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

Tank was lonely no more.

He had joined the Great Pack among the stars, and was back at Robert’s side until the end of the stars, the moon, and the sun.

Robby thought of Tank and Nana often during the next few days. He remembered their words, their wisdom, and their pride. He hoped he had the strength that they had. Even when death was nipping at their tails, they didn’t tuck it and run; they turned to face it. They had courage to face it alone without whining or crying like a silly little pup.

They were true dogs, loyal and strong until the end.

Robby thought a lot as he marched on with sore feet and a sore body. He thought about what it meant to be a dog and why dogs of old had chosen to be at man’s side. Why dog had picked man always left him in deep thought. Man was good, but there was a deep evil in man that dog never understood. Humans were confusing and complex, and yet dogs stood by them no matter the road man tread. They were steadfast with their loyalty to their masters.

He snorted, clearing his head.

All he knew was he had to get home; he owed his Miss that much.

She loved him, and asked for nothing in return. How could he not love her back?

Late in the morning, he happened upon an old bear-killed moose. He filled his belly and lingered no longer than needed. He kept a steady pace, saving strength in case he needed it. He kept his nose pointed south only leaving the path to look for food and water. He watched the skies for ravens; they showed him where a meal could be snagged before the bigger animals found it.

He watched his back and his flanks, becoming weary, feeling eyes upon him. When darkness fell, he heard the howling of his cousin kin, the wolves. He knew them to be empty-bellied eating machines and feared they had picked up his trail. He found a bed among willows that were twisted from the harsh weather and hid within them like a rabbit. Night fell and brought with it a bitter frost and a hard freeze. Robby awoke shivering. He looked around him in panic — the death snow was coming.

The sun had barely risen when he was off at a fast pace. He had to be out of the mountains and into the lowlands by the end of the night or he would be swallowed up in the heavy snow that fell on the peaks and didn’t leave until late spring.

He had to see her one last time.

Robby pushed hard at times. He raced down hills so fast he thought he was going to lose control and tumble, hurting his already sore ribs. His feet were ripped and bleeding by the time he splashed into a creek and sprawled out on his belly panting. The cold water cooled him down and he felt the warmer air around him. Despite the cloudy sky, there were no signs of a hard freeze that brought snow. He still had a few short weeks to go before the snow came; he hoped to be home before then.

He sniffed the air smelling rotten fish. He wagged his tail, jumping up out of the creek like a happy puppy. It was after spawning season for the salmon and their bodies lined the banks of the river that fed the small creek. Robby would have a feast. He darted carelessly into the woods leaping fallen trees and sending the stupid birds, the ptarmigan, into the trees with angry chuckles and chirps. Robby’s mouth watered. He could taste the rich, tasty fish already.

Robby leaped free of the trees, fireweed, and the bear grass, so named because it was tall and humans couldn’t see the bears that rooted in it. He barked as he jumped free. But his happy bark turned into a painful cry as a huge grizzly slapped him back into the trees. It roared and chomped its dog-killing, man-eating jaws, and lumbered like a great giant after Robby as he slipped in the wet mud among the trees along the river. The grizzly would have made Tank look like a cub, Robby didn’t want to think of how much the great bear weighed; it made a car look small.

Robby tried to make himself look as big and fierce as possible as he and the bear circled one another. He knew better than to challenge a bear. Oh, how Nana would yell at him and shake him by the scruff like a dumb pup if she saw how foolish he was right now. Bears didn’t even like to bug other bears. It was like watching two mountains collide over and over again, all teeth and claws ripping and tearing.

Right now, Robby had no choice, no other options. The bear had gotten between him and the forest, and freedom. The rushing, roaring river was at Robby’s back. The grizzly rose to its hind feet and bellowed, swiping at the air with his massive, long dagger claws before crashing back down to the mucky river bank. Robby had no choice but to back farther toward the river. He could hear the river thundering in his head, spilling fear into the anger and the adrenalin that already flowed through his veins.

Robby snapped at the air, showing his gleaming teeth. He jumped forward, grabbing the grizzly by the face just under its eye and thrashing it like he did to the rabbits when he caught it for dinner. The bear screamed a horrible, loud bellow and shook his head, knocking Robby loose. He left a big gash under the bear’s eye, but it only enraged the hulking beast, and it slapped Robby across the shoulder knocking him into the river and ripping his shoulder wide open.

Robby fought the current, but was then glad that it swept him away when he saw the grizzly race along the bank hoping to finish what it had started. Robby was swept away so fast that the bear was soon a dot on the shore. He saw the woods on both sides of the river rush past him. He fought to keep to the edge, hoping something would eventually stop him.

The water was cold and he shivered terribly, but it wasn’t only the water that made him shiver. He was in shock, a dangerous, mind-numbing state. The bear had hurt him bad. He was scared, but he had to ignore it until he got to the bank. He had to keep focused and keep moving on. He was carried on and on down the river.

He had to keep focused; he had to keep going.

He had to get home to her.

Robby was weak and numb by the time he was pushed into a slow current, and he swam slowly into shallow water. He stumbled, barely able to pull himself to his feet on the bar of gravel that jutted from the bank of the river. He fell to the ground a few feet from the water and shivered, unable to move. He felt sleepy; a light headedness overcame him. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he feared it would be too dangerous to sleep. He was much too cold and much too weak. He fought to get to his feet, stumbling and falling.

He walked to the bank, heaving himself up the slippery slope and finding a nice, dry bed of grass. He lay there relaxing waiting for the shivering to stop. He focused on licking himself clean and licking the five horrible gashes the bear had left on his shoulder. He had bled a lot, too much.

It took him several hours to feel safe enough to sleep and, when he did sleep, he slept for two days. He truly felt like he wasn’t going to make it; he was just too tired.

He awoke with a start upon hearing the blaring of a horn he knew to belong to a massive semi-truck and trailer. He was woozy as he stood. His bear claw wound and stopped bleeding, but he still felt bad as he teetered, walking in the direction of the great booming horn. He staggered in a daze, tripping over roots and sticks. A gray jay followed him, watching him, smelling blood. Robby growled at it. He knew it was waiting for him to sleep the Great Sleep so it could gobble him up and call all its friends and ravens over to pick him clean.