Dogs

Good, Together

Lolo (left) and Pig taking a snack break just 20 miles from the 2004 Iditarod finish line

Lolo (left) and Pig taking a snack break just 20 miles from the 2004 Iditarod finish line

Lolo is waiting in the Rav. After pacing the length of my yard for an hour, I decided to give the poor girl a break. It’s 50 degrees here in Martinsdale, and a steady breeze pushes the cool Montana air through the wide-open car windows. Glancing at the vehicle parked in front of my house, no one would know a dog’s in there. Lolo sleeps curled up in the backseat.

Since Lolo was a tiny pup, she’s been a little bit “different.” Hyper-alert, serious, always wanting to please — these characteristics make for a good lead dog, and that’s what Lolo became after I bought her for $100. Terry Adkins — annoyed by Lolo’s spooky, yet stubborn nature — didn’t want to waste his time on her. “Good luck…” he said, taking the check from my hand. “Thanks… I’ll need it,” I replied, restraining my excitement for fear Terry would change his mind.

Lolo (left) and Pig lead us off of Norton Sound onto the main street of Nome, Alaska. 2004

Lolo (left) and Pig lead us off of Norton Sound onto the main street of Nome, Alaska. 2004

I made that purchase over 13 years ago. Today is Lolo’s 14th birthday. Like my beloved Borage, she was born in the year 2000. I witnessed both of their births. Sadly, Borage did not make it to June 13, 2014, which would have been his 14th birthday, too. Even Lolo seems to sense it is a bittersweet time. Or, more realistically, Lolo still grieves her loss. Borage was her buddy, her constant sidekick. Lolo likes my little dogs, yet her behavior shows she longs for something more. Sled dogs know their own. They were raised in a giant pack, fed raw meat, trained as working dogs. They ran literally thousands of miles together. When one member of a string passes, the others feel as if they’ve lost a limb… or a heart. I know — that’s how I’ve felt since March 11th, the day I had to put Borage to sleep.

The last time Lolo and Borage were together here at the Martinsdale house, June 2013.

The last time Lolo and Borage were together here at the Martinsdale house, June 2013.

After Borage died, Lolo howled for weeks. The only time she stopped her mournful crying was when I put her in the car. Sitting in her usual place, right behind the driver’s seat, she feels safe. Like Borage always did, Lolo loves the Rav. Whenever I hear her wailing out in the yard, or see her trotting the fenceline, I know it’s time to open the car door and say, “Load up!” Lolo no longer leads an Iditarod sled dog team. Her friend, Borage, is gone. But inside our car, Lolo knows she’s still part of a string. And that I’ll be out to join her soon, loading up Jigs and Chloe, taking us all somewhere good, for a long walk together. 

Lolo ready to go to the Martinsdale Reservoir for her 14th birthday.

Lolo ready to go to the Martinsdale Reservoir for her 14th birthday.

Bedding Down the String…

The key to life... is a REAL key...

The key to feeling truly at home… is having a REAL key!

Saturday evening after stopping in Ames, Iowa to visit the ISU campus and then again at a bar in eastern South Dakota to catch the Triple Crown (California Chrome, I still love you), I arrived in Wall, South Dakota at 11 pm. The owners of the Welsh Motel were expecting me — I had called them as I left Sioux Falls to let them know I was still about 4.5 hours away.  “Do you want your usual room on the east side of the building?” Kelly, the owner’s daughter, asked me. “By then, any room will be the perfect room…” I told her. On my cross-country trips, I always make it a point to stop at Welsh’s. I cherish feeling so “at home” even though I’m halfway between my real homes in Indiana and Montana. Welsh’s is one of the most welcoming, dog-friendly motels in this country. “How many dogs do you have today?” they ask out of curiosity instead of dread. During the winter, my Alaskan Huskies usually prefer to sleep in the cold car, yet the owners always insist, “Bring them inside!” Several summers back on one 100-degree day, I shared an air-conditioned Welsh’s Motel room with 5 dogs. The reasonable rates (under 50 bucks!?!) and park-at-your-door layout (yes, a REAL motel!) make it easy to arrive late… and bed down stress-free. Home is where people wait up for your arrival… and smile when you walk through the door.

 

I’m leaving… I’m not leaving… okay, this time I’m REALLY leaving (maybe)

DSCF0034  

A magnet stuck to the bottom of my refrigerator door says: “It’s all fun and games until somebody ends up in a cone.” When my friend, Brenda, and I spotted this Truth next to a photo of a terrier haloed by the giant white “cone of shame,” we both laughed. In my world, this scene is all too familiar. I, literally, own 13 e-collars (FYI… it’s never a good idea to spay or neuter 13 crazy sled dogs all on the same day… but that’s another story). Sadly, my 25-lb. German Jagd Terrier, Jigs, has ended up in the “cone of shame” more times than all of my sled dogs combined. “You need this…” Brenda said, pulling the magnet off the counter display at the bookstore and handing it to the cashier. “Hang it really low on the frig… so The Terri-orist can see it.”

I’m always amazed how one small (adorable) dog can throw such a big wrench in my plans. Jigs is known for making poor choices — he’s a terrier, he can’t help it — and I have to watch him.

This last Monday as I was preparing to leave Indy for Montana the next morning — doing laundry and gathering camping gear and loading my car while visiting with Brenda —  I left Jigs and Chloe and Lolo in my 3/4 acre backyard. Jigs turned 12 years old in March so sometimes I forget that my little gray-muzzled man can turn into a steel-eyed predator at any moment. Just as I was walking Brenda to her car, we saw a snarling tornado of fur and teeth moving across the grass. I recognized bits and pieces of Jigs and Chloe and Lolo in the twisted mess. Thankfully, Brenda and I were right there. As always I went straight for the terrier, snatching the wiry beast from the pile (please, SERIOUSLY, do not try this at home), and carrying him — still squirming and growling — back to the garage by his scruff.

“What the heck was that about?” I asked Brenda, as she looked over Chloe and Lolo for wounds. I did the same with Jigs, finding several punctures on his back leg. Jigs usually starts things, but then ends up the only dog wearing “the cone of shame.” I wish he’d learn, I always think after a scuffle. Dog fights evoke terror. For an hour, my heart pounded in my head, my hands trembled. I worry for those I love.

A plump, drool-drenched squirrel found in the yard answered our questions. Without a speaking witness, it’s difficult to know who caught the rodent; all three of the dogs are skilled hunters (lucky me). It’s a dog’s nature to want something so pungent, warm, bloody. My dogs are animals — I know this. I must remind myself to treat them that way. But sometimes they’re so cute I forget…

I decided to postpone my trip for a day to make sure Jigs did not need vet care. One hole about the width of a pencil could have taken a stitch… or not. I gave Jigs a painkiller, some antibiotics, and we plopped down on the couch. He slept in a ball on my lap as I read, checked emails. That’s when I experienced the second shock of the day. A message in my Inbox read: GOOD NEWS FROM THE IOWA STATE MFA PROGRAM! I was asked to contact you right away because we have good news for you. We are able to make you an admission and TA offer to join the MFA Creative Writing and the Environment program at Iowa State after all…

For the second time that day, my heart surged in my chest, my hands shook — but this time for positive reasons. I postponed my departure date for several more days.  So much to consider…