Still, even without a wolf sighting his tips from this group should be good. He had saved the best vistas for their last two days, and he had been dropping the “Tipping ain’t a city in China” line…followed by his sister’s upcoming kidney transplant story.
The group was approaching the bottom of the slope and slowing as they reached the woods by the river. Willie packed up his phone and twisted his feet to make sure his bindings were secure. Okay, he thought, time to show them what world class speed on Nordic skis really looks like.
Willie waved to Valerie who was far below on the slope, and then he shoved off hard with his poles.
Chapter 54
“Stoppe gutter” Hamish called to the dogs and they slowed together, bringing the sled to a perfect stop in the deep snow. He set the foot break, and from her perch above their gear on the rear of the sled Smudge turned and nodded to him. She was wrapped up in a blanket to her chin and was wearing a pair of dog goggles. Her muzzle and ears were covered in icicles. Hamish brushed them off as he walked past her, and said, “Aye, they’re running pure magic.”
He lifted his legs high to walk in the thigh-deep snow. As he passed Ben and Spot he said, “Let’s give them a snack, check their boots, and break out the radio tracker.” He didn’t give each order to anyone in particular as they’d just sort of figured it out throughout the day, taking turns.
Hamish was finding these pups and Ben pretty handy to have around. They were small and added little weight to the sled and they still noticed subtle improvements for the dogs he didn’t. Even Ben was better at reading the Elkies body language than Hamish was. He wasn’t as good as the pups of course, but he picked up on ice in R’ekcuf’s boot, and that T’raf had been uncomfortably gassy earlier. That last one wasn’t too hard to figure out but Ben did notice something was off first, and not just because he was in the front of the sled.
As he watched Spot and Smudge give the sled dogs a treat, and Ben rolling in the snow with T’nuc, Hamish wondered if he would ever be able to read dogs like that. Maybe that cocktail he craved with a brelly in it should be used for toasting his retirement. He had enough saved up and it was probably time. Still, he wondered what a whole sled team of pumped up Smudges would be like to mush. He then pictured Spot mushing them, and that drink was sounding better and better.
Hamish checked his stopwatch and showed it to Ben and Spot.
The kid looked down at the GPS numbers on his tablet, did some math in his head and said, “Seventeen kilometers an hour average at almost a four hundred meter rise in elevation per hour.”
Hamish said, “Aye, and in deep snow with a light head wind. Top speed of thirty eight?”
Ben and Spot agreed with a nod.
To the whole team he said, “There are sixteen-dog Iditarod teams that would envy those numbers, lads.” As the sled dogs wagged at him he realized Mimi was right about another thing, Ben soaked up information like potato bread in barley soup.
As if reading his thoughts Ben said, “So do you have to change their names now?”
Hamish turned away to put his stopwatch back into his pocket, and so Ben wouldn’t see his smile. As he zipped up the pocket he said, “What do you mean change their names? Why would I do that?”
“Come on Unc. T’nuc? R’ekcuf? K’naks?” Ben said as the dogs looked up at him when they heard their names, “Backwards Norwegians? Don’t you think the owner will be a little upset when he finds out?”
Hamish was still looking at his pocket, trying hard not to laugh out loud. “Still not sure what you’re driving at, lad,” he said.
“Unc,” Ben said, putting his hands on his hips. As he pointed at each dog he said, “You named his dogs Arse, Fart, Skank, Cunt, Fuck, Fucker, Dufus…and Ghost.”
“I did?” Hamish said, biting back a smirk as he threw Ben a bag of jerky, “Now that is one bloody strange coincidence. And watch your language, your Mimi would not approve.”
“Why Ghost? Did you run out of swear words?” Ben said, laughing and shaking his head as he tossed a biscuit to T’sohg who was wagging at him.
The smiling Hamish sat down next to Spot on the front of the sled. The black dog was wrapped in a blanket and tapping away on his little tablet. Hamish had noticed whenever they crossed flat ground the dog had his nose buried in it. “You learning how to use a toilet, lad?” Hamish asked.
Spot held up the tablet for Hamish and he saw a cut-away graphic of a pink cube with red and blue tubes running through it. Hamish took off his gloves, pulled out his reading glasses, and looked again. It was a detailed diagram of skin, complete with the appendages of the dermis, nerves, and hair follicle parts labelled. The graphic was moving to show the hair growing as detailed description boxes popped up and moved around the screen.
Hamish took off his reading glasses and said, “Ben, your dog is studying skin.”
“Yeah, he’s been obsessed with it since we got here,” Ben said, “Hey Spot, what’s next, zebra stripes?”
Hamish looked at Spot and the dog stared back at him. Now that Hamish was beginning to understand the depth behind those eyes he clearly saw the difference between the pups’ gaze and the drifting looks of regular dogs. To all other canines on the planet direct eye contact for more than a few seconds was a sign of aggression. Hamish suddenly realized their focused stare would help to establish the pups as the dominant player whenever they met other dogs, which would come in handy as long as the other dog didn’t get its knickers in a twist about it. The casual human observer probably wouldn’t notice their knowing stare, he hadn’t, but now he could see they looked into you as much as they looked at you. It was a strange experience, but one Hamish was coming to appreciate, and even enjoy. It was rewarding to get the kind of immediate visual feedback expected when communicating with humans from a dog.
He said, “You’re one knotty pine, you know that?”
Spot stared for a moment longer and then handed Hamish the tablet before he jumped down from the sled and walked into the snow. He moved away from the team a few meters, stopped, and turned his head up to face the mountains. He stayed perfectly still for several minutes as the falling snow accumulated on him.
Hamish chewed his sandwich and watched the odd dog staring off into space, as did the rest of the team.
Spot shook off the snow, wadded back through the deep powder, and jumped back up onto the sled. He spun and sat down next to Hamish again.
Hamish looked down at the smart, crazy black dog looking up at him. He looked again more closely and slowly put his reading glasses back on.
“How in bloody hell did you do that?” he said, burying his hands into Spot’s neck fur. It was much thicker than normal and the entire coat looked puffed up like the Elkies. Hamish ran his fingers through it and looked at the many layers and hairs of different thicknesses and lengths. The dog had a full, thick winter coat any malamute would be proud of.
Spot started to sign and Ben came over to translate. He said, “Simple modification to the same hypno-chromatophoric process we use to change our coat coloring, except applying it to my existing awn hairs. I pull in subcutaneous protein reserves and transform them into alternating guard and down hairs that provide controllable thermoregulation and vapor expiration at the skin. I also reduce haemocrit to increase blood fluidity, open up the venules in my paw pads for better heat exchange, and wrap them in a layer of fatty tissue for insulation. Combined with a dozen or so other small tweaks to the…” Ben paused, had Spot repeat a sign, nodded, and continued, “stratum spinosum and dermal papillae, the overall transition yields pretty effective results. But I’m still trying to find the right amount of increase to the capillaries in the cutaneous plexus. Henshaw cites wolves and some cold weather dogs have a diameter that’s eight times normal size, but I doubt that as my toes were burning up and started to melt the snow.”
Spot finished signing and closed his paw, returning it to the deck of the sled. He continued to stare up at Hamish.
Hamish chewed ver
y slowly, and thought perhaps he was a little premature in admitting he enjoyed that immediate visual feedback. He swallowed and said, “You can turn into a husky at will?”
Spot nodded, and added a little shrug and head tip, and Ben said, “Isn’t that what I just said?”
Hamish got up, finished the last bite of his sandwich, clapped his hands and said, “Right then, let’s be off, shall we?” He stood on the back of the sled until everyone was settled and ready to go. The big Scot mushed the team and avoided looking at the smart-ass dog again for a long while.
They continued heading north along a ridgeline that took them higher into the park’s mountains.
Spot taught Smudge the thick-fur trick and the pups started to run along with the sled. After pounding through the chest deep snow for hours on end they had an entirely new appreciation for the stamina and coordination of the Elkies. Smudge even took a turn as a wheel, with E’sra running next to her and correcting her mistakes. She quickly realized the same bonds that get strengthened while hunting with a pack are reinforced even stronger when running and pulling as a sled team. There was a greater dependence on the dogs running mere inches away, and the sense of not letting the team down was amplified in the precision of every step and tug. Even in half Cu Sith mode Smudge was getting a little winded. As the novelty of running in the cold, deep snow wore off she relinquished her place at the back of the sled to the professional again. As she yanked off her front boots to reconnect the strong E’sra to the harness she subtly gestured to him, I’ll never repeat this in public, but you’re one awesome dog.
E’sra snorted and shot Smudge a quick head butt.
Earlier they had picked up a few pings of signal from Glasgow’s collar. The weather was messing with the tracker’s reception but the pack appeared to be to their west and father south. If they tried to catch up with them it would mean finding a place to cross the river and backtracking, which wouldn’t happen until well past sundown. Hamish decided they would run up to the next river crossing and find a good place to camp for the night. They could catch up with the wolves in the morning. With the lingering low clouds it would get dark early and he wanted to get camp setup before the winds picked up again.
Hamish planned to try reaching Willie later to see if they had seen any sign of Glasgow or her pack, and to see if Valerie had found out why his nickname was Wee Willie Winkie.
Chapter 55
Glasgow didn’t bother with the woods. Just a day ago she never would have followed a human’s trail but now she dropped into the ruts made by the group and walked in them to the edge of the clearing. She stopped just over the crest at the top of the glade that formed a large sloping bowl. Now that she was past the protective trees of the forest the snow was deeper. Her big paws kept her from sinking too deep but the powder still came up to her chest. The humans had made it down to the river’s edge where it met the forest again, except for one that was moving fast down the open slope of the bowl. It was a small male, and its bright covering was easy to spot against the field of endless white.
Might as well be a rabbit running straight towards them, Glasgow thought, worried for the human. She normally had an ambivalence towards these animals unless they were hunters. She didn’t mind the big one who observed. He had brought her and some of the old pack to this new forest a few winters ago and he had a calm confidence about him that Glasgow had learned not to fear. He was still a human, and she’d observed enough of them and what they could do to learn the lesson her elders taught her well. Run away, and stay away.
Still, she felt no animal deserved the fate that awaited these dumb creatures. She knew humans were powerful. They were the top predators in any forest, but they were also extremely stupid. She’d come across a few humans killed by bear or moose, but most often they just drowned or froze. Usually is was simply from doing something dumb. Most humans shouldn’t venture deep into the woods as they acted like lost whelps, and this group certainly didn’t look to be the hunting kind of humans to her.
She had also learned that dead humans tended to just draw more humans.
Glasgow didn’t expect these humans to be able to detect the two crazed killing monsters approaching them in the woods, but they certainly weren’t doing themselves any favors either. They were all brightly colored and making noise and jumping around like foolish pups, and the one speeding down the mountain was essentially taunting the rogues into a chase. Normally being seen and heard saved dumb humans more than it put them in jeopardy, but not this time. Not with these savage, ruthless rogues. They didn’t care, they just killed.
She didn’t want to watch. She wanted to run but the rogues would catch her and she had decided watching these deranged creatures stalk, hunt, and kill could be useful. She was cataloging their habits and looking for weaknesses. Glasgow couldn’t wait for a Casanova rogue looking for a mate to come along and save her. Even if one did it wouldn’t stand a chance.
Chapter 56
Willie raised his poles above his head and pumped them as he reached the bottom of the bowl. He had picked up a shit load of speed coming down the meadow, in fact it was more than he was comfortable with and his legs were wobbling. He was barely in control but thought, Fuck it, give them a show and if I break a leg I can still get blow jobs with a cast on.
His group of Nordic skiers were at the bottom of the bowl and cheering him on. They were pointing at him, and the twenty somethings and the shutterbug were clicking away with their flashes popping in the snowy haze. Valerie was jumping up and down excitedly and even with the powder flying over his skis and hitting his goggles he could see what an amazing feat of engineering her outfit was. She hadn’t made it all the way down to the others yet so she was the one he whizzed past first. He yelled to her, “God bless America!”
It was only as he passed the rest of the group that he noticed they weren’t cheering for him at all. They were still pointing up the hill and shouting and snapping pics after he zipped by. Willie turned to look and caught an edge of his ski. He fell hard and almost tumbled into the river.
He got to his knees and shook the snow off as he lifted his goggles. As he adjusted his package and rubbed his complaining knee he looked up the glade to see what the big deal was.
Standing at the top of the ridge was a wolf. A big, light gray wolf. It was staring down at them from their ski tracks.
At that moment the snow eased some and the clouds thinned, and the top of the ridge lit up with filtered sunlight.
Valerie was still jumping up and down when she turned and whispered loudly, “It’s so beautiful Willie, look at it!”
Shutterbug’s husband stopped munching his granola bar long enough to flash Willie a big crumby smile and a ‘we’re both getting laid tonight’ eyebrow waggle.
Without looking up from her rapidly clicking camera his wife smiled broadly and said, “That wolf must have cost you a fortune, Willie.”
Willie snapped off his remaining ski and limped over to stand behind the group. He couldn’t believe his fucking luck. He was adding up the tips and saw a new set of carbon fiber skis in his future, and a bag of BC gold weed. The wolf was just standing there in a circle of sunlight, majestic as fuck and twice as pretty. Fucking priceless, he thought, I could kiss your big fuzzy cheek Hamish, you bloody brilliant Jock.
“That, my friends, is mister Canis lupus. Looks to be well over a meter tall and more than a hundred pounds,” Willie said in his best Attenborough voice, “That’s a male, I can tell from his ears. Probably the alpha you heard about, just making sure his pack stays safe. They’ll be back in the woods to the right, we probably went right past them without seeing them, but sure as shit they saw us.” He paused for the appropriate oohs and aahs as the skiers nudged each other. He continued, “I guess my choice of paths paid off, I was hoping we’d run into him here. See how he uses our tracks to avoid the deep snow? And that boy has some crazy sharp senses. Look at those keen eyes. He’s over three hundred meters away and can easily see your nips
are hard Valerie, and smell your perfume.”
“That’s not overly impressive,” Shutterbug said not too quietly, “And I bet that’s not all he smells.”
Everyone but the quiet Mormon couple from Vancouver laughed. The husband did smirk until his wife shot him a look.
Valerie turned and stuck her tongue out at Shutterbug. With a hand on her hip and her head tipped to the side she asked, “So will he, like, fucking attack us?”
“No, certainly not,” Willie said as he slowly unzipped his bag and put his hand on the butt of his bright orange safety revolver. At that moment he was really hoping that crazy bitch from Chicago was really just a crazy bitch. The way this big wild dog was standing in their ski tracks and staring down at them just didn’t seem right somehow, and it was creeping him out more than a little.
Granola man dropped his wrapper into the fluffy snow and was starting to peel open another when his question about how was Willie so sure the wolf wouldn’t attack was interrupted by a much larger wolf clamping down on the side of his head from behind.
Shutterbug turned with an annoyed look. She intended to tell her mouth breathing, wrapper crinkling husband to shut the fuck up but the look quickly turned to stone as she watched the wolf open up his chubby neck. He held out the open granola bar to her like he was offering her a bite as the wolf’s fangs sunk in deeper and a spray of blood shot out and covered her camera, and her whole front.
The Glasgow Gray: Spot and Smudge - Book 2 Page 27