I was eating carrots and watching Star Wars II in Victor, Idaho. She’s always been gentle and easy going, a sensitive and compassionate child with a love for nature and animals. Her father and I spent the first part of my labor in Grand Teton National Park hiking between contractions, searching for coyote scat as a distraction. She was easy on me, coming quick in only six hours and weighing only six pounds. Conceived among 180 Alaska Huskies at Frank Teasley’s Jackson Hole Iditarod Sled Dog Tours, she was destined to be a dog person.


Sophie in 2006 rounding up puppies at Nature's Kennel, home of Tasha and Ed Stielstra and their 100 or so racing Alaskan huskies

She didn’t cry when she was born, but she sure made up for it later: she cried constantly during the first four months of her life. I walked endlessly through the tiny town of only 300, trying to quiet her. Being in nature, hiking through the forest with the sound of the streams and the sway of my walking with her strapped to me seemed to calm her. Though she was born during the tail end of May, it snowed the night she was born there in Jackson Hole, where snow lingers long. She was destined to love snow.


Sophie with Foxy (left) and Mandy (right), the original Lazy Huskies

Five years ago today, I held a much different newborn in my arms: Elise.



With the fiery spirit of her father and the tenacity of me, she is a rough and tumble kid who can dish it out and take it.



Even in the womb, when she kicked me, I knew she was going to be strong, a fighter. At eight pounds two ounces, she took her time emerging into this world and put me through a hellish 22 hour labor. And even today, no one can make Elise do anything before she wants to. She screamed and cried when she was born.



Curious, with a fierce determination and a proclivity for music, Elise is a natural entertainer. She is charismatic. Born to musicians and writers for parents, Elise was destined to be an entertainer.


Elise singing in the backyard

Sophie and Elise are typical sisters. Most of the time, they are in harmony.


At Dussel Farm, fall of 05

But sometimes they have their differences.

Watching my girls grow up has been one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given. And though our lives are hectic and probably a bit unorthodox, with eight dogs at home (and more on the way), sharing their lives with the dogs is all they've ever known. My girls are flexible and resiliant, and I am proud of them. And I love them so, so much. Happy Birthday, Girls!


Elise swimming at her pool birthday party


Elise on her 5th birthday celebration


Sophie takes a break from swimming to open some presents from friends

Mother's day

I leave an hour before sunset or so, fully intending to greet the moon on the water. I wonder what will be in the water to greet me as I push off shore, paddling slowly, steadily toward the black abyss. Fish jump. This is my church, the practice of being still, silent, my religion. If you are quiet enough, nature reveals itself to you.



A pair of muskrats bob up. Bard owls call from distant trees.

I remember trolling with my dad at this time of day - dusk, when the dew settles, and eerie sounds echo from shore. Now, as an adult, I know those sounds are just animals celebrating and giving thanks to the end of another day. Somewhere in the distance, a bald eagle cries in the east.

There is no better medicine for me, and no better prescription for me to find peace.

Here are some photos from mother's day:


"Bliss"


"Bliss II"


"Gift"


Jack

Happy Mother's Day

This I know: an ode to dogs (again)

People do horrible things to each other. A month into my new job, I go home with tears in my eyes sometimes for the things I see. I cry for a man almost killed from a hate crime. I cry for another shot to death on his birthday while crawling away from his shooter, a “friend.” I cry for a 74 year old woman punched with the butt end of a pistol by a robber trying to steal her purse.

All we can hope for is a handful (at most) of good people who take our best interest to heart. Life is sad. We’re born, we die, and in between we should love and do as much good as we can.

Dogs, however, love unconditionally by their very nature.

The face of unconditional love

While I only trust and confide in a handful of trusted people in my life, I could literally live (and I have lived) with hundreds of dogs.

A Family Affair


Home is a fabulous place full of new discovery worthy of many photos and words. It is one of the few places where I am free to be my dog-and-dirt-loving, earthy, simple self. And no one judges me or points out my flaws or mistakes.

During the day, my backyard is a veritable silence; the average onlooker would not even suspect it of containing the chaos and craziness it does. But in the evening, when I get home, tomfoolery abounds. This is the land of tail-wags and smiling eyes, where my best friends ambush each other, tackling and teasing like quarterbacks....



...only to laugh and lick each other afterward.

Their favorite toys, besides each other, are wiffle balls and stuffed animals. A stuffed Spongebob is the cause of much commotion tonight.


Part of the backyard pack mayhem

First Big Brown has it, running with the silly sponge figure high in the air.


BB rests, disemboweling Spongebob

Then Ruffian gets it, quickly disemboweling the yellow stuffed sponge. Finally, when Yeti has it, it's too much for Jack the Stubborn Siberian and he moves in for the kill.


Jack moves in...


...ready for ambush...


the struggle for Spongebob


He's got it!


Contentment at last!

This sport takes over your life. Some people build separate structures just for the monumental task of housing equipment needed for mushing. My own garage once housed a nice Honda. I traded that Honda in almost four years ago for my truck, rearranging my life around the dogs. My garage is now filled with things all dog-related: dog boxes, tools, hardware, rope, sled, harnesses, booties, dog crates. I rearranged my living space around them.

All for the love of dogs.

I don’t want to just spend time with my dogs; I want to watch my canine athlete companions thrive. I want to see them excel at what they were born to do: run. I don't want to just spend time with them, I want to survive with them, out in the wild open spaces where I’m free to be my dog-and-dirt-loving, earthy, simple self.

An ode to my dogs, and the simple joys they bring to me.

Missing Michigan

I’m at work, listening to Sufjan Stevens’ "Come on! Feel the Illinoise!" album on my ipod when it hits me. Despite the sound of the copy machine and sitting in my cubicle writing press releases, I am missing Michigan. Not only that, I'm missing training and winter.


County Road 500

I'm immediately transported to the winding two-lane highway of M-123. I am driving toward Tahquamenon Falls, through the tiny town of Paradise, to Whitefish Point, where it’s always fairly cold, even in July. I hear the waves lapping the edge of the coast of Lake Superior (summer), or, in winter, I hear the sounds of dogs, smell the cold chill on my nose, the friends I’ve made there and their hospitable kindness.


Our good friend Jan Shaw with Sophie


"Tug Party" - last season, making tug lines at Sled Dog Lodge


Talking Dog during a Seney 300 checkpoint at Al Hardman's cabin

I miss the snow, riding the sled through the hardwood trees. I miss simple pleasures.



I am sad and lonely for Michigan. My spirit calls to me to go north, where it’s slower, colder, friendlier. I need a campfire, a beer and hours of dog talk!

To all of my Michigan friends, I can't wait to talk dog with you soon! Until then, listen to some Sufjan Stevens that reminds me of driving on M-123 and makes me miss you.