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

Robby gained his feet again limping badly; he was all torn up and weak. He fell once more, lying on the cold ground. He was silent in his inner battle. He was so close to home, so close to being at her side. His body burned as if every bite wound had caught fire. Robby whined and laid his head down.

The dogs surrounding him smelled his sickness that made him feverish; they smelled his pain, and his ache. Molly whined licking Robby’s dry cracked nose, gazing up at Bear. The mighty black dog nosed Robby in his tender ribs causing Robby to yelp. The big dog sighed to himself looking at his worn down friend.

Bear saw how Robby’s bones stuck out from his raw hide. Tufts of fur were missing and his back leg was scarred from the black-death road. The slash wound from the bear at the river was infected and fevering his body, and the yelp Bear got from nosing Robby in the side told the older, wiser dog that Robby’s ribs were broken. The older, great black dog towered over Robby.

“You have come this far, my young friend. I know you to be better than this. You lay down like a callow, runty pup, not fit to live. Will you rise to push on? Or would you rather die just shy of being in her arms again? Will you shame you master by giving up? Will you give in to weakness? Will you dishonor her?” Bear’s gruff growls pulled all the shattered pieces of Robby’s courage and strength together. He looked up at the big shaggy dog and silently thanked him for the push he needed to get up. Robby shakily braced himself to stand.

He had to get to her.

He had to see her, at least one last time.

The dogs saw the look of determination flare up in Robby’s eyes and they stared at him with awe and pride. They smelled the bear, the lynx, and the fever in him. They sensed the long journey’s wear on him. They knew without asking, the road home had been long and hard.

The pack leader, Bear, lead the pack of dogs away clearing Robby’s way home. Molly walked with him keeping him upright and on the right path home as he wobbled and weaved, limping along. Robby was grateful that his friends had been there to help him be strong and save him from being eaten alive. He had joined the pack on many coyote chases last winter, and they held great respect for one another.

Molly suddenly stopped and wagged her tail, licking Robby’s muzzle. He stopped and looked up through bleary, tired eyes at her. She barked happily. Sitting down, her busy black tail swept the seeding fireweed up into the warm breeze, blowing them out into the world.

“What is it?’ Robby growled, stumbling, holding his mangled leg up. His good leg flared in pain where the bear had slashed him wide. He felt the sun and hadn’t realized that it was mid-day. It had taken him hours to walk a trail that usually took him less than an hour.

“Look. Smell. You are almost home, my loyal-to-man, courageous friend!” Molly growled hopping into the air excitedly as was common with her. Robby looked up, sniffing deeply. He smelled the sweet and sour heat from the swamp, the spruce trees warmed by the sun, and suddenly as if a dream, he smelled a faint, familiar smell that lingered on the grassy trail she had passed through only days ago.

He smelled her!

He smelled the smell he had been dreaming about all the long weeks it took him to fight his way home to her! It all hit him so suddenly that he felt like he had been kicked by a moose square in the chest. He took a deep, gasping breath. He almost couldn’t believe it.

His Miss, his girl!

Robby raced down the hill into the big swamp that edged his master’s land. His body was on fire and he felt like he was going to fall over dead, but he charged across the mucky tundra, causing frogs to leap away to avoid his paws. He whined as he climbed the long steep hill that the Miss used to sled down in the winter. It was the longest, hardest climb of his life. He strained and stumbled, gasping for air and losing his footing on the loose, mucky, fall mud thick with birch and cottonwood leaves, pine needles, and dried pinecones.

He had to get to her; he had to see her one last time.

He had dreamed of her smell, night and day.

He had braved the wilds of Alaska alone for her, just to be by her side one more time.

Robby gained the top of the hill and collapsed, he couldn’t go on, his body wouldn’t work. He heaved to breath, unable to get enough air to keep his head up. He lay sprawled out, his bleary eyes watered as he looked around in the bright light of the warm day.

That was it.

He was done.

Robby whined looking at the log house the Miss called home. He saw his dog house and his goose down sleeping bag hanging on the line to dry before the first snow of the long winter fell. The garage door was open and the Miss’s pa was banging away on something. The tom cat glanced over from his sunning spot on the tarpaper roof and meowed.

Then he heard the sound of tennis shoes running on the gravel driveway, coming from the front gate down the long driveway.

“Robby?” She sounded like she was breathless, in shock, but more disbelief. “Robby,” she cried and rushed to him. Robby looked over and wagged his tail, letting her know it was really him. He whined and gazed up at his Miss. Her brown eyes were sad and filled with tears that had not spilled down her face yet, but a happy smile lit her face up as she trembled reaching for him.

She dropped her back pack and fell hard to her knees on the rough gravel driveway. Dust floated away on the breeze filling Robby’s tired nose with it. She wrapped her arms around him tenderly like he was a little puppy again and cried into his bloody mangled body. She cried like she had cried when Nana died, all full of hurt and pain. Robby smelled it on her, her sad joy.

“I knew you would come home; I just knew you would,” she cried hugging him tightly. Robby licked her salty gross tears away as they fell down her face like great big rain drops. Robby looked up into her oddly flat human face. He could never forget her face. He had dreamed of her smell, her face, and her voice for so long.

He had not shamed his master; he had kept his honor, and stayed true to his loyal bond, his unspoken promise. He was a true dog, a great dog, like Nana had been.

He was home…

Honor Bound was written with a lot of tears and fond, happy memories. While the story of Robby making his way home is not true, Robby and Nana were real, their adventures and the lessons they taught one another and their Miss were real. I know this because I was Robby’s Miss. I was the girl he had to get home to. I lost my best friend that fateful day in August at mile 64, near Sutton, Alaska. My heart broke that day, just like it broke the day Nana was put to sleep.

Robby never came home. We searched for him, but he never made it home. I never saw him again. To this day, I look to the edges of that horrible curve in the road, hoping to see his glossy golden coat, his waving tail, and his big brown eyes once more.

Robby was my knight in blazing golden armor. He was there for me when no one was after the death of Nana. He honored me with his friendship and his protection. I think of him fondly as my dogs romp around with my young son. They already honor him, having saved him from many dangers in this wild place called Alaska.

In closing, I wrote Honor Bound in honor of Robby, to tell an inspiring story of his courage, his iron will, and his undying loyalty so he might always be remembered as he was.

I love you, Robby.