Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers

by Mike Dillingham

Robby lay panting and bleeding in the mud of the trail, listening to the angry growls of the fleeing coyotes. He felt light-headed and woozy as he pushed himself to his feet. His front leg crumpled under him when he tried to stand on it and he fell back down.

  “You alright, Robby?” growled a large, shaggy black male dog named Bear, from the log house by the lake three miles away. He towered over Robby, sniffing him.

  “We thought you were not returning when your master returned from the long drive without you,” quietly the female black and white husky mix growled licking his ripped ear. She was the smallest of the pack and lived with the grey old man who logged the forest just down the road from Robby himself. She was named Molly.

  Robby gained his feet again limping badly; he was all torn up and weak. He fell once more, lying on the cold ground. He was silent in his inner battle. He was so close to home, so close to being at her side. His body burned as if every bite wound had caught fire. Robby whined and laid his head down.

  The dogs surrounding him smelled his sickness that made him feverish; they smelled his pain, and his ache. Molly whined licking Robby’s dry cracked nose, gazing up at Bear. The mighty black dog nosed Robby in his tender ribs causing Robby to yelp. The big dog sighed to himself looking at his worn down friend.

  Bear saw how Robby’s bones stuck out from his raw hide. Tufts of fur were missing and his back leg was scarred from the black-death road. The slash wound from the bear at the river was infected and fevering his body, and the yelp Bear got from nosing Robby in the side told the older, wiser dog that Robby’s ribs were broken. The older, great black dog towered over Robby.

  “You have come this far, my young friend. I know you to be better than this. You lay down like a callow, runty pup, not fit to live. Will you rise to push on? Or would you rather die just shy of being in her arms again? Will you shame you master by giving up? Will you give in to weakness? Will you dishonor her?” Bear’s gruff growls pulled all the shattered pieces of Robby’s courage and strength together. He looked up at the big shaggy dog and silently thanked him for the push he needed to get up. Robby shakily braced himself to stand.

  He had to get to her.

  He had to see her, at least one last time.

  twenty-one

  The dogs saw the look of determination flare up in Robby’s eyes and they stared at him with awe and pride. They smelled the bear, the lynx, and the fever in him. They sensed the long journey’s wear on him. They knew without asking, the road home had been long and hard.

  The pack leader, Bear, lead the pack of dogs away clearing Robby’s way home. Molly walked with him keeping him upright and on the right path home as he wobbled and weaved, limping along. Robby was grateful that his friends had been there to help him be strong and save him from being eaten alive. He had joined the pack on many coyote chases last winter, and they held great respect for one another.

  Molly suddenly stopped and wagged her tail, licking Robby’s muzzle. He stopped and looked up through bleary, tired eyes at her. She barked happily. Sitting down, her busy black tail swept the seeding fireweed up into the warm breeze, blowing them out into the world.

  “What is it?’ Robby growled, stumbling, holding his mangled leg up. His good leg flared in pain where the bear had slashed him wide. He felt the sun and hadn’t realized that it was mid-day. It had taken him hours to walk a trail that usually took him less than an hour.

  “Look. Smell. You are almost home, my loyal-to-man, courageous friend!” Molly growled hopping into the air excitedly as was common with her. Robby looked up, sniffing deeply. He smelled the sweet and sour heat from the swamp, the spruce trees warmed by the sun, and suddenly as if a dream, he smelled a faint, familiar smell that lingered on the grassy trail she had passed through only days ago.

  He smelled her!

  He smelled the smell he had been dreaming about all the long weeks it took him to fight his way home to her! It all hit him so suddenly that he felt like he had been kicked by a moose square in the chest. He took a deep, gasping breath. He almost couldn’t believe it.

  His Miss, his girl!

  Robby raced down the hill into the big swamp that edged his master’s land. His body was on fire and he felt like he was going to fall over dead, but he charged across the mucky tundra, causing frogs to leap away to avoid his paws. He whined as he climbed the long steep hill that the Miss used to sled down in the winter. It was the longest, hardest climb of his life. He strained and stumbled, gasping for air and losing his footing on the loose, mucky, fall mud thick with birch and cottonwood leaves, pine needles, and dried pinecones.

  He had to get to her; he had to see her one last time.

  He had dreamed of her smell, night and day.

  He had braved the wilds of Alaska alone for her, just to be by her side one more time.

  Robby gained the top of the hill and collapsed, he couldn’t go on, his body wouldn’t work. He heaved to breath, unable to get enough air to keep his head up. He lay sprawled out, his bleary eyes watered as he looked around in the bright light of the warm day.

  That was it.

  He was done.

  Robby whined looking at the log house the Miss called home. He saw his dog house and his goose down sleeping bag hanging on the line to dry before the first snow of the long winter fell. The garage door was open and the Miss’s pa was banging away on something. The tom cat glanced over from his sunning spot on the tarpaper roof and meowed.

  Then he heard the sound of tennis shoes running on the gravel driveway, coming from the front gate down the long driveway.

  “Robby?” She sounded like she was breathless, in shock, but more disbelief. “Robby,” she cried and rushed to him. Robby looked over and wagged his tail, letting her know it was really him. He whined and gazed up at his Miss. Her brown eyes were sad and filled with tears that had not spilled down her face yet, but a happy smile lit her face up as she trembled reaching for him.

  She dropped her back pack and fell hard to her knees on the rough gravel driveway. Dust floated away on the breeze filling Robby’s tired nose with it. She wrapped her arms around him tenderly like he was a little puppy again and cried into his bloody mangled body. She cried like she had cried when Nana died, all full of hurt and pain. Robby smelled it on her, her sad joy.

  “I knew you would come home; I just knew you would,” she cried hugging him tightly. Robby licked her salty gross tears away as they fell down her face like great big rain drops. Robby looked up into her oddly flat human face. He could never forget her face. He had dreamed of her smell, her face, and her voice for so long.

  He had not shamed his master; he had kept his honor, and stayed true to his loyal bond, his unspoken promise. He was a true dog, a great dog, like Nana had been.

  He was home…

  Afterword

  from the author

  Honor Bound was written with a lot of tears and fond, happy memories. While the story of Robby making his way home is not true, Robby and Nana were real, their adventures and the lessons they taught one another and their Miss were real. I know this because I was Robby’s Miss. I was the girl he had to get home to. I lost my best friend that fateful day in August at mile 64, near Sutton, Alaska. My heart broke that day, just like it broke the day Nana was put to sleep.

  Robby never came home. We searched for him, but he never made it home. I never saw him again. To this day, I look to the edges of that horrible curve in the road, hoping to see his glossy golden coat, his waving tail, and his big brown eyes once more.

  Robby was my knight in blazing golden armor. He was there for me when no one was after the death of Nana. He honored me with his friendship and his protection. I think of him fondly as my dogs romp around with my young son. They already honor him, having saved him from many dangers in this wild place called Alaska.

  In closing, I wrote Honor Bound in honor of Robby, to tell an inspiring story of his courage, his iron will, and his undying loyalty so he might always be remembered as he was.

/>   I love you, Robby.

  Forever and always

  ISBN 1-59433-004-2

  eBook ISBN 978-1-59433-178-7

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2003111941

  Copyright 2003 by Mike Dillingham

  First Printing 2003

  Second Printing 2004

  Third Printing 2010

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form, and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Cover photo is furnished by Donna Quante

  of Husky Productions, Willow Alaska

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  To my wife Mary, who made it possible for me to write this book.

  To my friends, who encourage me.

  To my dogs, who give me their unconditional love.

  To Rivers, whose courage and energy inspires me.

  In memory of Rivers’ trail buddies, who are now at rest.

  And finally, in loving memory of Sandy, our fun loving, coffee drinking, and devoted housedog, 1990 to 2003.

  Table of Content

  Dedication

  Cast of Critters

  Photo Credits

  Acknowledgments

  Foreword

  Foreword

  Rivers’ Note

  Letter of Introduction

  Mike's Christmas Wish

  Lakota's Past

  Hello Sunny

  Sunny On the Trails

  The Night After the Day Before

  Mud

  The Short Journey to See Ya

  That's What Friends Are For

  Randy

  Christmas’ Aunt Sandy

  Blindness of the Snow

  A Surprise Visit

  The Sourdough 120

  Racing for Randy

  We'll Be Home Tomorrow

  His Time Has Come Today!

  Rest, Recuperation And Surprises

  Afterthoughts

  Photo Credits

  All photos used with permission. Cast of Critters Page: Christmas (AKA, Ice) - photo by the Richeys, Tracks of Alaska; Mike, Fin, and Rivers - photo by the Richeys, Tracks of Alaska; Aurora Gooddog (AKA, Kobuk) - GB Jones; Sunny (AKA, Chena) - Donna Quante, Husky lover; all other Cast of Critters photos by Mike and Mary Dillingham. Forward Page: photo by the Richeys, Tracks of Alaska; Rivers’ Page: photo by the Richeys, Tracks of Alaska, Back Cover: Mike and Rivers - photo by the Richeys, Tracks of Alaska.

  Acknowledgments

  Doctor Jim Gaarder DVM/ DACVO who cared for Sandy and Rivers as if they were his own dogs. Doctor Jim also provided the technical insight I needed for this book.

  Stan Smith, Iditarod 1993 and 1994. Stan lit my sled dog fire with his vivid descriptions of his adventures on the trail. He provided a great deal of technical advice and pointed me in the right direction when I trained my dogs.

  The Richeys, who were responsible for many of the photos used in this book and on our web site. To view more of the Richey's pictures, please check out their web site at http://www.tracksofalaska.com/

  Becky and Bob at “Dog Duds: Custom Sewing for Canines and Their Humans” who made all of the booties we use.

  Mike Fisher of Lost Creek General Services. Mike made our training scooter, while his wife Diane, who is an avid Rivers’ fan, runs her “Fluff Team” on the Oregon sand dunes. Please visit Mike at http://www.trainingcarts.com/

  GB Jones, Iditarod 2002 and 2003. GB taught me how to mush and trusted me with his dogs and sled. He searched for my dogs when they were lost and constantly told us we would find them, which we did after 9 days. GB has a nice web site at http://www.alaskanmusher.com

  Mark, at The Grateful Sled, who hand made the sled we use.

  My test readers, Barbara, Bonnie, Dawn and her son Joe, Edna (“Rivers biggest fan in the Northwest”) Doug and Rosemary, thank you. Rosemary used the original “Rivers” manuscript to help her students overcome their individual challenges. The “PS 49” chapter in my first book, “Rivers, Diary of a Blind Alaska Racing Sled Dog” is dedicated to Rosemary and her students. And of course, our good friend Margie.

  Evan Swensen, my publisher, of Publications Consultants. Without Evan's help, support, encouragement, and guidance, none of the Rivers books would have made a difference in the lives of so many. Evan has helped authors throughout Alaska produce great books about Alaska. Check out Evan's Webs site at http://www.alaskabooks.biz/

  The dogs. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the dogs, not only my own, but all of the ones that I met during my travels. All of their nose licks, paw shakes, and their TLC are embedded within these pages.

  Our friends at the Wasilla Veterinary Clinic who care for all our fur buddies as if they were their own.

  Foreword

  Rivers is a real live dog who lives with my family in Palmer, Alaska. Working with Rivers has changed my life in more positive ways than I could ever have imagined. Every day, we receive e-mail from children and adults who tell us that Rivers’ stories have inspired or motivated them.

  I have watched Rivers grow from a lonely kennel dog to a loving, playful companion. Rivers’ learning ability, courage, and unstoppable desire to run the trails continue to amaze me. He has become one of my heroes. I hope he becomes one of yours also.

  Rivers’ Note

  Mike is a very good storyteller. So while I am a real live dog, some of the adventures and characters in this book are, well “Tales of the trails, from wagging tails.” I hope you enjoy our adventures and visit us on our web site at http:/home.gci.net/ ~sleddog or email me at rivers@rogershsa.com

  See Ya! RIVERS

  Letter of Introduction

  Rosemary Parker

  Special Education 4th Grade Teacher

  PS 49 in Queens New York

  Who would have ever guessed that a chance encounter 3 years ago on the Blinddogs e-mail site would bring together a New York City Special Education Teacher and an author from Alaska (a former New Yorker from Astoria, Queens)?

  As Mike Dillingham and I exchanged stories about our blind dogs, Rivers and my Dalmatian Asia, (who is now at the Rainbow Bridge) we never imagined the impact Rivers would have on my Special Needs class.

  I test read Mike's first book to my class and they immediately fell in love with Rivers. Through Rivers’ bravery and courage in spite of his handicap, my class made a connection. They found faith in themselves to succeed using Rivers as their role model. They wrote letters to Rivers who wrote back to them.

  Through Mike's and his wife Mary's generosity, (they sent them books, buttons, maps, videos and weekly updates from Rivers) my class was motivated and inspired to work hard. I did many literacy lessons using Rivers, his book and the Iditarod as a theme. Guess what happened… their reading and writing improved as well as their outlook. The kids wanted to give back to Rivers so one year they did a Bake Sale to raise money for Rivers’ former musher. The next year they did the same for the IMOM group (who helped Rivers get his surgery). They raised over $600 for sick animals whose owners could not afford medical care for them.

  Rivers has touched their lives and hearts tremendously. They will always bring a piece of him with them for the rest of their lives. Mike and Rivers made that happen for them.

  Mike's Christmas Wish

  2001 Christmas Story

  “Wake up Rivers.”

  I heard the voice, but I must have been dreaming. “Wake up, Rivers,” the voice said again. I opened my eyes. Yes, blind dogs do close their eyes when they sleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw a beautiful dog glowing with a soft light that filled my dog-house with warmth.

  Wait a minute, I cannot see. This must be a dream. Looks like a good one, I thought, as I asked, “Who are you?”

  “My name is Aurora Gooddog and I was sent here to gran
t your buddy Mike his Christmas wish,” she said.

  Yes, it was Christmas time again and I remembered last year when I was so worried because I did not have a gift for Mike. However, last Christmas Eve, the guys and I found a little puppy and saved her. Mike told us that he was very happy and proud of what we did and it was a great present to give him. We showed him that we cared about others. It felt great to give Mike something. He has given me so much, for which I am very grateful.

  However, again this year I had nothing to give him. Aurora's voice got my attention. “You know, Rivers, for a smart dog you think way too much. I know what you are thinking. You forget that dogs give their buddies presents all year long. You give your obedience, your loyalty, and your love. See, Rivers,” Aurora said, “dogs don't need special days to give presents. We give them everyday. Moreover, according to my records, you and your teammates do a great job of that. So Rivers, you gave Mike some super presents all year.”

  Her words made sense and I felt a lot better. Yes, Aurora is right, I do think too much. “Yes you are right.” I said. “But what is this thing about your coming here to grant Mike his Christmas wish?”

  “Well, it seems that your buddy Mike has some friends in very high places, She said. “However, we cannot do it.”

  I guess I got a little feisty. Mike deserved to have his wish granted. “Wait a minute, that is not fair.” I demanded, “Why can't Mike have his wish granted?”

  “His wish is not for himself,” Aurora answered. “His wish is for you to see, and that is impossible. Well, it is not impossible; it is impractical. You have no eyeballs and if all of a sudden you could see, a lot of humans would ask too many questions.”