"Happiness is a warm puppy. " ~ Charles M. Schulz

Sophie and Ginsberg

This last Saturday, we celebrated.



We frolicked and we remembered.


Maggie and Annie "mouth sparring"



We sniffed the sweet puppy breath and gazed into their soft blue eyes.



Happy Three Week Birthday, Puppies!

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.

We clean up nicely, doncha think? :-)

Yesterday found me back on the runners. With Joann leading on the snow machine, I drove dogs 22 miles through the beautiful winding trails along the Manistee River. My dogs did awesome and came in with happy tails and smiles in 125 minutes.

After a day of running dogs, Larry, Joann and I peeled off our stinky dog clothes and cleaned up to go out.


Larry and Joann


Joann gives a thumbs up to a night out!


Mexican food and margaritas at La Senorita hit the spot, then it was off to see Joann and Larry's friend's band play at the Otsego Lodge.



It turned out there were snowboard, ski and snow machine competitions going on all weekend long at the lodge. I snuck outside to watch skiers ride "kinked rails" on the slopes.



And laughed at the name of this slope....


I had to take a picture of this!

By 9 o'clock, however, we were all yawning. So we went home and did what mushers do on a Saturday night: made tug lines and neck lines!




Joann made an entire new gangline for the A team

I am heading back down to Ohio early Monday morning, and I hear there is barely a dusting of snow at home. I leave, as always, with a heavy heart. But I'll be back in just a few short weeks!

Crisp morning and fushia sunset in the tundra

"Silence is a source of great strength.” Lao Tzu


The Mackinaw Bridge that connects lower Michigan to the Upper Peninsula

The snow squeaks under my boots as I head outside. The sun is bright. It is six degrees at the 45th parallel: the half way point between the equator and the North Pole. The Toyota creaks and groans as I drive up Coyote Run. I am heading to Mackinaw City to pick up Sophie's Christmas present: her very own dog sled.

My friends, Karla and Dan, at Trails End Kennel responded to an S.O.S. that I was looking for a dogsled for Sophie for Christmas. I am very thankful.

On the way there, Big Brown sleeps in the cab of the truck with me. She's pretty spoiled, my sweet BB - "BB gun" as my kids affectionately call her.



After a quick chat with Dan, we're on our way back down to the 45th parallel.


How we roll: my dog box, which I built by myself, can hold six to eight dogs. Sleds, which weigh practically nothing, sit on top.

And I get ready to find my "sled legs" once again.

I don't know about other mushers, but I always get butterflies in my stomach before the first go of the season on the runners. And I've heard horror stories about running out of Joann's driveway. The sharp 90 degree left onto a plowed road with a hot team of dogs can be deadly.

The butterflies leap into my throat.

Larry goes out before me with a team of 10.



As I head out, two of the five females I have hooked up start to fight. One is BB. She's fighting with her litter mate, Rags. Forgotten are the days of sharing a womb; now the girls are blood thirsty. I stop and Joann helps to get the two separated.

Butterflies...

Then I'm at the corner and I make the turn. I make the turn! Only, something happens. I'm going fast slightly downhill on a plowed road. My drag mat flaps around haphazardly, and when I step foot on it, I hit a bump in the road simultaneously and...just that quick, I'm over. And over. Until I'm dragged upside down, runners in the sky, down the road.

I lost my team one time, in 2006. I have never let go again. I will never let go. This is the first rule (really probably the only rule) in mushing: NEVER let go. Ever. No matter what.

Luckily my agility comes right back to me and I stop the team and right the sled as quickly as it happens. I chuckle to myself picturing sled runners in the sky!

The rest of the 15 mile run is absolutely breathtaking and pristine. The dogs make good time on sections of trail that are still rough going from all the newly fallen snow. The sunset puts on quite a show.



As we run, I think about last September - that it's only been three and a half months since I fought for life. I very seriously thought after my hospitalization I would not be here, today, doing the thing I love most in the world. And here I am.

I return in the dark without a headlamp, it's that clear and beautiful. I feel alive again. The hours of training have paid off with the dogs. They run flawlessly, effortlessly through the tundra.



As I prepare dinner for the dogs, Gwennie gives me a kiss. Larry made the best spaghetti dinner and we wolf down the carbs like the dogs wolf down their kibble. After dinner, Ana poses with her best buddy, Jake, in front of the Fortier's Christmas tree so I can snap some shots of her.


A five-year-old Ana and her Border Collie, Jake

Merry Christmas. What I want for Christmas is the peace I feel when I'm on the runners, at all times. I savor that peace, when everything is blanketed in white and the only sound is the sound of the dogs' breath and the quiet jingling of their collars.

May you know peace. May you know how to get back up on the runners. May you know the butterfly excitement of the first run of the season. May you know the unconditional kisses of best friends. May you know peace.

Slogging through mud on a rainy night

Chalking up more miles on the clankity cart in the cold, wet night

I cannot wait to run the dogs on snow. They are such good dogs and are doing super despite added mileage. We've had a couple tests lately. Saturday, there were, for some unknown reason, several people out at the trails where we train. They were milling around, and as we went by, they "ooo"ed and "ah"ed at us. The dogs didn't flinch. They just kept right on chuggin'.

We pass one lone house on our training run route. Sure enough, on the same day, a huge chocolate lab came bounding toward the team from that one lone house. Perplexed, the dogs couldn't resist a look and slow a bit.

I called, "Ahead!" and they kept moving...but dang it, wouldn't you know that hulking chocolate lab caught up to the team! This stopped them, the urge to investigate this intruder too tempting.

"Sorry," his owner called and came running up from the lone house. After a few interested sniffs and tail wags, I called the team up and we were on our way.

"Alright guys, let's go!" Wind kicked up. Drizzling rain and mud splashed in my face. Big Brown shook in her harness.

Tonight, Sophie went with me. We rigged her bike up to the back of my training cart with a few carabiners and a heavy duty rope, and away we went!



I have logged so many hours with my guys this fall, I finally know what it's like to make something you love a job. Most days I am excited to run dogs; some days, not so much. Like today. It was raining a steady drizzle all day. It was cold. The beautiful ice pockets in the trail had melted into muddy puddles of murky muck. And, try as I might to avoid those puddles, finishing tonight's training run found me covered with sandy mud from head to toe.

I finally know what it feels like to know my dogs through and through. And though I will never think I know my dogs' every move before they make it, I feel pretty comfortable saying I know my guys really well. I've watched them grow this fall from totally green, inexperienced and gawky yearlings (Ruffian and Big Brown) to graceful, beautiful athletes.

27 days until our first race. I can't wait to see them blossom in the glistening snow that is their birthright.

Stay tuned for images from the annual fall rig session in the Upper Peninsula

Scene from a junkyard in Frederick, Michigan

And so begins

And so begins the process of trying to put all this behind me and repair.

I was shocked to realize how much my body had atrophied after two weeks in a hospital bed. My legs almost buckled underneath me as I walked up the front step of my house.

For the first time in my life, I'm scared of my own dogs - of their power and strength. I went out to see them yesterday shortly after I returned home, and was terrified they would rip open the stitches in my belly jumping up on me in excitement. They were so happy to see me. It breaks my heart I cannot frolic with them like normal right now.

Which naturally leads to the question: what about this season? It's already September. It will be at least a couple weeks before I'm strong enough to even maintain dog chores and possibly run them. Do I have time to work both myself up and to train them for the Midnight Run?

And why oh why does it seem like every year there's some obstacle staring me in the face, preventing me from getting to Midnight Run? And why do I have to want this this one thing so bad?!

Some happy pictures

The Thief, Big Brown (BB). The other day I was cleaning out their water pails and turned around to find BB had stolen my Brillo pad!


BB and Ruffian love rolling in grass - especially fresh-cut grass






BB and Ruffian also love Chris. They are sweeties who live to give and receive affection








Just watch out: they sometimes nip when they get excited!


Look at those muscles!


Another lover, Gwennie. She loves belly rubs


Finally Yeti, who has healed nicely from his abscess from a few weeks ago. Now if only I could do the same!

Gwennie's first trip to the park in images

For a sleddog, Gwennie sure could pass for a pet. She walks excellently on a leash, stays right with me, doesn't pull, is cuddly and smiles a lot.



Sophie and I took Gwennie on her first trip to the park last night. She (and we) had a great time. I think these images speak for themselves. Enjoy!









And now in color:

Break on through

Early last season while training, Jim and I left Sleddog Lodge one morning with two teams in a veritable blizzard. It was just before Thanksgiving, and snow dumped on the U.P. in massive amounts.



Even lifelong Yoopers were dumbfounded with the weather patterns. With a total of 14 dogs lined out between the two of us – me with six and Jim with eight – we slogged through a tough 28 mile run, breaking trail the whole time. I was glad I had my ski goggles and my coyote-fur lined hooded parka; otherwise, I would have been blinded by the snowfall.



Sweaty and struggling at often a snail’s pace, running up hills through the knee-deep snow, there were moments when I thought of giving up. Then I looked at the dogs and felt guilty for my own lack of stamina.


A training run - on route 414 outside of Newberry, MI

We should all aspire to a sleddog’s work ethic. Regardless of the depth of snow, the blowing wind, or the flakes falling in a blinding sheet, they put their heads down, focus and keep on running. They do not question it. They just do it, like the best Nike athletes.

We can learn a lot from dogs. The do not falter when faced with adversity; it isn’t in their vocabulary.

Two of Jim's dogs who exemplify an iron will and fierce determination are Cocoa and Eric.


Cocoa, only a yearling in this photo, but running up front on a training run. Jennifer Warren praised Cocoa for her willingness to keep on going when the going got tough last year. "She just puts her little head down and goes," Jennifer said of Cocoa.


Eric the dog. Also a super strong leader who will break trail for hours, Eric is a linebacker on the line


Rachel - probably the dog in Jim's kennel I identify most with. Fiesty and scrappy, Rachel can dish it out and take it too

Life is often like breaking trail: disoriented and blind, we slog through and hope the path we take is the right path. No matter what your passion, regardless of the challenges that you face, never give up. Keep slogging.