The Dog Days of Summer

Originally, I had planned to title this installment 'Who Let the Dogs Out?', and at first, it would've been a great title for a funny incident. But due to a recent event, such a title is now hurtful and inappropriate. It has also inspired me to post my involvement with Arctic Rescue this summer while I still can. You see, huskies are by nature, clever escape artists; more then any other breed, they feel the need to roam and explore their environment. It dates back to the days when the Eskimos would set their dogs free during the summer and expect them to fend for themselves. When winter came, the dogs returned home, hoping the sled drivers would feed them. This makes them the wildest of the dog world, and they are every bit as prey driven as any hound.

You'd think age would take the edge off these guys, but no! Let me tell you a little story...

Once upon a time I was opening the back door to Racer's Bike shop, the headquarters for Arctic Rescue. I was expecting to find Evo, my spunky yet obedient puppy waiting for me patiently to attach his leash to harness and lead him off for a fantastic adventure around the streets of Provo. Instead I feel rather then see this flash of white zip past me and out into the shop. At first, I was confused. I didn't know the rescue had taken on a new dog; was this Shazaam, the award-winning show puppy that had his pictures plastered all over the shop as shamelessly as the shirtless hotties that grace the walls of Hollister? I wasn't in any hurry to catch this renegade, until I realized that for some unknown reason, the door to the shop was wide open! I watched in horror as this nameless dog I'd never seen before runs out the door and into the street. I race after her as I watch several cars tap their brakes as she crosses to the other side. They are not so polite to me. I have a harder time navigating across the street to reach her, and in the meantime, she decided she'd take up quilting and stepped into the Bernina Fabric Store. When I finally get inside, I see a flustered mother sweep her small son onto the counter and a bewildered shop owner trying to decide what to do with this new customer. I grab her collar and talk to her gently, like it was routine to have boisterous sled dogs come in and check out fabric. The shop owner asked me if this was my dog, and I replied 'no, she belongs to the shelter across the street.' and, not allowing her the time to get angry or ask any more questions, I lead the fugitive out the door and back across the street. Later that day, I called Maren, the shelter's founder, to let her know that she might be contacted. She wasn't too worried about it. She explained to me that Tasha was 10 years old and almost completely blind. I couldn't believe that a senior that could barely see had given me the slip. It shouldn't have been a surprise... I remember learning from the musher at the kennel I visited in Alaska that when a dog is too old to race, he is put to work teaching the pups how to pull. Tasha, despite her disadvantage, has managed to leave her muddy paw prints on a few good natured joggers. She really was such a sweet girl that nobody got mad her. She's like that old lady that gets away with doing naughty things at the nursing home because she's just so gosh darn funny.


Does this sweet little girl strike you as the mistress of mayhem? Don't be fooled by her demure appearance...

So yeah, this story was a great learning experience for me and I will never again underestimate the power of cooped up canine. The problem is sometimes the story isn't quite so funny...

About two weeks ago, I was once again bombarded with a new rescue. She was a wiry, 25 lb. seppela Siberian with gorgeous blue eyes and a genetic make up that mushers would kill for. (They're crossing them with smaller, speedier dogs for a more aerodynamic team). Barely more then a puppy. At first I couldn't decide how I felt about her. Kahlua was strong enough to take on the burlier, routier boys out back, but she was also strong enough to yank me around, as she wasn't half as disciplined as Evo is. But after I took her for a walk and I sat down on chair in the back yard to watch the dogs play, she ambled up to me and put her paws on my knees. She looked up at me with those pretty blue eyes and I knew I toast.

I realized that she was small enough to meet the weight conditions of my new apartment conditions. Sugar plums began to dance in my head: I could take her with me! She'd be perfect for it! She was small enough to control but strong enough to pull. She would be the most ideal dog to train me to race and rescue huskies. I even called my new apartment complex to see how they felt about it, and they said they'd work with me. She was sweet and spicy all at once, and would do well in the hustle and bustle community I would be moving to.

I made all kind of grand plans:I picked out a new name for her, took an inventory of all the things I would need to buy her(including a dog tag with rhinestones on it- nothing but the best for my girl!) and decided which Vet I was going to take to for her flight certification. It was all going to work out... until last Monday when I got a message on my voice mail form Maren telling me that Kahlua had escaped, could I call her back and tell her what route I'd walk Kahlua on? I tried to call her back, but she didn't answer. I left a message and sent her a text. Our conversation went like this:

D:Any luck?

....

M:She got hit.

D:Where is she?! Should I come over?

M:We have the body.

(This is the part where I exploded into tears)

D:I'm sorry. Is there any thing I can do?

M:No. I'm just really upset.

M:We are still on for the dog show tomorrow in the a.m. Evo will need something to do. He'll be missing his buddy.

And there it was. She was gone, and with her all my plans, and my dream of starting a team in Texas. I know I'll never be able to find another one like her; the fact that her previous owner had dropped her is almost unthinkable. All ethics aside, this dog, with her unique genetics, was worth thousands of dollars . Maren has had a hard letting go of her outrage. Apparently she was let out by a couple of Racer's buddies who expected him to do them a special favor and work on their bikes hours after closing time. I don't know how you can ignore the fact that there were three full grown huskies locked up in that small yard, but they did, and they left the gate wide open. Maren came right before the other two left the yard, and Racer hopped onto his bike and began scouring Provo for the baby. He watched her run straight into traffic.

So now, I just have the one. Evo. As sad as I am that Kahlua is gone, (and trust me, I'm devastated.) I can't imagine what I'd do if it had been my boy instead. Evo and I have been working together for about three months now and we are crazy about each other. He took me on my first bikejoring ride, and we'll continue to train each other until I leave. Which, as it turns out, is much later then I thought. Things did not work out financially as I had hoped, so when Maren offered me a payed internship, I took it. I'll be leaving in the middle of October. In the meantime, I'm going to learn how to race and to rescue. It's ironic because I meant for this to be a short narrative of my work with the sled dogs. But, as is to be expected of a McKinlay, I cannot tell a short story. And there is a lot to say about Evo. I've taken him to dog shows, demos, photoshoots, and bikejoring runs. He's an amazing athlete and a dear friend. So without further ado, here is my beautiful puppy: