Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“You’ll be fine. Karen rations.” I catch myself smiling as I head for the hut, my heart and mood light despite my frozen cheeks and rumbling belly, and I know that grin is one hundred percent because of the rookie musher from Whitefish, Montana, by way of Finland.
On my way, I slow to scan Harry’s team without getting too close to disturb them. They’re asleep on their straw beds, banks of snow beside them to cut the wind and jackets to keep them insulated. All sleep soundly, their noses tucked beneath their tails.
I still remember first learning about sled dogs sleeping out in the cold. It was at the Hatchett Kennels and I was seven. Earl Hatchett was three weeks out from the Iditarod and doing overnight training runs to get his team up to top condition, camping in the woods. I couldn’t comprehend how any living thing could withstand minus-twenty-degree temperatures. Iggie, a pointer my father had rescued, spent his evenings sprawled on the kitchen floor by the woodstove, waiting for scraps. He’d be shaking within five minutes of stepping outside.
Earl being Earl, he was happy for any opportunity to educate how sled dogs are different from other dogs, how they not only tolerate the cooler temperatures better thanks to two layers of fur, but they also prefer it.
I had a tough time buying into his sermon, but in the years since I became a veterinarian and volunteered for this race, I’ve seen the truth in his words. With their heavy winter coats, spending too long indoors makes them uncomfortable. When allowed inside, it’s not uncommon for these dogs to pace by their owner’s door, panting, asking to be let out to cool off. Iditarod races during mild winters—still cold by human standards—see mushers forced to rest their teams for long stretches during the day and a record number of dropped dogs due to overheating.
Only when I confirm no signs of discomfort in the dogs—shivering or ice on their coats—do I feel comfortable moving on.
Lynn Corball, a musher from Seward who came in while I was sleeping, nods in greeting as she ladles broth into a dog dish. Rick said she checked in three hours ago. She should have her dogs sorted and be resting herself by now.
As if she can read my mind, she laments, “He didn’t eat much earlier.” She throws a flat look toward her sable-colored lead dog, who waits eagerly, his tail swishing. The other dogs are curled up on their straw beds but watching their musher intently.
I offer her a sympathetic smile. “At least he looks hungry now.” Otherwise, as a veterinarian, I’d be concerned.
“You gave him too many snacks on the way in!” Harry calls out behind me, appearing from the shadows. His boots crunch in the snow, a hot coffee in hand. “Now you’re gonna have a tough time settling them down again if you don’t feed them all.”
At that moment, Harry sounds like Earl. But, unlike Harry, Earl knew when not to share his wisdom.
Lynn shoots a glare his way before shifting back to her task. I’m sure she’s none too pleased to be schooled by a musher half her age.
I’m equally displeased. I didn’t want to deal with him yet. Why is he awake?
Harry, oblivious or not caring that his expertise is unwanted, shifts his attention to me. “Where were you last night when I rolled in? Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”
“I was catching some sleep.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my veterinarian. I expected you there for my dogs.” There’s no mistaking the displeasure in his tone.
“I’m here for all the dogs, as a volunteer, and I can’t do my job if I’m dead on my feet,” I snap, my anger flaring.
“Whoa.” Harry has the nerve to hold up a hand, to look taken aback by my reaction.
I inhale a deep breath to collect my composure. I’m hungry, and my patience is paper-thin. “What are you doing up? Couldn’t you sleep?”
“I slept okay, except Brady decided to get up and make a bunch of noise just as I was settling in.” His eyes wander past me to where Tyler’s sled and team are resting, and they narrow. “If I hadn’t gotten hung up in Ophir fixing my sled, that gold would’ve been mine.”
“That’s all part of racing, right?” It’s a complex chain of speed, timing, and intuition, all of which can be derailed by countless variables, some manageable and others impossible to predict.
“Still, you should have seen the smug look on his face when I checked in. He was waiting to accept the trophy until I could get here, just so I could see him do it.”
“He had to take care of his dogs first.” Though I can’t confirm that Tyler didn’t take his time doing it.
But Harry’s not listening. “He didn’t leave that far ahead of me. Had to be pushing those dogs hard. You should check them out, make sure they’re fit to race.”