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

The car still rolled behind him.

Robby readied himself to run. He was lost in the twisted city that made him question the natural homing sense that all dogs born on the face of the earth have. No matter their breed or standard they knew home. But here in this evil place, his fears made him doubt and that’s when he lost his way. The Man’s Law stalking him made it worse. Robby sucked it up, pointed his nose home, and when the cars slowed their mad dash, he ran.

He ran like the wind harder and faster than he had ever run before. His feet hurt from the rough pavement that ate at them as he charged on. He heard the police car and its screaming sirens behind him, but he pounded on, past surprised faces and screeching cars.

He had to get to her. He had to leave here or he feared he’d be trapped forever.

He ran until his legs burned and every breath he took wheezed out of him; then he ran farther. He ran until the sun faded and a bitter cold gripped the stone and steel city. Suddenly, he smelled the salty tang of the bad smelling water where the ground was soft and clung to his fur and rubbed him raw if he didn’t clean it off.

He stumbled over steel tracks laid on the ground; and he rolled, tumbling across the cold, unforgiving planks laid between the tracks. He laid where he crashed and whined, having no more strength or will to move. A dream-like sleep over took him as he shivered in the wind that grew ever stronger with each passing hour.

Robby thought back to home, to the bacon the Miss snuck to him out the back door, the long hugs before she left for the day, coming home smelling like other children, people, and places. He thought of freeze-dried moose strips in the winter and raw eggs from the ducks by the swamp. He shivered awake, feeling weak and listless like the wind would pick him up and toss him away.

The sun was rising, but he didn’t watch it with the same joy as he once had. It laughed at him as it shown a vast inlet of water that spread out before him with the tiniest sliver of land on the other side. It teased him.

That’s where he had to go.

He pushed himself on to his rump, cramping his tail awkwardly underneath him. He groaned, his body burning in dull aches, but his stomach worried him the most. It grumbled and boiled making him sick with hunger. As he pulled his tail from under his leg, he wagged it so hard he thought it would pop off. He smelled marsh that promised small fish and frogs, but he grew more excited as he saw ducks and gulls of all varieties sitting lazily on their nests that promised late eggs, chicks, and leftovers from meals.

Robby pulled himself to his feet and trotted across the highway as it was unusually empty. He slid into the water swimming, or walking, through the two feet of cold water that he rather enjoyed. Swimming made his aches and pains lessen and cooled the fevered wound on his hip at the same time as making him stiffen up.

The birds were instantly angry and screeched at him diving this way and that. He quickened his pace not wanting to catch a sharp beak to the back of his head. He was giddy with joy as he snatched up a fat duck with a broken wing. Swimming back to the shore line next to the paved black top, he ate his downy meal, burping up and coughing up feathers as best he could.

He felt satisfied for now, feeling the duck he had just eaten boil in his stomach. He burped again, feeling ill. He pulled himself to his feet and trotted on feeling queasy. Robby watched the cars go by. There had been more and more of them on the death-black paved road as the sun rose. He decided this was his chance to cut through the forest. He knew the roads kept him on his path in the dirty city but out here they weaved in silly time-wasting ways, going around the mountains instead of up and over.

Robby grumbled looking at the thick tangle of wind whipped trees and willows. He sniffed the air, smelling the salty wind that roared in from Turnagain Arm. Robby knew this area; he remembered the horrible wind when he had ridden in the back of the big blue Ford. He remembered it in his dreams; it was horribly strong, so strong that the big blue Ford was battered by it. He gulped, lowering his head and marching into the unknown wind-twisted forest. The farther he went, the worse the wind became.

Then the sky turned black and angry, and as the rain came down and it was blown sideways, chilling him to the bone.

And still he marched on.

He had to get home.

He had to get to her.

He hid among the sad, twisted trees, walking in constant fear of being ripped from the ground and thrown into the air. Robby had crept on his belly, sliding like a snake to the edge of a cliff to overlook a section of the death-black paved road. It was just below him. A rock was knocked over as a gust of wind pushed him back, causing him to grip the mossy rocks. The rock landed with a muffled crack as it skidded across the death-black pavement. He heard the rumble of a car fighting the wind and turned away, slinking back into the cover of the trees.

He looked back one last time, gazing over the vast bowl of water that made his path veer off from the straight line he wanted to fallow. He felt his hope sink. He lowered his head with a sad, lonely whine. He felt ready to give up until he remembered the Miss, shivering in the cold with him, hiding from the rain with him, sleeping on the damp ground with him and Nana, keeping each other warm.

A new purpose gripped him, and a thought crossed his weary mind.

“I will!” Robby growled and snapped his teeth together with a new strength, giving his legs power, and pushing past his fear. He raced through the raging storm and the pounding rain with his head and tail held high.

I will, he said over and over again, making his weary mind sharp and focused.

Before he knew it, a night and a day had past. After a belly full of mountain sheep that had been knocked from a ledge by the storm, he paused only long enough to drink from a spring that came out of the face of the mountain to help settle his full stomach before moving on.

Robby paused on a large jutting rock that put him even higher than the great mountain he had already walked upon. He gazed at the mountains and the water. What sights he saw; what smells he found; how the Miss would have loved all this. He took a deep sniff, feeling a ray of sunshine touch him. It made his dirty golden coat blaze red against the grey of the rocks around him.

She loved to hike, his Miss. He remembered days where they would fight their way to the peak of a hill. She sweated while Robby thought he couldn’t pant enough to cool himself down. He even remembered the time his tongue got tired and he feared it would come right out of his mouth. He often had silly thoughts as a pup.

When they reached the top, they would sit in the silence and gaze over all they had risen above. The wind would sweep past them, cooling them from their agonizing hike and bringing the sweet smell of a hot spruce forest. The thrill of the race down the mountain and laying in the glacier fed creek was almost as perfect as sitting in that silence, watching the hawks soar just a little higher than they sat.

How he missed her.

He moved on deep into the night. Noticing the darkness lingering longer filling him with dread. Within the growing darkness came the long-staying snow and he was much too high on the world’s back and much too thin to survive. Robby shuttered at the thought of snow.