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

One day, Bumper, a dark eyed, light-haired human friend of the Miss’s wrapped him up in her arms despite his snarls, and whispered in his ear. She spoke so kindly to him that his cold shell melted away. He always counted on Bumper to brighten his day; he loved her as much as he loved the Miss. He went on without Nana at his side. He felt stronger and wiser, using all she had taught him to keep Miss and Bumper safe as long as he was on this earth. He remembered Nana every day and whispered to her on the wind often, hoping she would hear him.

He didn’t notice the rain as he fell asleep thinking of the Miss and Bumper, and even the Miss’s ma and pa, and even the runty rats of dogs no bigger than snowshoe rabbits that he shared his home with. He even thought about the ferrets that chased him, biting with their tiny, needle teeth. He awoke to a warm, clear sky all pink and orange. He yawned, a great big yawn with hope thick in his chest. Two ravens took flight after being started by him; he snorted.

“I’m still alive, you savage garbage eaters,” he yelled to them as they playfully whisked across the tree tops. Standing, he sniffed the wind. A gruesome smell hit him like a lucky kick from an irritated moose and he felt a little uneasy as he realized it came from the land where man was cold and merciless. The place Kodiak had warned him of. He felt fear well up, but he continued there was no way around it.

He had to get home to her.

The black road that he followed was loud and crazy with shifty cars going recklessly fast. The thunder of the massive cargo trucks overwhelmed him at times. He stayed out of the way, walking through the tundra and grass. Many times he choose to swim with the muskrats rather than brave the edge of the road. Once or twice he felt them nip at his belly, but they were not as brave as the ones he tangled with at home.

The bridge he came to covered a wide, rushing river and he was forced to make a mad dash on the black road to get across. Cars screamed at him as he charged out of their way off the bridge and back down to the safety of the tundra willows. He trembled remembering the hurt the screaming car had brought upon him long ago. Nana had always told him, “They have no mercy, nor should you expect any. Look and be quick, else the Miss will scrape your hide from the black road. Dogs have no right to walk here, so we must run.” Robby held fast to that memory as he recovered in the shade of a wind-whipped water-logged spruce tree that looked sad compared to the giants he had left his mark on before. Nana had been so wise, so strong.

He had to get home to prove to the Miss that he could be wise and strong, too.

He took shelter as the rain came again; this time it was colder and carried a bitter nip that chilled his wet coat. He was hungry and stiff, and he trembled from the cold. He needed warmth, but the surrounding land was marsh with water and soggy tundra sad little twisted trees that tried in vain to survive. The only dry places were not safe for a dog to stay for long.

As he watched and waited, a massive cargo truck pulled into a wide pull-out and shut down, its thundering engine rumbling down to silence. Robby wagged his tail; he dove under the cab soaking up the warmth from the once hot running engine.

The warmth soon faded in the cool air, but it was shelter from the rain and wind; he was grateful for that at least. He had learned this trick during the coldest winter of his life. The Miss’s pa fixed the steel beasts and they would idle in the yard hours at a time as he tried to get them to run just right. Robby would climb under and steal the warmth.

It was closer to dark now and the rain had stopped. Robby decided to move at night. He could take the city during the dark because man is shy in the dark of night. Nana said it was because their noses didn’t work in the dark to tell them what was ahead. About the time he slunk from under the truck, the driver was walking around surveying the tires making sure they were road worthy. He stopped and looked at Robby with a surprised gaze. He looked around the empty pull-out seeing no other vehicles.

“You’re a little skinned up fella,” the man said eyeing Robby sadly. Robby watched him trusting no human but his Miss. He watched Robby watching him. Turning, he opened the door to the cab. Robby could hear the rustle of plastic; he had long ago learned that sound meant a treat was on its way. A Twinkie came sailing through the air and crashed to the ground. Robby inspected it before swallowing it whole in one gulp. Another treat came; this time it was a candy bar smothered in chocolate like the Miss would sneak to him. He had forgotten what wondrous treats truck drivers hid next to their seats. He woofed them down feeling them painfully slide down his dry throat, but he was too hungry to chew or care.

“Hope you get to where you’re going,” the man said before disappearing into the steel beast that came alive with a loud thunderous rumble. Robby turned and trotted off into the dark with his belly satisfied for now, glancing back one last time at the kind man who made it possible to go just a little farther.

Robby walked all through the night, watching the stars and the moon shining brighter than the headlights of the cars that passed by him on the cold highway. An owl hooted in the tree line that reached down the mountains that were now on the side of the road. The marsh land with its sour smell was fading as trees and willows came into view.

Robby held out hope for rabbits to eat, but in his exhaustion he was too clumsy and loud. They heard him before he saw them and they just darted away. So he was more than happy to eat a rabbit that had been killed by a speeding car. He found his glorious meal, snatching it up quickly and running far into a willow patch to devour it in tasty, crunchy gulps.

The morning had come and the day was warming up, shedding the cool of night. Dew clung to Robby’s fur, chilling him. His ribs ached and itched which was a good sign of healing, but he grew more tired each day and needed a long rest with warmth before he walked himself to death.

The nights were going to get colder; he could feel it. It was going to freeze during the night soon, and he knew he wouldn’t survive that.

The first of the buildings came into sight; the smell of the city was disgusting. Robby was slinking through the dirty alleyways, smelling cats and the sour odor of rats, so oddly out of place in Alaska, when he heard a muffled human-yelp.

Robby froze; sniffing the air, he smelled burgers, fries, and all mixtures of the food and trash. Salivating, he remembered a trip to town with the Miss’s litter mate, Ice Eyes, where he got a juicy burger with fries and an ice cream cone. Robby hopped into an excited trot toward the smells lead on by his memories, as well as his nose.

He came around a building and saw a young women and a bad smelling man with his hands around the young woman’s throat. He had pulled her behind a dumpster. Garbage was scattered around as the bag she had been carrying had ripped open.

She was crying and Robby smelled her fear; it made his hackles raise and a violent snarl. He raised his lips to show his great, big teeth he got from the Rottweiler on his mother‘s side. He hated to see humans cry, it meant they were sad or fearful, and no one deserved to feel so bad that their face leaked that bad tasting fluid called tears.

People began shouting from around the good smelling building, but Robby ignored them as they ran into view. Robby dropped his head low and charged with a frightening growl. He charged fiercely, hitting the man hard with a thud. That was the Pit Bull in him, all his strength in a small, stout package.