Iditarod
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I’ve always known Charlie’s fate ever since he was a pup. We would run around the yard on late winter nights for hours in the snow under the moonlight, till mama herself had to lay her foot down before dispersing in laughter, and coming in to join us. I would treasure those moments in my heart along with papa’s last words he said to me.
He was always a noble, hardworking man and sacrificed everything for mama and me. I can still remember his soft chuckle, and everytime I take a sniff, I can recall the smell of his jacket, a strong aroma of tobacco and mint. When he got home from work late evenings, he would find me in a deep sleep on the sofa near the burnt out fireplace, cover me up with his warm, leather jacket, and plant a kiss on my forehead. It remained there throughout the cold winter nights like a flickering flame in the fireplace, giving off light and heat to my cold, sore body. Mama would often scold papa on account of the fact that he was always chewing on tobacco. No matter how hard he tried, the habit had stayed and led him to his death.
It brings tears to my eyes when I remember seeing myself hovering over papa, who’s ghastly cough fills up the silence as Mama and I stare off into space, our minds wandering in a happier place. He firmly grasps my arm and pulls me close. Mama can no longer contain herself, and her voice cracks as she says her goodbyes. He whispers in my ear, his warm, steamy breath tickling my skin. “It’s time for papa to go away for a little while, but no matter where you go, I will always remain in your heart. Help out your mama and I know youll get by without me. Besides, you’ve got good ol’ Charlie thatll look after you, and I can assure you that dog will never leave your side.” He patted Charlies head, but all he let out was a whimper. At the time, I wasnt fully aware of what was happening, but like any child would react to the news of their parents going away, I cried out, in a desperate attempt to ruffle his hair one last time, smell that familiar scent, hear his coarse, gentle voice that always soothed me down. Instead I felt an emptiness inside when the remaining life was drained out of him, as he fell into an eternal sleep. Charlie rushed to his side and started licking his face, urging his pal to wake up. The sobs continued through the night, even after the grave keeper came for papa. A part of me was missing, like a puzzle without a solution….
I awake to the cold wind, gushing in through the cracks of the cabin door. It is early morning in Fairbanks, Alaska. The team is huddled up in the corner of the room, providing each other with warmth against the cold. Charlie is up and about, prancing around the cabin. My breathing is distilled, as I recall last nights flashback. On the rough days I tend to have nightmares, and often wake up in a frantic state, sweat drops on my forehead. Charlie is always at my side and cuddles up to comfort me. I try to concentrate on the present, more than I tend to look back at the past. You wont live up to standards here in the piercing cold winds, traveling by sled all day if you can’t put your problems to the side. Ambition is what gets us through, it’s whats gotten us through for the past eight days. But worrying weakens ambition. It sets a limit up to what you can do. Not a day has passed since I’ve had to worry about the team, and the so many things that can go wrong. So instead, I set a growth mindset, my main focus being to get through each day at a time.
I crouch down beside the dogs, arranging their booties on their feet. Its looking out to be a chilly morning, according to my thermometer, which reads -28 degrees F. I don’t want any of them catching a cold, after old Buddy nearly caught hypothermia. I find him resting in the sunny area of the cabin, and pat his chest. He’s in a grumpy mood, and turns away. I sigh, and remove my toy bone from the pocket of my coat. At the sight of it, all the dogs come charging towards me, their tails wagging, and tongues sagging. I manage to escape within the safety of the outdoors, but it doesnt take long for them to pile out. Even old Buddy is amongst the first, eager for todays running to begin. This tends to be the only method of convincing the dogs to get up, in the early mornings. I command order, and the dogs line up, according to their position.
Up front are my lead dogs, amongst which is Charlie, and a gentle female by the name of Scarlet. They are fit for the job, for they are obedient, strong runners. Behind them are the swing dogs, old Buddy, and Jack. He tends to be clumsy, but steers Buddy in the right direction whenever he is weak.The team dogs play a crucial role in maintaining speed, and assist in pulling the sled. Sassy Dakota tends to get lazy often, so this job motivates her to work harder if she wants a treat. Max accompanies her, always working away at his charm to get to her. But she can be stubborn as a mule, and takes his flirting as an insult. The wheel dogs are always the first to respond, and take their job seriously, for their difficult task is to pull me, and the sled along with all of our gear. Jack and Hunter make a great team, are life long pals, and are good at communicating through the other dogs.
I attach their collars and connect the leash with the sled, making sure that the knot is sturdy, so the guys dont leave me stranded here. I throw the large duffel bag with all our gear up top, securing it in place. I heave myself up into the sled, and cover up my numb body with a fleece blanket. My misty breath reflects onto my snow goggles, and I wipe away the fog with my gloved hand. “Hut!” My voice echoes through the mountains, as the dogs set out in a simultaneous effort of scuffling feet, panting breaths, wagging tails. The cold air pinches my nostrils with every breath I take. We are being swallowed up by the trees hanging down upon us, the sun glistening, through the cracks of space between them. Birds sit perched high up in the treetops, humming melodious tales of joy. “Left, right”, I command, as the dogs take sharp turns, like the screeching sound of the brakes on a car.
We eventually make it to our first checkpoint of the day, and the sled comes to a halt. I unload the gear from the back of the sled, and round up the dogs. They follow me up the steps, into the warmth of the log cabin. The crackling sound of flames greets us. I lead the dogs over to a picnic table, where we settle in and are served our food. The guys get some canned meat treats, and I am served potato soup. I bury my face in the steam rising up from the bowl, as the mist rests on my aching cheeks. I take a sigh and bow my head. “Dear Lord, we thank you for these blessings you have offered us with today, and a roof over our head to keep us warm during this harsh winter. Please continue