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

“No, you must rest up. There is no way you will survive the pass through the mountains like this.” It was the booming growl of Tank. The big dog glanced around before lying with his back to Robby, perhaps as a way to not alert his master to Robby’s presence in the massive dog house. Smudge-Spot drug the to-go box out and raced around the yard before a human woman called her up to the house and took it away. Tank spoke quietly so as not to get any attention from the human woman who spoke gibberish in a happy voice to Smudge-Spot.

“There are wolves, coyotes, foxes, bears, lynx, and angry moose, as well as all man’s terrible things on your way south,” Tank growled. Robby understood his concern and was glad he had stopped to recover as best he could.

“How do you know I’m going south?” Robby growled quietly.

“You growled in your sleep. You had many dreams, good and bad.” Tank sounded old. Robby noticed the grey around his muzzle and eyes. He remembered Nana then, how she had been as black as the death-black road and then she too grew old and was almost white by the time she went to the Great Pack among the stars. “When you are ready, I will take you to a game trail that will take you far south without losing your way,” Tank growled, standing up with a grumble and a stretch.

“What of your human?” Robby growled feeling an empty sadness overcome him.

“I have a sickness inside of me. I don’t have many days left and I don’t want her to weep over me. It is the way of the old who have too much pride,” Tank growled sadly and walked away. Robby saw a stiff, painful step to his walk. Tank stopped and looked over his great big shoulder. “Rest up; I will come get you when it is time to go.” Robby laid his blocky head on his paws and whined. Nana had said some dogs didn’t want to be around the ones they loved when they slept the Great Sleep, they preferred to be alone among the trees and distant mountains. Nana said it was the old way. Nana didn’t talk much about the old ways of dogs; she said the young didn’t need to know as they would know soon enough when they turned old themselves. Nana couldn’t walk before she had died; the Miss had to carry her. The Miss labored with her heavy weight, but she did so with tears in her eyes and a determined face; like it was the Miss’s final gift to Nana, to carry her to the Great Pack.

Nana said dying old and sickly was a sad way for a dog to die, but she went to the Great Pack in the sky knowing the Miss loved her. Robby remembered watching the Miss holding Nana, even after the light was gone from Nana’s eyes and Nana was sleeping the Great Sleep.

He had to get his Miss.

He had to tell her he loved her.

Robby wept like a foolish puppy as the rain came down so hard it drowned out his sad whines, pounding on the tin roof on the human’s house, sounding as if it was going to shatter it.

He wanted to see the Miss one last time; he wanted to lick her cheek to tell her he loved her; he wanted to be in her arms, even if it was just one last time. He turned his back on the rain curling up in the dark shadows at the back of the dog house.

“Oh, Nana, help me be strong and brave so I may see her again,” Robby cried hiding his nose under his sore, dirty paws. “Help me be strong like you, Nana.”

It was late into the night when Tank came for Robby. The giant dog’s black coloring melded with the darkness; the moon glinted off the grey peppered in his fur and his large eyes that were glazed in pain. He didn’t speak as he led Robby through the wind-twisted forest and up an old wash to reach a trail worn into the summit of the mountain. The trail rode the ridges of the great mountains and had a wide range of smells that lingered in Robby’s nose. Robby could follow the trail just by the mixture of smells even if he were blind and deaf.

They traveled at a fast walk through the night and the next day; no words passed between the two the entire time. They watched the sun rise and burn the frost that had gathered as they marched along the spine of the world, mountain top to mountain top. They saw a grizzly watching them as it rooted among a blueberry patch. They bypassed it and dipped down into a canyon drinking from a creek that was bitter cold. Robby looked up the creek to the white capped mountains. He gulped, feeling his stomach twist in dread.

The snow was coming.

Tank led the way again at a canter; he seemed to be in a hurry. He eyed a rock outcropping on the distant hill hoping to make it by nightfall. They made it just after dark and rested under the weather-worn stone out of the wind. Robby was glad to stretch out his tired legs and be out of the wind that seemed endless on the mountain peaks. Tank, however, found the act of lying down painful and quietly whined as he sank to the cold ground.

Robby watched him, wanting to ask if he was alright, but the old dog had a protective kind of pride and Robby wondered if it would annoy him to speak to the old dog like a yearling-pup. Robby was half dozing when Tank’s booming voice broke the quiet of their hideout among the rocks.

“Do not leave the trail; it’s easy to lose your way; the snow will come soon,” Tank growled looking up at the patch of stars that peeked through the clouds and lit up the night. Robby followed the giant dog’s gaze, watching his breath in the cold breeze float away from their hidden shelter.

“Will you not be going with me?” Robby asked suddenly aware that he didn’t want to be alone. Fear welled up in him and made a hard lump in his throat. Tank smelled the sudden fear on Robby.

“No,” Tank said in a whisper of a growl. “My time is short and the next few days are much too long. I like the view from here; I’m close to the stars.” He took a deep breath and was silent for a long time remembering an old friend and the days they had shared. He glanced at Robby with sad, tired eyes. “You will see her again, my short, stout friend. You have the heart of a grizzly, the strength of a bull moose, the courage of an ermine, and the unbending will of man’s cold steel. Dogs like you are forever remembered by the human you love. Just hope you don’t see them sleep the Great Sleep before you,” Tank growled sadly. He seemed to be far off somewhere in his thoughts.

“Is that what happened to you?” Robby growled quietly, watching Tank gaze at the stars with a strange sheen to his large dark eyes. Tank sighed and took another deep, rattling breath.

“His name was Robert. How I miss him,” Tank growled before tilting his head back in a deep, sad howl that shook the silence of their mountain top. Every hurt was in that howl, the hurt that loss and loneliness brought. Robby now understood why Tank had left the woman that Smudge-Spot called master. She was not Tank’s master. No matter the love that woman had given Tank, his heart had broken the day his master — his Robert — died.

Tank howled long and low before they sat in silence watching the sky clear and the stars shine brighter than Robby had ever seen before. Sometime later, Robby drifted off to sleep imagining he was home in his Miss’s arms.

The sun woke him as it burned away the remains of the cold night; already it felt much warmer as the sun peeked out of its bed. Robby got to his feet, stretching, feeling his ribs ache and his scabbed leg itch the healing itch. He looked over with a wag of his tail having enjoyed Tank’s company a lot on his long journey. His tail stopped, however, and dropped slowly. With a sad whimper, Robby took one last look at the massive black dog that looked so happy and at peace. Then he walked slowly on his way.