There is no joy in Mudville: spring update, and talkin' dawg by Skype

... and, just like that, we are plunged into spring. And rain. And mud. As of this writing, it has been raining for two days straight.

I am probably the only person on earth who hates spring. When expressing such a sentiment, I'm usually met with less than favorable responses.

"How could you hate spring? Spring is a time of rebirth..." yada yada

My response can be summed up in one word: mud.

Forgive me, but I hate spring. Despise it.

Me, covered in mud. This happens daily during chore time

Every year, I struggle with the equivalent of what others experience in the fall. S.A.D. or "Seasonal Affective Disorder" is "Spring Affective Disorder" for me, or end-of-mushing-season-itis. Racing season is over. The thing I've worked for and focused on for six months culminated into a finale and done. I feel aimless, lost without the pressure of miles.

Now that spring has sprung, Miles (the dog) and I are looking for speaking engagements to keep us busy and educate others about this awesome sport.

We recently did a Skype session with Roaring Brook Elementary School in Chappaqua, New York. Skype sessions are a fun way for the dogs and I to bring educational sessions to schools and libraries across the country (or even farther) thanks to the wonderful interwebs! What did we do before the Net?

During this session, my main lead dog, Big Brown, decided to play education dog for a change. She was resting in the house after the Midnight Run. Turns out, she is a natural ham for the kids and the camera. Recently, the kids at Roaring Brook sent me the photos from their end of our Skype session, and they are hilarious.

Look at those choppers! Big Brown looks positively thrilled to be talking to the students at Roaring Brook Elementary!

The students were very attentive and had lots of questions during our session. Big Brown was happy to answer every one with a smile on her face :)

Big Brown, still smiling for the camera

I'd like to give a big thank you to Christine Eidem, Library Media Specialist at Roaring Brook for having Big Brown and I talk to the students at Roaring Brook. Thank you!

If you would like to schedule an educational presentation in your school, library, assisted living facility or other location, give us a shout! And, as always....

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!"

November: make it or break it

November is the month in fall dog training where, in my opinion, the most growth occurs. November is when we move from the shorter, fun runs of October into longer mileage. The early days of November can still be mild, but by this time in the season, the runs are long, cold, and sometimes tedious.

I have changed my strategy this season. In the past, I've been most concerned with the number of miles accumulated on the team. This season, I've focused on consistent, quality hook-ups and time on the trail rather than the accumulated total miles.

The biggest challenge this season has been training exclusively from the farm in Ohio. I have to run partially on roads, and though I have trained the dogs to run on the berm, we still have to rely on roadways to cross into trails. This can really take a toll on paws and joints, so on almost every run, I have been double-booting the dogs to protect their feet.

This can take a toll on my purse!

These are dog booties. Image courtesy of Katy and Troy Groeneveld of Ten Squared Racing.  

Booties range from $1.50 - $2.50 per boot. I currently have nine dogs in training, and covering back feet is imperative for seven of the 9 dogs I have. That's 28 boots. For one run. Dollar-wise, that's about  $42 in booties. Most of the time, I re-use booties. But often, the outer most bootie can't be re-used.

Then, there are necklines, snaps and rope.

A handful of fresh, clean necklines 

I happen to have a team of sharks instead of dogs. They think necklines and tuglines - the rope that connects the team to the mainline that pulls the sled - are dental floss. I have to babysit them while I am hooking up to make sure they don't chew threw my necklines while I'm hooking the rest of the team. I've gone through more necklines this season than I care to count.

So I had an idea.

Secret weapon against neckline chewing?

A bottle of hot sauce costs about .59 cents. I doused my lines with the stuff in an attempt to prevent the dogs from chomping through them during hook-ups. I thought it was sure to work.

Turns out, dogs think hot sauce is the cat's meow. They were licking my line - and their lips - more than ever.

So much for that.

I am currently looking for sponsors to help offset the cost of booties, necklines, and all the other costs associated with keeping the team healthy and happy. All sponsors receive a "thank you" calendar of your choice of photos from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the beautiful land we train and race in or of the dogs.

If you'd like to make a donation to the kennel, click here








Our first race, The Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race, is January 4 along the shores of Lake Superior. December will be busy! Stay tuned!

"...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...

Lifestyle: ain't nothing but a mush thang

This is my shower in the cabin.

Living with sled dogs is a lifestyle that is often not for the faint - or squeamish - of heart.

Each day, twice a day, meat is brought in and thawed to form a sort of soup for the dogs. Those buckets and cooler are full of this meat broth. Each day, I rise to make a fire and work to keep it going so the cabin stays toasty. Each day I spend many hours outside in weather most would shy away from with my team.

There are often unsavory things lying around in the cabin at any given time, like wet booties hanging on a clothes line I have strung across the entire width of the cabin, wet mittens and boots. When space is a premium like it is in a 16x20 one-room cabin, function precedes fashion.

And then there's unsavory thoughts. 

Like, right now, I am more concerned with the state of my dogs' poop than a first-time mother with a newborn. It is said that the Inuit people have one hundred terms for snow.  I think mushers have one hundred terms to describe various states of poo. I've concluded that my tiny, 10-dog kennel is currently experiencing its first bout with a virus this season. I will spare you, dear reader, from the detailed descriptions of said virus.

Tonight, the snow just keeps falling and the wind howls. It is -3 degrees outside, and there is a fabulous moon dog around the moon - a halo that only appears on very cold nights.

Just hooking up a team in this kind of snow is a work out that might make Jillian Michaels weak. Trudging through knee-deep tundra, harnessing, and hauling rambunctious sled dogs over to the gangline leaves me sweaty despite the frigid temperatures. Today, the dogs and I went out on what was supposed to be a fast 10 mile "fun run." There has been so much snow, however, we ended up slogging through the slowest 10 miles of breaking trail ever!

Non-mushers could never likely fathom the dedication and sacrifices we mushers make for this sport. It is a lifestyle, as they say, not a hobby. It changes you. I've seen some of the most beautiful sights of my life behind the butts of 10 of my best friends, however. It hasn't always been easy, but it has definitely always been worth the ride.

Here is a clip from breaking trail today. Enjoy!

Am I a musher?

The dogs and I returned to the farm in Ohio late Monday evening. It was warm - 47 degrees when we pulled in - and things looked barren and different, yet familiar and for that, comforting. The giant oak in the front yard stood naked against the late December sky. When I pulled out of here two months ago, the leaves were still on the trees.

The last two months have been a blur of "cabin-time." Days run together; I can't decipher one from the next. "Cabin time" seems to seal me off from "real time." Life in the eastern U.P. feels different than life anywhere else. It's as if the little community of Deer Park/Newberry is a dark hole, insulated from the rest of the world, like some Faulknerian hamlet.

I used to think I wanted to live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. After being there for not quite two months straight, now I'm not so sure. The area along the Lake Superior shores near Grand Marais must see the least amount of sunlight of any place on the planet at this time of the year. Combine that with the isolation, the longing for my children, as well as the lack of nearly any kind of employment, I know I could not ever live there permanently.

Oh Thoreau, going to the woods to live deliberately is good...for awhile. After a couple months, though, I craved things like...dare I say... Stabucks®, a television, a Target®. Oh, and a cell signal.

Life is difficult, but it seems more difficult there, in the isolated area between Newberry and Grand Marais. Things take longer: driving to town and back is a 50 mile round trip and takes half a day. If it's snowing, it takes longer. Days are dark. The silence is deafening.

There is more drama in a place the size of a shoe box than anyone could ever imagine. I've heard stories about poached bears, family feuds, love affairs and scandalous encounters enough to create the label Days of Our Lives, the Deer Park Edition.

There are so many Catch-22s in this sport. In order to train dogs effectively for races like those I run, one must live far away from populated areas in order to have adequate trail access and so as to not aggravate the neighbors.

However, caring for dogs and operating a kennel is expensive, and jobs aren't plentiful in remote areas with adequate trail access.

Likewise, in order to afford this sport, one must have a good job; however, it's near impossible to train the dogs the way one needs to train and maintain a normal 40 hour work week.

I digress.

Coming back to the farm and to my kiddos after two months away has been an overwhelming, emotional experience. I am at a crossroads, and I don't know what the future holds for me or this sport. It seems mushers and mushing are a dying breed. It's just not practical - and seems downright silly if you think about it - to spend so much money and time training a bunch of dogs to pull a sled for hundreds of miles simply for one or two...maybe three races a year. So much is sacrificed. For the first time ever, I'm left wondering if it's all worth it.

Shuffling

This summer has brought a lot of changes to the kennel. I had to look hard at my goals for what I wanted to accomplish this season as well as make some tough decisions about some great dogs. Some of my dogs were better suited to recreational mushing homes, and others better suited to distance mushing homes.

What's the difference?

Well, first of all, recreational mushing dogs can be any dog breed. Some people mush with Golden Retrievers, Labs, or any kind of dog who has a propensity for pulling and loves to run. 

When it comes to competitive races, however, there are several types of races that mushers compete in. Sprint races, which are the shortest distances, are run with super fast dogs who are often crossed with hounds, like greyhounds. These dogs sometimes reach incredible speeds of 20 miles an hour or more, and run full-throttle for distances that are usually a mile per dog. For example, a four dog sprint team would run four miles. Open class unlimited sprint racers can run any number of dogs, however. The dogs that run these types of races tend to be shorter coated and sleek, leggy, fast machines. A popular sprint race in Alaska is the Fur Rondy.

The super endurance, distance races, like the Iditarod and the Yukon Quest, go over 1,000 miles. The dogs that tend to run these marathons typically have a dense coat and are heartier and muscled-up compared to the sprint dogs.

The kinds of races I ran last season and plan to run this season (and into the foreseeable future) are called mid-distance races. Like the name suggests, these races are in between sprints and distance races. The races I compete in are between 90 and 150 miles, and the dogs, like the race, are a blend of the best of both the sleek, fast sprint dogs and the woolly, muscled-up distance dogs. They tend to have finer bones than those who run ultra marathons, but are still beefy enough to break trail.

It might be worth noting that in mid-distance and distance races, mushers camp out with their dogs at certain mileages. A fourth type of race is the Stage race.  In these races, dogs and mushers rest at certain mileage points, just like in mid-distance and distance races, but mushers aren't required to "camp out" with their teams; they can check into their favorite hotel and snooze in a cozy bed. A well-known stage race is the International Pedigree Stage Stop.

Part of my paring down this summer was out of necessity due to life changes. But these changes gave me an opportunity to really study all of the dogs to discern who was the best fit for my race goals.

In the end, I was left with what I think will give me the best shot at stepping up my goals this season and being competitive.

I parted with seven beloved pack members since the end of July. But they all went to awesome homes - and several are now full-time house dogs, which makes me happy.

This also left me with only seven race dogs.

So...soon three new dogs will join Team Diamond Dogs. I can't wait to introduce them! Stay tuned!

Summertime...

It's not even Memorial Day yet - the official "kick off" of the summer season - and the temps have already been above 90 degrees a few times here at the Ranch. Some may like these temps, but huskies - and really most dogs - do not!

I go to great lengths to keep our doggy family members as cool as possible between May and August. They all have 24/7 access to large buckets of cold, fresh water in each of their kennels or at their dog houses, and we have a kiddie pool that the dogs like to play in on hot days.

Because we live only two miles away from a large state park and lake, I often take a pack of dogs to the beach! Here is a video from our sled dog swimming session this evening. It was 10 month old, Tosh's (all white dog) first adventure in the lake!

Make it look effortless

Recently, I met a mushing fan. Yes, there are mushing fans, just like there are fans of musicians and fans of basketball.

And this mushing fan said to me, "Wow, you get to race dogs. That must be wonderful!"

I stared at the wall thoughtfully for a moment, bit my lip, and carefully considered how best to respond to that statement.

At the same time, I had been up late studying the archives of past U.P. 200 and Midnight Run races. Looking hard at the run times. Scanning familiar names. In anticipation of our own rookie Midnight Run coming up in a few weeks.

Doing something well usually translates into making it look effortless to outsiders.

My response?

Yea, some days it's wonderful. A good day mushing is the perfect definition of "teamwork." Things run smoothly, we have no tangles or snafus. No one is in heat or goofing off or chewing necklines or slipping harnesses. Everyone eats well and has wagging tails after our runs and we all bed down for a long winter's nap with sweet dreams.

But, with my dogs - the oldest of whom is five and the youngest is 14 months  - most of our days are anything but wonderful! Eventful, maybe...

We have hours and hours under our harnesses: practicing, training, learning; in sleet, snow, rain, mud, ice; through several hundred miles and God knows how many chewed necklines (thanks to Aspen) and lots and lots of shenanigans, tomfoolery, and general mayhem to get to the two races we are competing in this season.

Freya being a goof ball on a muddy training run

And it's not just the dogs who are learning.

The deeper into this sport I immerse myself, the more I realize how much there is to learn. It's the difference, as an example, between playing a simple jingle on a piano to holding your own in a full-on performance of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

Honing this craft takes so much work. Physical work. Disciplined work. And sacrifice. And more work. And it takes mistakes - making mistakes and getting back on the runners in order to right those mistakes.

But I wouldn't have it any other way, because at the end of the day, I know the dogs and I have all grown and learned together. Nothing can take that bond away.

"Keep it locked up inside don't talk about it.... talk about the weather!" Dave Matthews "

In mushing, weather is a big deal.

Most mushers I know can report the upcoming weather forecast for the next week, at least.

During the "dog days" of summer, the dogs laze around in the shade, waiting...

My leader, Yeti, lounging in the shade of his circle

But they're beginning to get restless. They sense a change is in the air. The days are getting cooler, and the evenings a little chilly.

We have some big plans for this coming season too, as we begin to map out our racing schedule for the upcoming season. Our first race is always, traditionally, the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Classic - which will be our first race this next season. But I intend to step it up a notch and compete in the 8 dog pro class (42 miles) and stay with the 8 dog classes all season. Stay tuned as we announce our intentions for the season!

Puppy Update
In other news, Tak's puppies are really blossoming now. They are six weeks old, and their personalities are evolving everyday! One who has stolen my heart is little Rasta.

Rasta at 4 weeks and 5 days. How can anyone deny the sweetness?

We all have grown so attached to them! We are looking for homes for two of them, so if you or someone you know is looking for an Alaskan husky, please contact me!

Here are some pictures of Tak's Reggae litter:

Perry, the largest male in the litter

Rasta at 5 weeks

Perry's "twin" sister, Ziggy, stalking me from the weeds

Toots playing in one of Yeti's big holes around his house

(from left) Rasta, Wailer and Ziggy planning mayhem, no doubt!

Sophie (with the sun in her eyes) and Wailer 

Finally, Elise with her very special baby, Tosh

Fall is in the air! Get ready for training updates from the trail and, as always...

“New York is appalling, fantastically charmless and elaborately dire”

Henry James said the above quote. And while I wouldn't be quite so hard on upstate New York (it does have its charms: large old dairy farms, rolling Adirondack mountains...) I was not a fan of New York this past weekend. Here's why:



That's my new dog trailer at Meyer's Towing in Camillus, New York this past Saturday. To make a long story short, we had a tire blow out Friday evening before we even made it out of Ohio. Then early Saturday morning, about 7:30 a.m., the very same tire blew again!

Because of the weird way the wheels were bolted to the axle, it was impossible to change a tire. The very good folks at Meyer's helped to get my trailer in tip top shape and welcomed us all. They greeted every dog as I took everyone outside for breaks.


The girls, Tak (left) and Ruffian (right) stand ready to go at Tug Hill

In the end, I missed my start time for Tug Hill in the 8 dog pro class. I was not about to go through what I went through to get that far and NOT run dogs! So I hooked up seven dogs (my eighth dog was in heat), grabbed a trail map and headed out for a run on the gorgeous Adirondack trails.


My team running along the trails in Winona State Forest, NY

My dogs were so amped after being in the dog trailer and all we'd gone through to get there, they tore around the first corner of the "Pussycat Trail" out of the parking area, knocking over my handlers and throwing me face-first into a hard snow bank. Subsequently, I received my first black eye from dog mushing!


The beginnings of a black eye - my right one


My dogs hooked down and smiling

The best part of the weekend was that Sophie made her first race!


Sophie in her race bib

Sophie was very nervous before starting her first race - so much so that she almost didn't start because she felt sick to her stomach. Like a trooper, however, she rode up to the starting chute with my leaders, Yeti and Ruffian.


Sophie at the race start chute listens to Mark Broughton, Race Marshall, offer words of encouragement

She confessed when she came in from her run that she had thrown up along the race trail! And she kept on going! She made me so proud!



My very good friend, Amanda, raced in the four dog open class with on of our puppies from our litter last year, Bolt - who is now known as Tempo.


Tempo, aka "Bolt" from Gwennie's litter last year did spectacularly in her first race of the 2011 season at Tug Hill. Here she is in wheel (driver's left). Look at her go!

Overall, the take-home lesson from the weekend was this: buck up and don't give up. All of the obstacles we encountered on the road to New York gave me a chance to talk to Sophie about an important life lesson, that of resilience and determination.


My yearling, Aspen, at Tug Hill

There will always be obstacles. But to be successful, we must never give up.

The "Backyard Iditarod" comes to the Tallmadge Branch Library

Foxy and I had our first dog sledding presentation of the season today at the Tallmadge Library! It was a great way to kick off fall, and the weather followed suit with a chilly rain.

Fourteen-year-old Foxy really enjoys our outings. It gives her a job to do, and she adores all the attention from the kids in the audience.


Foxy feelin' the love from the audience at the library talk today

Recently, Foxy gave us quite a scare.

I came home from work one day a couple weeks ago to find Foxy stumbling. She fell four times heading for the back door; I had to carry her in all of her 65 pounds outside to use the bathroom. Her head was tilted, and her eyes were doing a quick back-and-forth movement, called nystagmus. She was also drooling and walking in circles - all signs of a stroke, or so I thought.

I rushed her to our vet's office. She went reluctantly. Even though she could hardly walk, she still strongly refused to enter the vet's office willingly. I was relieved when Dr. Wittington said she had something called Canine Vestibular Syndrome, a relatively common thing that affects elderly dogs. It is idiopathic in Foxy, meaning we don't know what caused it. Her ears were fine; there was no sign of infection or mites. So we went home to wait it out.

Sure enough, within a few days, Foxy was back to normal, trotting along the puppy paths at the Ranch! We are so thankful!


Foxy and me at the Tallmadge Library

In other news, nothing says "I need a four-wheeler" quite like this bruise!



Six crazy dogs + one 80 pound cart and me = suicide mission #562!

Yes, it's true. I hooked up six dogs to my little cart. We took a corner quite sharp at the end of one of our dirty, country roads, and my leg collided with the post of a stop sign going six-dog-power forward. Lemme tell ya, it ain't pretty! And it's turning deeper shades of purple and blue as I type. OUCH! My dogs heard some extra colorful words coming out of my mouth on that run!

But, I have to remind myself of the words of my friend, Jim Warren.

Jim told me two things a few winters ago as I ran his dogs.

1. They're only dogs doing dog things. Be sure your expectations of them aren't too high because, after all, they're only dogs.

2. Mushing teaches the best of all skills: triumph in the face of adversity. No matter what life or nature throws at a musher, a good musher will pick up and carry on.

After a few brightly colored words and a brief pause, I lifted the brake on my little cart, hupped the dogs, and away we went following the setting sun.