P.dog's B.log

In Conclusion...

Sun, 27 Mar 2011 09:01:23 -0800

And suddenly, I’m home.

(Except not so suddenly anymore, as I’ve now been home for a few days. But the transition still seems sudden, waking up in Talkeetna one day, with things pretty much the same as they have been for the past five months, then waking up the next day in Denver, where everything is different from Talkeetna, and yet, everything is the same as when I left.)

I felt the need to somehow conclude this blog, because I started it to document my time in Alaska, which is over. But what happens to a blog like this? I suppose it’s obsolete now, but I imagine it will sit around for a while collecting dust, because I don’t really want to delete it.

I thought about shoving everything I felt I failed to cover thoroughly enough into this post. Things like how incredible Mt. Mickinley is, really, how massive and picturesque it always looks (when it’s visible, that is), how extra impressive it is because it seems to rise out of nothing - as if someone sheared one of the Rockies off at the bottom and dropped it somewhere in eastern Colorado, in the middle of the plains.

Or how nice the river looked when it was steaming, before it froze.

Or how nice the sunset was (like, midafternoon) on my drive down to Anchorage with my mom in late December.

So maybe this post is just becoming a repository for photos I intended to put up but never did.

Either way, now I’m home, wearing shorts, even though it’s not really quite warm enough for shorts yet. I sort of feel like my moving to Alaska for the winter was a bit like going on a road trip. You expect it to be sort of epic, to change you, to maybe help you become the person you want to be or could be or something like that. But then you do it, and change is imperceptible. Maybe I’ve changed, but I can’t tell, and I guess I wouldn’t really expect to be able to tell right away. I don’t really know why I went to Alaska, and I don’t really know what I’ve gained, but I don’t regret it at all. I don’t think I’ll ever run the Iditarod myself, but I’m glad to have the experience. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned about dogs and people and Alaska and how to stay warm. I’ve learned a lot about how to manage or not manage a business or employees, about communication and a lack thereof. And I’ve learned a lot of smaller harder to explain things, things that I hope will stay with me. And eventually, maybe, I’ll grasp the full magnitude of how this experience has affected me. Or maybe I never will, and that will be okay too.

Thanks for reading.

The Iditarod, Part Deux

Wed, 23 Mar 2011 00:12:14 -0800

The day after the ceremonial start was, of course, the restart. The restart was just like the ceremonial start - if the ceremonial start had been a big cookout held on a giant frozen lake in Willow, with a few dog teams thrown in there. Which is to say, we didn’t have to wake up at 4:30 am to feed dogs and our truck wasn’t surrounded by fans trying to get pictures of the dogs. The whole thing seemed relatively perfect to me, and maybe that was the gorgeous day and the continued blissful, inexplicable, feeling of pride I had for the dogs and Jerry, but I think it was also the setup, at least the later start time.

All our buddies from Talkeetna came to the restart in Willow and cooked brats and drank beers. The dogs were considerably less stressed. Some of the dogs seemed calm and collected, like Olympic athletes in the shots they have just before the big race - Michael Phelps swinging his arms back and forth, adjusting his goggles, looking poised. Others weren’t so serene - Bumblebee tried to climb into the back tire of the dog truck when the announcer started speaking on the megaphone.

I spent a surprising amount of time just petting dogs on Sunday. Somehow it seemed like exactly the right thing to do. I talked with them in a sort of embarrassing way, telling the leaders to make sure the team got to Nome safely, not really thinking how I might look to an outsider, petting and having serious conversations with a bunch of husky dogs.

And then Jerry, Goose, Charger, Mikaela, Nala, Bumblebee, Apollo, Hercules, Witwicky, R2-D2, C-3PO, Martin, Charlie, Ale, Guinness, Pepper, and IPA left. And we drove the empty dog truck home. And started obsessively following their progress online.

People lining the start, three snow machines, and a truck.

Mikaela.

Dog trucks.

Guinness.

Iditarod 2011: The Musical. (Act One)

Sun, 20 Mar 2011 14:22:24 -0800

Dear Readers,

This post, like so many of my other posts, begins with an apology. I suppose I left you with a bit of a cliffhanger last time - “the Iditarod starts tomorrow” being pretty much the last thing I wrote. So, why did I wait so long to actually follow up and write about the Iditarod, the climax of my time here, the reason I’m here, the thing that’s been looming in my future since October?

For one, I’m a procrastinator. Sorry. For two, I’m a perfectionist procrastinator, which means that once I did start writing about the Iditarod, trying to do it justice was such a daunting task that I became disheartened and overwhelmed and turned to washing dishes or something instead. Then, finally, I became satisfied with the piece I had written about the start of the race. It’s tone was right, it wasn’t too long and rambling, not obnoxiously self-referential. And then Firefox decided to quit and I lost all but the fist sentence or so. So then I became disheartened all over again.

And now the Iditarod is over. Today, at 10:45 am, Alaskan time, the last finisher reached Nome, two weeks after the start of the race.

Two weeks ago, this is where I was.

On March 5th, 2011 the 39th Iditarod began. The Last Great Race on Earth. The longest sled dog race in the world. An epic test of grit and strength and warm clothing. Rather, on March 5th, 2011, everyone who would run in the 39th Iditarod took their dog teams to downtown Anchorage to go for a little practice run at the ceremonial start.

Even though Jerry wouldn’t be crossing the ceremonial start line until around noon, we had to arrive in Anchorage to check in by 8:30 am. Which meant we had to leave Talkeetna at 5:30 am. Which meant we had to feed dogs at 4:30 am. Which was excellent.

The whole day was sort of blurry. Blurry and thrilling. I felt sort of like an expert, like an insider, very legit. But also sort of like a total newbie, lost and in awe. I had a fancy armband identifying me as a “Musher Handler.” I’m in the pictures of a lot of people I don’t know. People were lining the fences along 4th Avenue trying to pet the dogs, or get pictures of the dogs, or ask questions about the dogs. I guess I never really thought about what celebrities these dogs actually are until we brought them to Anchorage and they were fawned over like the children of movie stars.

This is Charger at the Ceremonial Start. She got plenty of attention from the fans.

Anyway, Saturday went quickly. We woke up early. Fed dogs early. Left early. Got to Anchorage early. Quickly found coffee. Took dogs out of the dog truck to decompress from their long ride to Anchorage. Pet dogs. Fed them some salmon water. Watched as other teams began to make their way to the start line. Watched them leave. Put dogs back in the dog truck as there was no sense in leaving them out to get riled up as 50-something other teams went by. Retreated to the free stuff tent for more coffee and cookies. Acted like we knew what we were doing. Watched 50-something other teams go by on their way to the start line. Acted knowledgeable when asked questions about the dogs. Schmoozed. Got dogs out of the truck again. Harnessed and bootied dogs. Pet dogs. Posed with dogs for what seemed like a lot of pictures taken by strangers. Put dogs on the line. Lined up along the dogs to keep them in check while walking to the start line. Walked them to the start line. Sensory overload at the start line. Let go and watch Jerry and the team speed off down 4th Ave. Went back to the dog truck. Drove to the airstrip where the run ended. Located Jerry and the team. Snacked, watered, unharnessed, and unbootied the dogs. Pet the dogs. Put dogs back in truck. Fell asleep on drive back to Talkeetna. Finished the afternoon/evening like it was any other day.

Dogs next to the dog truck. Adoring fans lining the fence. Maverick howling.

It seems really obvious to say that I had no idea what to expect from my first Iditarod. The most resounding feeling coming out of the day was something I hadn’t really anticipated though. I was really proud of the dogs. Like, not only that they didn’t fight each other or bite their fans or pee on anyone. They did exactly what they were supposed to. But I think it was a bigger feeling of pride. One that extended back to October. I can’t really say what it is in them that I was so proud of, I imagine it was a similar feeling to one that a proud coach or parent or teacher might have. Maybe it was just so pronounced because I hadn’t expected it. Either way, here are some pictures from the ceremonial start (I can’t decide if “ceremonial start” should be capitalized or not, sorry):

Goose, shaking her head.

The chairs I never got to sit in.

Hugh Neff is sponsored by the Cat in the Hat. (Actually, he’s doing something to promote literacy, so props.) It’s been a while since I’ve read Cat in the Hat, but I don’t remember that lady being in it.

Hugh Neff’s dogs, wearing tie-dye art smocks.

Some random team making their way to the start.

Our team making our way to the start.

My official looking jacket. And armband.

And, last but not least, the strangest dog I saw all day, huddled next to the fireplace in the Anchorage visitor’s center.

Next up: the real start.

Moose, Sarah Palin, and the Northern Lights

Fri, 04 Mar 2011 09:11:25 -0900

Since I’ve been in AK, I’ve been asked many times if I’ve seen any of these three things. While I think the true Alaskan experience would be to see Sarah P. riding a moose under the northern lights, I’m not holding my breath.

(In case you were wondering, no, I haven’t seen the Palinator, yes, I have seen the northern lights (albeit only twice), and yes, I’ve seen many a moose.)

As far as the lights are concerned, they really are the kind of incredible I usually just describe by saying that they evade description. Sometimes the northern lights are so beautiful and ethereal that I can’t find words to really describe them, the northern lights that everyone has seen pictures of - smears of green and red and pink over a dark sky, like contrails of a superhero, or light shining out through a crack in the sky. Other times they just look like light pollution, nights where the sky to the north is just slightly less dark, and it’s hard to tell whether it’s actually brighter over there or if you’re just imagining it.

On clear nights like last night, I often debate staying up late just to see them, but sometimes that would mean staying up really late, and sometimes (most times) I’m just too tired. Anyway, the one picture I attempted to take of the northern lights came out looking simply dark. Like, totally black.

(I did not take this picture.)

As far as the moose are concerned, I’ve actually lost count. Not that I was ever really keeping track. I’ve seen a few moose while driving between town and the dog yard, many while I was out with a dog team, and one while I was in Anchorage, standing in the front yard of a Taco Bell, juxtaposed against the giant Crunchwrap Supreme ad behind it.

Seeing moose while I’m out with a dog team can mean a number of things. One option is that the moose is actually standing on the trail, which means I have to stop the dogs (who want nothing more than to run right up to the moose and play) and hope that the moose will either think we’re a wolf pack and get scared and go away (unlikely) or that it will become bored with us and walk away. Usually, they just saunter off. (It should be noted that moose are huge. Not new news, I know, but they saunter in the way you would imagine a bear sauntering, that its body is just so massive that this is normal speed.) Other times, I’ll be out with a team when suddenly the dogs smell or hear or otherwise sense a moose and speed up accordingly. It’s times like these that make me wonder why I’ve agreed to be pulled around by a bunch of animals who can hear things I can’t hear, smell things I can’t smell, etc. So then I get really tense and start looking for the moose, who tends to be somewhere off to the side of the trail. I haven’t attempted to take any pictures of moose, because usually I’m on a dog sled, and I think trying to take some moose portraits while with a dog team might be irresponsible.

(My favorite moose.)

Oh, also, the Iditarod starts tomorrow. (Sort of. Tomorrow is the ceremonial start in Anchorage. The real start is on Sunday in Willow.)

Moving On Up

Mon, 21 Feb 2011 17:37:34 -0900

Yesterday was a big day for some of our pups. The oldest group of puppies we have here, four, who will be a year old in March, were moved from their puppy pen to real dog houses, in the real dog yard.

They’re dealing with the change in their own puppy-logical way.

Yesterday, for the first time ever, these puppies each got their own collar. And their own house. And their own chain attaching their collars to their houses. So they yelped and jumped and gnawed on their chains and got tangled. Then they calmed down a little bit.

These are their new houses. Usually, these houses are just used for momentum - as in, they’re attached to the wheel, which is like a giant dog walker (usually eight dogs are hooked up to the wheel, where they run in circles for one or two or five hours at a time). This time though, we set the brake on the wheel, lowered the houses, and put straw in the houses. Voila, new homes.

As was previously mentioned on my blog, a long time ago, when I last discussed the puppies, none of them have names yet. As these four now have houses, my co-handler and I feel they should also have names. He wants to name them after motorcycles, because he thinks motorcycle inspired names could sound fast and intimidating. He’s suggested Buell, Ducati, and Harley.

I suggested that we name this one Sidecar.

Today was Ullr’s birthday (a birthday shared by many great...

Sat, 19 Feb 2011 00:05:00 -0900

Today was Ullr’s birthday (a birthday shared by many great worthwhile people), so to celebrate, I got him a stuffed animal from the local Free Box. The Free Box is basically just what it sounds like, except it’s not a box, but a shed-like building full of free stuff. Today I got a blue sweatshirt and Ullr’s present, a stuffed pterodactyl, the one from The Land Before Time, actually. (Anybody else remember Petrie?)

Ullr loves Petrie. And by loves, I mean he already ripped off one of his wings. Adorable.

Note: Apparently, Petrie was not actually a pterodactyl. He was a Pteranodon.

Note: I’m sorry this post has nothing to do with dog mushing.

Meat, etc.

Sun, 13 Feb 2011 18:12:52 -0900

With the Iditarod fast approaching (March 5th is the ceremonial start), and preparation/training therefore picking up, I’ve recently found myself lacking the motivation, or the direction, or the focus, to put together cohesive and interesting blog posts. Or maybe the fact that the Iditarod is fast approaching has nothing to do with my lack of blog productivity.

Either way, the days are getting longer, which is welcome and wonderful.

Recently, we’ve been doing a whole lot of cutting frozen hunks of meat, vacuum sealing said meat, vacuum sealing bags of kibble, rolling dog booties, etc. I keep saying to people that it’s really interesting seeing all of the stuff that goes into actually preparing for the Iditarod, which I honestly do believe is true, but it can also pretty monotonous when you’re in the middle of it instead of out at the bar, talking about how interesting the process is when viewed as a whole and from a distance.

Part of what goes into preparing for the big race is preparing the drop bags which will be waiting at each checkpoint, which involves cutting literally thousands of pounds of frozen meat into slices on a band saw, arranging them into bags, and vacuum sealing them. On the upside, after a while, pieces of frozen meat don’t really seem like meat anymore. On the very useful upside, I’m now pretty confident in my ability to distinguish between slices of frozen lamb, beef heart, beef, and beaver.

And a picture of beef hearts I found on the internet, which seems relevant both to my recent meat cutting adventures and to Valentine’s Day. (Happy Valentine’s Day)

Apollo.

Sat, 05 Feb 2011 17:20:03 -0900

Apollo.

Obligatory, but very tardy, view-from-my-bedroom-window picture.

Thu, 03 Feb 2011 20:30:08 -0900

Obligatory, but very tardy, view-from-my-bedroom-window picture.

Today, after being in Talkeetna for just about three months, I...

Mon, 17 Jan 2011 21:52:09 -0900

Today, after being in Talkeetna for just about three months, I finally made it to the library.

The Talkeetna public library is small. It looks like a wooden house and would be easy to miss. But it has books and overstuffed armchairs and little tables and old VHS tapes and a weird DVD collection and books on CD and a children’s section. And it’s heated. So it’s perfect.

Because I am not a permanent resident, my only real option was to get a temporary library card for a small fee. I, thoughtlessly, had come to the library with only a couple bucks in my wallet, and the Talkeetna Public Library doesn’t take credit or debit, and I didn’t want to walk the two miles back to my cabin. But apparently my need for library privileges was dire enough for me to call a friend from town and ask that she please please come to the library and lend me a couple dollars so I could check out some books. Fortunately, she’s wonderful and obliged. Later, I washed some dishes for her and made her some origami.

Either way, I am now the proud owner of a tiny, cerulean, Matanuska-Susitna Library Network Library card, with which I can check out three items at a time. My first three items were: a book about Hawaii, The Hunger Games, and a movie which earned all of 38% on rottentomatoes.com. Success.

In other news, it has been quite cold here recently. Like, 28 below kind of cold. So I’ve been wearing lots of layers and bragging.

Goose and Maverick both got sore shoulders this week, which...

Sat, 08 Jan 2011 14:26:40 -0900

Maverick tried to eat his jacket.

Then I helped him fix it.

Goose misunderstood the sleeve thing.

Jacket success!

Goose and Maverick both got sore shoulders this week, which means they got to wear special jackets with pockets on the inside for hand warmers. Neither of them demonstrated good understanding of how to wear a jacket. Maverick tried to eat his then slept on it. Goose may have tried to take hers off but could only get out of one sleeve.

Then I fixed their jackets. And they both looked super dorky.

Holiday Hiatus

Thu, 06 Jan 2011 18:46:24 -0900

Dear blog readers,

Sorry I have been neglecting you. Blame my lovely mother, who came to visit me up here in the wicked cold north for Christmas and distracted me from blogging. Or blame the holidays which technically aren’t over yet because today is Three Kings Day. Or you can just blame me, which probably makes the most sense.

I love my mom,

P.Davis

p.s. Real blog post soon. Don’t fret.

I like to imagine that my dogs are taking me to Whoville from...

Fri, 24 Dec 2010 17:53:56 -0900

I like to imagine that my dogs are taking me to Whoville from the top of Mount Crumpit.

(Returning the presents, of course.)

This is what happens when two of my friends from Talkeetna go...

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 20:17:06 -0900

Ullr (rhymes with Bueller)

This is what happens when two of my friends from Talkeetna go home for Christmas and I’m forced to take care of their terrible, horrible, no good, very adorable 9-month old pup named after the Norse god of skiing. Or hunting. And snow.

(I attempted some research to clear up the somewhat foggy explanation they gave of his name’s origin and came out even more confused.

“In Viktor Rydberg’s idiosyncratic Teutonic Mythology Ullr is the son of Sif and Egill-Örvandill, half-brother of Svipdagr-Óðr, nephew of Völundr and a cousin of Skaði. His father, Egill, was the greatest archer in the mythology, and Ullr follows in his father’s footsteps. Ullr helped Svipdagr-Eiríkr rescue Freyja from the giants. He also ruled over the Vanir when they held Ásgarðr during the war between the Vanir and the Æsir.

While most of Rydberg’s theories are dismissed as fanciful by modern scholars his idea that Ullr is connected with the elves of Völundarkviða is not absurd. Both seem associated with skiing and hunting and since Ullr’s father is not identified as one of the Æsir he may have been of another race.”

Wow. Thanks, Wikipedia.)

Anyway, hanging out with a non-sled dog has honestly been really nice. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the 80something sled dogs I do get to deal with on a regular basis, but the change is comforting. As someone whose only/main interaction with dogs growing up was dogs=pets, there’s a certain set of standards I guess I’ve always applied to dogs. They should sit when we say “sit.” They should lie down when we tell them to. They should not jump on people or bite or pee on furniture. They should catch treats in their mouths and shake and maybe even roll over.

Being suddenly surrounded by a ton of sled dogs makes these expectations seems silly. How frivolous, and even sort of pretentious and gratuitous of us to want these things from dogs. Sled dogs, not all that surprisingly, are judged by a totally different set of standards. Sled dogs are trained to pull and to eat. They should be fast and strong and have enormous voracious appetites. Who cares if they sit or stay or catch?

Of course, it’s logical. Five hundred miles into the Iditarod it’s most important that dogs eat and pull. When I come home from work, it’s most important that my dog snuggle with me on the couch while I watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Yes, I’m generalizing. Of course I’m not saying that all pets are judged by the same standards or that all sled dogs are judged by the same standards. I’m not saying that all sled dogs bite and jump and would make terrible pets. Many would make lovely pets. And maybe some pets would make lovely sled dogs. Many standards overlap; some things are valued in any kind of dog. Things like soft ears and adorableness and unconditional love.

Talkeetna is ready for Christmas. (AKA, Inflatable Christmas...

Sun, 12 Dec 2010 12:40:57 -0900

Talkeetna is ready for Christmas. (AKA, Inflatable Christmas decoration overload.)

Running Long(er) Distances

Tue, 07 Dec 2010 22:21:04 -0900

(This is Athena.)

So the runs we’ve been doing with the dogs have been getting longer. Mostly, this is because we’re on sleds now as opposed to ATVs and snow machines and there’s less resistance on the dogs blah blah blah. Bottom line: now, instead of being out with the dogs for an hour to two hours-ish, we’re out with teams for three and a half to four hours-ish. The other day, while explaining this on the phone, a dear friend seemed appalled, and asked what the hell I did for all of this time. I think I mumbled a subpar reply. And then today, when I was out on a sled for both sunrise and sunset, I thought about it more thoroughly.

Here are some things I do when out on the sled for extended periods of time:

Lose my hat. (Hopefully this was just today. And thankfully it was not the hat on my head, but instead the one I had thoughtlessly shoved in between my jackets earlier and forgotten to remove, but it was a good hat, my favorite hat. Sigh.)

Steer around trees and other obstacles.

Make sure the dogs go where they/we are supposed to. (Mostly, the dogs do know where they’re going, which is pretty impressive, but sometimes, they know so well that they try to take detours, or to defy my commands of “gee” (right) or “haw” (left), which just end with me standing on the brake as I bellow nonsense words at Star Wars characters.)

Try to keep all the dogs trotting. (Trotting is the most efficient way for the dogs to run. When they want to sprint, they start loping. Which is bad, because they’re more likely to injure themselves. (I just looked up trotting vs. loping and came up with a billion responses about horses, so perhaps you already know all about this, because you know so much about horses.) Anyway, some dogs are like little speedometers, they go between trotting and loping with the slightest speed adjustment, but I never know how fast we’re going, which makes them less like speedometers.)

Try to discern if any of the dogs’ paws are bleeding. Mostly this requires me staring at the snow as it goes by, checking for blood. If there’s blood, I have to stop and find out which of the 40 or so paws is bleeding, and put booties on the dogs who need them. (Or sometimes all the dogs get booties before we leave, depending on conditions.)

Think about which part of my body is the coldest. Frequently, it’s my face. Or my fingers. Although today for a while it was my toes, but then I put bread bags over my feet and, voila, they were warm(er). Basically, I love hand warmers, toe warmers, and bread bags. If you have any just sitting around, send them my way.

Try to predict which will be the next hill I’ll have to run up. (With teams of 8-ish dogs, sometimes the hills are too steep, given the weight we’ve loaded in the sled and me on the sled. At these times, I have the joyous task of jumping off the sled and running alongside it, while holding on with one hand, of course. Sprinting up hills, wearing millions of layers of clothing, in giant boots, through snow, is obviously my favorite kind of running. If I had more time off I’d do it more often.)

Sing to the dogs. The hardest part of this is how few songs I seem to actually know right from the beginning. The only song I can reliably think of, and sing the whole way through, is “Build me up Buttercup,” by the Foundations. There are so many songs that I know perfectly well while they’re playing on my ipod, but without it I’m apparently hopeless, which brings me to the next thing I do while running dogs.

Wish my ipod still worked. My ipod broke. Which is fine, as it was ancient, but this makes it more difficult not only for me to think of songs I know well enough to sing, but also it’s just more difficult to sing, because I really can’t sing, and without the ipod, it’s very apparent and unpleasant for me (and probably the dogs) to listen to my attempts.

Dance or attempt calisthenics while standing on the back of the sled. Probably amusing to watch. Definitely warmer than standing still. Hopefully this will never result in me falling off the sled.

Think of brilliant things to write on my blog.

Promptly forget said brilliant things.

Wish that I had my camera with me. This place is so damn beautiful sometimes.

Realize that I do have my cell phone with me, which does have a camera, and take pictures that so do not do the beauty of this place justice. A lot of the runs I’ve been doing with dogs use Fish Lake as a turnaround point. Coming out of the woods and down onto the lake on a clear day and making tracks on an otherwise untouched snow covered lake is literally breathtaking. Maybe it’s the really steep hill that leads down to the lake too, but, I think it’s largely just how open everything is all of the sudden, and how calm and cold and white and removed it is, and I don’t think even my real camera could capture that, much less my celly. But I keep trying.

Let my mind wander. Today I found myself wondering, “Hmm, how many years ago was it that my grandparents moved to Denver?” It’s still sort of jarring sometimes, finding myself in the middle of thoughts that I don’t remember starting.

Think of all the people I’ve been meaning to call or email.

Crossword puzzles.

(Sorry about all the parentheses tonight.)

OMG so cold. (Just kidding, that’s Celsius)

Wed, 01 Dec 2010 21:26:40 -0900

OMG so cold.

(Just kidding, that’s Celsius)

Sub-Zero and the Deathly Hallows

Thu, 18 Nov 2010 00:00:00 -0900

Today was my first sub-zero day in Alaska.

When I fed dogs this morning, the thermometer outside my cabin read -6° F. This afternoon, while I scooped poop, it had warmed up to 0° F. Today’s high? 7° F. Kathleen told me that now when it’s 10 above, I’ll think of it as warm.

I don’t think so.

Palatable? Maybe. Livable? Tolerable? In time. Sufferable? Sure. But warm? Please.

___________________________________________________________________________

Today was also my first day on a sled, as we finally have enough snow. Today I drove a team of fourteen dogs and one snow machine on a thirty mile run. And when I say “I drove,” I mean Kathleen drove the fourteen dogs on the snow machine and I was pulled along on a sled that was tied to the back of the snow machine. Much less impressive, I know, but hey, I’m learning.

Anyway, my goal today was to get my first fall on a sled out of the way. Check.

Maneuvering the sled seems a little bit like skiing, if, while skiing, you could occasionally take your feet out of your skis and drag them in the snow, or put them on a brake pad between your skis to slow down, or if your skis were being pulled by fourteen dogs.

___________________________________________________________________________

Finally, I was devastated to learn that my bosses’ son is somehow not a Harry Potter fan, so I have no excuse to go see HP when it opens tonight at midnight. Not that I need an excuse, but since he has no interest, I also have no wheels. Sadly, the nearest showing is 111 miles away.

I will never get a snow day.

Tue, 16 Nov 2010 22:27:35 -0900

The fact that I will never get a snow day is pretty obvious. I mean, everything my job is about pretty much hinges on the fact that it’s super cold here and we get tons of snow that never melts. But I think there’s still part of me that, when waking up to many inches of new snow on my front steps, wants a snow day. Alas, never. I can’t even pretend to hope for one, which seems like so much of the Snow Day Experience anyway. I’m coming to terms with all of this.

In other news, I have a few things I specifically wanted to address:

Puppies: Pictures of puppies have been requested, which came as a total surprise. So, I attempted to take pictures of puppies. I would say it’s harder than it looks, but, judging from the pictures resulting from my efforts, it probably doesn’t look very easy. Either way, we have sixteen puppies. Five born in July, seven born in June, and four born in March (who hardly count as puppies anymore). Of the sixteen, twelve of them are in constant motion. They jump and bite and yelp and herd and slip and fall and bark and scratch and scream and eat. The four March teenagers are, relatively speaking, very relaxed and well behaved.

This is a July puppy. The puppies have no names yet.

Most of the puppy pictures turned out more like this one.

Or this. Mostly, it seemed like they wanted to eat my camera.

The teenagers are too cool to care about anything. Straight bored.

There is a town too, which I will eventually document thoroughly.

This is a sub par picture of the entirety of downtown. The other day I learned that the nearest traffic light to Talkeetna is 65 miles away. I trust my source, but I have no idea where the traffic light in question is located.

Also, I’m becoming a great chef.

These are just a couple of the 80ish dogs I interact with on a...

Sat, 06 Nov 2010 16:42:51 -0800

This is IPA.

IPA is Guinness' brotha.

This is Goose.

Goose isn't related to Guinness or IPA.

These are just a couple of the 80ish dogs I interact with on a daily basis.

As I noted above, Guinness and IPA are related. They also have a brother named Ale. Yup, litters of dogs are named for themes. So Guinness, IPA, Ale - beers. So Goose, one of my current favorites, is related to Duck, Heron, and Albatross. Just Kidding. Goose is related to Maverick and Iceman. We’ve also got Megatron, Optimus Prime, Jazz, Witwicky, and Bumblebee; R2-D2, C-3PO, Luke, Leia, Darth Vader, Yoda, and Obi Wan Kenobi; and a whole generation of dogs named after Nick’s first words.

Additionally, there are a number of dogs whose names stem from some origin that is unknown to me. I’ve been reluctant to ask about some of their names for a couple reasons. First, I’m nervous that I’ll ask and then be told that well, of course, his name comes from the famous novel/movie/something else I should have known. The other reason is that I’ve asked about a bunch of them already and, sheesh, explaining the reasoning behind the names of 80 dogs, that seems a lot to ask. Some of them I’ve also figured out on my own. Thank you internet. For example, I now know that we have a few dogs named after characters from the movie Snow Buddies, one of Disney’s best straight-to-DVD films.

With some of the dogs, you can tell that the name and the dog are intentionally mismatched. Guinness, a white dog, is named for a black beer. Bumblebee bears no resemblance to a yellow sports car or a giant robot with wings. Leia doesn’t wear her hair like that. With some of the dogs though, the disparity isn’t so much between the dog’s name and its appearance, but rather between the name, that name’s connotation, and the dog’s demeanor. For example, Yoda is anything but wise, not at all calm, in no way subtle, tactful, or delicate, and sagacious would probably be the last word I would choose to describe him. Instead of inspiring through oddly worded quips and lifting heavy stuff with his mind, Yoda barks constantly, jumps on people, eats snow, and poops everywhere.