Mike Dillingham - Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers - The Adventures of Balto, Back of the Pack, Honor Bound, Rivers

He lay just beyond the yard to watch. He looked for a garbage can to dump over in the night or a bag of hanging meat. The smell of fresh meat drifted to him. Tender, aging caribou meat hung in the shed, but his nose drew him to another source. He drooled, feeling hunger wrench his stomach and loudly tell him it needed food.

He suddenly caught the scent of the male dog that commonly used the trail he had come in on. He was in no shape to fight, but he had to eat, just a scrap to get him moving. He crept forward, his golden red coat as obvious as a black bear in spring snow. From behind him came a low angry growl.

Robby’s heart skipped a beat. He slid to the ground, submissively showing his belly. Robby looked at the dog he had foolishly let creep up on him. It was large with thick bushy fur and deep golden eyes. Robby gulped. The dog had an off smell to it and he knew why. It was a wolf dog mix, a hybrid. Robby knew he’d never win a fight with the graying dog even in tip-top shape. Dogs were no match for a hybrid; yet a hybrid was no match for a wolf, Robby told himself every time he had a chance to meet the moody mix breeds.

“Who are you?” The wolf dog growled. He was huge with gangly legs that dwarfed Robby’s stocky mangled body. “Speak up or I’ll shake you ’til your eyes go cold.”

Robby swallowed speaking in a quiet growl.

“Robby, sir.” The hybrid looked him up and down with wise old eyes.

“Lost, ain’t ye?” he huffed looking beyond Robby to his yard. Lying down with a groan, Robby relaxed a bit not having the energy to stand once again.

“No, I know where I’m going. It’s getting there that’s my worry,” Robby growled tiredly raising a hearty chuckle from the wolfish dog. He thumped his tail approvingly.

“My name is Kodiak. Don’t much let strangers on my pack’s land, but you’re no tenderfoot, and your Miss is in a might of worrying for you,” Kodiak growled, squinting his old gold colored eyes.

“Miss?” Robby whined.

“Your girl. You smell as if you were snuggled up tight with a young lady before this mess.” Robby whined again, dipping his head and wishing he hadn’t because of the pain in his neck made his vision swim. Kodiak took pity for he had been rescued not long ago from a savage man with a club by a brave, hard headed girl. Now she was grown with little ones that Kodiak watches out for night and day.

“My Miss just butchered some hens; them laying in the back on a table. Take one and don’t be seen. I’ll stir up the horse and that ornery little goat for ye.” Kodiak stood with a groan and creaky joints before he loped toward the corral.

“Kodiak, how can I repay you?” Robby asked feeling like a beggar not worth a sniff. The hybrid stopped and looked back with his wise, gold-colored eyes.

“Get home to her, and take care. You a going south?” Robby nodded shakily gaining his feet, feeling as old as Kodiak looked. “You got to walk through that city. Ain’t no place for no one but man. Trust no hand.” With that he disappeared to the side of the cabin near the corral. Robby heard a horse whinny and a goat bleat in anger. He found the butcher table in the back and took the smallest of the plump hens already plucked and gutted. He limped away grateful to the wolf dog, knowing he was to meet none other like him on his way home to her. He was determined he would make it.

He had to.

He laid down savoring his meal near a river runoff not far from Kodiak‘s home. He was near to town; he could smell and hear it all. Each sweet juicy bite he took made him stronger and more ready to move on. Finally, he licked his paws clean and the ground around him. Standing, he stretched as much as he could. His wounds were calm for now, no pain flared. He would have to clean them later. He wanted a few miles between him and this next town the Miss had called Palmer.

What he didn’t know was that 300 miles separated Robby from his Misses—300 miles of some of the most rugged terrain in Alaska and it was not a dog friendly journey in the least bit. Like Kodiak had said,

The sweet-sour smell of horses and cattle filled his head as he trotted along the highway within the cover of the thickly overgrown woods. Rabbits dashed away from him and quail made their annoying cry that reminded him of a hurt pup. He came upon the remains of a pig that had been dug from its pen. He wanted no part of that trouble so he picked up the pace, following the road he knew very well from years of travel back and forth with the Miss in the big blue Ford.

Soon the trees broke away and pavement replaced it. He couldn’t run out in the open fearing the people. He sighed, slinking from the back of one business to another and through people’s back yards. He wouldn’t be so uneasy if everyone in the town hadn’t owned some kind of livestock. He could be shot for just looking at the penned animals. He took to open pastures, increasing his speed, running when he could. He found himself using his bad leg with little or no pain. Cows, horses, pigs, chickens — it drove him crazy. He had to get away from here before he took a bullet, or followed his stomach where his nose lead him.

He met few dogs, most barked angrily at him from their fenced yards, but the smells made him believe that this place was different at night. He knew too well what good little dogs did under the cover of night when no masters were looking. He stumbled upon more dead livestock, and it wasn’t coyotes or wolves that had done it. He decided it was best to be gone before the rogue pack of dogs he smelled everywhere added him to their menu.

Palmer was a nice little farm town that gave way to more of a city-like look as he ambled along, but he wouldn’t miss it. He liked the back roads and mud trails of home. He could torment coyotes and spruce hens all day back home. If he took a long trip, he liked to go and listen to the wolves, past where the roads no longer ran, and the smell of man was gone. Home, that’s where his heart was. He took a deep breath; his heart lightened by memories of home.

It was night now. The cooling air made him stiffly shuffle along, following the road he knew to be the way home. His heart was heavy, a slight whimper now and again escaped him. His head hung low, he never knew how much he loved his Miss, or how far he would go for her.

He knew now; he’d go to the end of the world for her.

He had been lost before, long, long ago following the steps of Nana, an old black dog, grayed by time, that raised him at his Miss’s side. Miss called her Taco, but to him it was Nana. Nana took him far, far from home many times telling him of the wonders of the world and the places she had been. Robby only half listened, believing he knew all he needed to, but he was so wrong.

Nana had left him one cold rainy night to teach him a lesson.

She left him where the salty water crashed upon the sand. He had been scared and angry until he made it home and realized that Nana was waiting at the trail’s end to welcome him home. He was no longer a puppy, but a dog with eyes and ears open to the lessons of the world.

Robby stopped scenting the wind.

Rain was coming again, so he took cover in thick willows that shed most all of the rain. He laid his head on his paws and thought back again to Nana. She had died last winter, when the snow was thick and the nights freezing cold. The Miss never smiled, her face wet with salty water, like the water that tasted bad out by the sandy shore. Robby had seen Nana before they wrapped her in her favorite blanket and set her in a wooden casket freshly made by the Miss’s pa. He didn’t know what to do. He was angry when they put her in that box and put her in the ground. So Robby ran for days and days, slinking to and fro, growling deep within his chest and snarling at all who came to near him. He was so raw with pain, loss, and anger.