style="font-size:15px;"> We walked back to the dog lot and there sat three new doghouses lined up by our house. Roald was already tied to one house. Pam tied Anna to another and me to the last one.
We could see each other and we could touch noses, but never again would we be allowed to run loose together without Pam along to watch over us.
July and August were too hot to drag logs around so we spent a lot of time just hanging out. To stir things up, Pam started a dog-of-the-day program. On her days off Pam would come out after breakfast and turn one dog loose for the day. The first time I was dog-of-the-day I raced around the dog lot, but as soon as Pam went inside, I headed straight for the green cylinder.
Douggie, our leader and the biggest and oldest dog in the lot, called after me. Where do you think you’re going, Sojo?
I sat down and said, Well, umm….
In a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, Douggie said, This is a privilege we don’t want to lose. No dog-of-the-day must ever run off to the road or try to steal Pam’s garbage.
There was something about Douggie. He wasn’t mean and he hardly ever barked at anyone but when he told you to do something, you did it.
Can I run around?
Yes, you can run around. Just don’t run off.
And so I ran. Every time I was dog-of-the-day I would squint my eyes nearly shut and run up and down the dogsled trail as fast as I could until I couldn’t run anymore. Running fast and free was the greatest joy of my life.
One of the joys of Pam’s life was making things and she was spending this summer building a couple of new dogsleds. On a pleasant, sunny afternoon while she was attaching the sled runners, our neighbor Dave stopped by. He was a dog musher too and a really big guy, maybe 6 feet 4 inches tall, and at least a couple hundred pounds.
“What you up to?” asked Dave.
“We’re going on a 2,500-mile dogsled expedition. I’m going to be the first woman in recorded history to dogsled alone across the Arctic. So I’m building two new sleds for the trip.”
“When you gonna do that?” asked Dave.
“We’ll head up north to train in December.”
“Wow!” he said. “How many of them clunker dogs you takin’?”
Clunker? Did you hear that, Anna? He just called us clunkers!
Don’t worry, Sojo, Pam will stick up for us.
Pam scowled and said in an irritated voice, “Eight … and they’re not clunkers, Dave.”
I wonder which dogs are going?
“Ernie and Jocko are too old to go on such a long journey and Amy’s a pet, so they’re staying home.” Then Pam looked over at me and said, “Everyone else goes.”
Yikes! She can’t possibly mean me!
“You got any sponsors for this so-called expedition?” asked Dave sarcastically.
“Not yet,” replied Pam.
Dave gave a little snort and said, “Well, good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
Pam stood up and looked Dave straight in the eyes and said, “We don’t need luck, Dave. These are good, honest, hardworking dogs and together we’re going to do this.”
Dave shook his head and walked away.
How can this be? I asked Anna. We’re not ready. That’s only four months away and we’ve never even pulled a sled!
Don’t worry, Sojo, said Anna. Pam will teach us everything we need to know. We can do this.
As I watched Dave climb into his ratty old pickup truck I thought, I just don’t think I’m cut out to be a sled dog. Maybe Pam doesn’t think we need luck but if I go on this trip I’m going to need all the luck I can get.
Chapter Four
September brought cooler temperatures and with it came great changes to our lives. Pam had a big red machine called a four-wheeler that is sort of like two motorcycles hooked together side by side. Mushers use them to train dogs when there is no snow. Pam’s four-wheeler was like her pickup truck, a little old and kind of worn-out, but it worked. One day she harnessed Douggie and our mother, Alice, and hooked them to the machine with long lines but there was still one harness for a third dog in the team.
“Time to start back to school, puppies,” said Pam as she walked toward us.
Pam always took Anna first when we were going to learn something new, but this time she began leading me away while Anna and Roald looked on.
I don’t want to go in front of that thing. What if I fall over? I’ll get squashed, I protested.
Right then and there I sat down and refused to go any farther. I figured Pam was going to yell at me but instead she knelt down, cupped my face in her hands, and said softly, “Sojo, there’s nothing to worry about. You are going to do just fine.”
How do you know I’m worried?
Of course Pam couldn’t hear my words, she just smiled with kind eyes and scratched my ears. That made me relax a little and then we walked over to the four-wheeler where she hooked me up right behind Douggie and Mom. I was now standing just a little more than a dog’s length away from the front of the machine. I gulped when I turned and looked back at the front of the four-wheeler. It was so high I could barely see Pam as she climbed on.
I started jumping up and down. Can you still see me, Pam?
Pam turned on the machine and bellowed, “All right, let’s go!” The engine roared and started slowly inching toward me.
Yikes!Please don’t run over me!
When I saw Douggie and Mom lean into their harnesses, I leaned into mine and pulled with all my might and we sped up a little bit.
“Good girl, Sojo!” called Pam
As it turned out, I was worried for nothing because my first trip as a sled dog was just down to the road where I had nearly died and then we made a big, wide, sweeping turn and walked back to the dog lot. The whole time we never went faster than a slow walk. Pam took my harness off and said, “Here’s your chunk of liver, Sojo. You did great and I think you’re going to make a fine little sled dog.”
Anna was all excited to go next and, of course, she did great.
As I watched Roald take his turn, I thought, Maybe it isn’t so hard being a sled dog. I’ll have to see how things go. But 2,500 miles? I just don’t know.
By late October there was enough snow for Pam to start training us with a dogsled. It wasn’t much different from pulling the four-wheeler except we sped up
