Malamutes had been bred for generations for to pull heavy freight across Alaska’s deep snow, so the dog was as strong as he was stubborn.
Tough but not large, Patches was also tenacious. Once he set his mind to something he stuck with it. That meant if he decided to drag a large piece of driftwood up the steep, rock-covered bank to Scott’s home he would not rest until the task was completed. It mattered not to the dog that his human companion returned the wood to the lake almost as soon as it had appeared at the backdoor. Added to these malamute traits was the collie’s ability to problem solve. That meant the dog could figure out how to open latches thus getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be.
Winter was Patches’s least favorite season. He didn’t mind the cold weather; in fact, with his dual coats he thrived in it. What he hated were the short days. Having so little daylight meant that he and Scott couldn’t spend as much time down by the lake, and the dog sorely missed those bonding moments with his master.
On this December night it was just past ten and the temperature had already fallen to single digits when Patches noted the sound of Scott’s approaching car. Shaking the sleep from his head, the dog got up and ambled to the front door. After patting Patches’s head and then visiting with his wife, Scott moved to the kitchen window to glance down at the lake. He could make out the form of a patrol boat, almost hidden in the darkness, tied up at their dock. The almost gale-force winds appeared to be knocking it against the side of the pier. He wondered out loud if he needed to go down to the lake and do a better job securing the craft. His wife quickly assured him that it was a night not fit for man or beast and he should stay inside and let the local officers worry about their boat. She added that if it was no concern to them it should not be a concern to him either. As the woman would soon discover, those words of wisdom went in one ear and out the other.
Scott ate a late supper, glanced through the mail, and turned on the TV. Sitting in his chair he tried to relax but every time he heard the wind his thoughts took him back to the lake. Maybe the government folks weren’t worried about their boat but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be concerned about the dock and pier. The wind, icing on the lake, and cold weather spelled a combination for disaster and, if he could prevent any damage from happening, he felt he should do it. The wind chill was well below zero; he fought the urge to act on his impulse for almost half an hour. Finally, at eleven, he looked over to his wife and announced he was at least going to go down to the lake and check on things. Putting on a heavy coat over his suit, grabbing his gloves and a hat, he walked out the back door into the unforgiving cold. By his side, ducking his head down low toward the ground to try and avoid the wind, was an eager and enthusiastic Patches. In the dog’s mind it was never too cold for a walk.
The rocks that covered the dramatically sloping ground leading to the lake helped prevent erosion, but tonight those tiny boulders made walking all but impossible. Scott’s dress shoes slipped with each of his steps. Several times he barely caught himself before falling. He was a third of the way to the water when he wondered if maybe his wife had been right. Perhaps what happened to the boat and pier didn’t matter. Yet as he turned back to look at the house the climb up appeared even less inviting than the walk down.
Though much more nimble than the man, Patches was sliding too. More than once the icy rocks’ uneven size and shape, combined with the strong, cold breeze sent the dog sprawling. Yet, unlike the man, he never looked back. His eyes were on the prize—a chance to walk around the lake with his master.
It took more than ten minutes for the two to make their way to the dock but only a few seconds for Scott to realize he had been right. The wind was pushing the boat against the pier. He needed to find a way to shove it back out into the lake a bit and wedge an object between the vessel and wood to protect them both. As he got closer something else caught his eye. The wind had blown lake water onto the side of the boat and dock and it was now frozen. If that layer grew thick enough it could do great damage to both.
Standing uneasily on the dock, leaning into the wind to keep his balance, his glasses now freezing over with spray, Scott fully appreciated just how cold it was. It was as if the wind was blowing right through the layers of clothing and to his skin. As he took a deep breath of the moist air even his lungs began to ache. Whatever he needed to do, he had to do it quickly and get back to the house. If he didn’t he might be a candidate for frostbite.
Looking around he noted a small limb that had been pushed onto shore. Carefully making his way to it, he picked it up. It was well over four feet long, so it had the length he needed. It was also thick enough to do the job. Sliding across the frozen ground and back onto the pier, he skated toward the boat’s stern. Trying to lock his feet on the wooden planking, he aimed the timber at the boat and gave a powerful shove. Because the lake surface’s was now an almost invisible sheet of ice, the boat held solid. That should have been a sign for the man to simply give up and head home, but like his dog, the businessman also had a deep stubborn streak. He simply could not stop in the middle of a job; he had to finish it.
Just behind Scott, his coat bristling in an effort to fight off the wind and cold, Patches observed the man’s futile efforts. Pawing at the icy deck, the dog moved closer as if trying to understand the purpose in this exercise. Just as he sidled up beside the man’s leg, Scott again pushed against the boat. Once more the vessel was held solidly in place by the frozen water, but this time the man was not so fortunate. His leather soles lost their grip on the wooden planks, and he began sliding backwards. Tossing the timber to one side, Scott attempted to straighten up. Stretching his arms to gain balance, his body twisted. From the corner of his eye he spied the end of the pier and the floating dock that rested alongside it. If he didn’t find a way to stop he realized he would be falling the six feet down to the dock.
Time slowed down to a crawl. Looking around he tried to find something to grab to stop his awkward slide. Except for Patches, whose face was framed in a combination of amusement and fascination, he saw nothing. Flapping his arms in the air as if trying to fly, Scott made one final turn before sliding off the frozen pier. The man was only airborne for a split second before crashing feet first to wooden, floating dock. As he landed the pain was immediate and searing. It felt as if his legs had been caught in a vise and were being slowly crushed. What he didn’t know at that moment was that he had torn all the tendons, ligaments, and muscles from his knees to his ankles. Screaming in agony, Scott attempted to roll over. This move pushed him off the dock and into the lake, where he crashed through a thin layer of ice.
The shock of the frigid water stunned Scott so badly it took his breath away. His mind was now working in slow motion and his thoughts were jumbled. Glancing to his left his eyes focused on the deck. It was getting further away. That meant the wind and current were pushing out into the middle of the lake. If he did not get back to shore in a matter of minutes, he would either die of exposure or drown. Instinct demanded he kick his legs and swim back to shore. His brain immediately sent that message to his legs but as they attempted to follow the command unfathomable pain shot up his spine and hips all but causing him to lapse into unconsciousness. Fighting to hold on to his wits, Scott tried to tread water, but the water had now soaked through all the layers of his clothing, and the weight of those garments was dragging him down into the twenty-foot-deep channel.
After taking one last gasp of frigid air, Scott sank under the waves and into the darkness below the thin ice. The pain from his injuries numbed his will to fight, and the cold demanded he accept what fate held for him. Slowly his mind began to process that he was going to die in the lake he loved so dearly. How long would it take them to find his body? Who would come out into the frigid weather and make the search? Would anyone ever really know what had happened?
A few feet away, his dark-brown eyes glued to the spot in the water where Scott had gone under, a perplexed Patches watched. Leaping down from the pier to the dock, the dog slipped and fell on his belly. It took several moments for him to dig his claws through the ice on the wood and regain his footing. Rushing over to the place where Scott had rolled off the planking, the dog studied the water,
