Perfect

The past three days have been fascinating trips for the dogs. Christmas morning was quiet, still windless and lonely. The only traffic being a pair of lone runners seeking their endorphins ahead of the festive day. Boxing day was a blast- literally. The winds were so strong that my clothes flapped wildly and Mishkas tail flew horizontally in the onslaught.
Today however was perfect. Right amount of sun, right amount of wind, right amount of mud. Just perfect.

The Dog

Todays run was unseasonable by most standards. The darkness was fitting for a midwinter meridian run, but the temperature felt more like resting on the shoulders of the season, spring or summer rather than a full coup de tete from Mrs Winter herself.
Mishka was panting a little heavier by half way, but both dogs seemed game til the end.
Our route went "over the top" at Pex Hill, taking the route through the park, the single lamp chasing shadows through the stunted heath trees. This is a run we have not been on for a while and the descent along the footpath track to Norlands lane was made especially interesting by the erosive forces of nature. New roots have been laid bare, small cascades of water have sought to make their own navigation and the resultant gulleys and pits are all unknown to me and the dogs. The light can do little to lead us in this darkness, for unlike Newmans light ours shows the road ahead and not the next step.
Still a safe return and swift paddle in the pool before the hounds rest, happy and tired job done.

The ...

At school the physics teacher taught us Newtonian physics on something called a "frictionless plane", this little slope apparently does not exist in reality, since no surface is frictionless. Urban Mushers would beg to differ. Flat roads with compact ice are the perfect frictionless plane, but the physics is not Newtonian. Quattro paw 16 Claw drive running at vectors to each other is pure chaos. Our unit runs well as long as all forces align, the dogs resolve in a forward direction and I follow. The issue arises when I want to slow us, turn us, or avoid anything in our way. Last year we avoided a nasty accident by lying down the scooter and scraping sideways to a halt, avoiding taking down a nice lady walking her dog. The good news is that real mud and snow are our friends, offering give and resistance in just enough amounts to keep the string between me and the dogs on course like an expert steersman. For me and the hounds the fine pieces of mud and water really are the Dogs Bosun particles.

The Way of The Pack

The weekend run is often a later one, no pre-dawn darkness to mask our journey. Instead we are out at the same time as many other people, humans with pets and the curious metal wagons and their pasty human cargo. Some of those trapped in the metal cages slow down and get their daily exercise by gawping as they pass the pack in motion.
Other humans are also out exercising, pounding the pavements, gulping the cool damp morning air.
Does the pack feel superiority over these two legged creatures? No, they too share the spirit of the outdoors, the need to cover distance, to feel the elements on their skin, to mark the progression of the season in a daily ritual of sweat, pain and endorphines.
Today we spied two fluorescent rabbits along our route and for a little while we toyed with them. These bipedal rabbits offer us a moment of feral intent, an intent we know we will never fulfil, an intent to catch, pull down and devour in the manner of our lupine cousins. But we move off and pass by, leaving them in blissful ignorance of their unspent gratitude, they run to live, we live to run, it is the way of the pack

The Perception

Today began in cloud shrouded darkness and although darkness was a friend to Paul Simon, it is a dubious ally for me and the pack. Humans and pets don't take a chance on the blackness and so our journey is solitary, undisturbed by social niceties and human convention. The only sounds are those of hard breathing and occasional commands. Some of those commands are mine, others belong to the dogs. Mishka acts as the speed governess admonishing Millie for expending her energy too fast. Millie acts as navigator, if my shouted "Gee!" or "Haw!" does not meet an immediate response Millie produces a sound somewhere between growl and yap, which produces the course required from Mishka. The blackness obscures those unforeseen changes in our landscape, branches blown by the wind, rocks moved by walkers and farmers. The solitary handlebar light providing some warning, but far less useful than the body language of the dogs. A check of step, a swerve of the head can all indicate an imminent change in route. My job is to read the signs, as some people have said- "you must be a mentalist to go out at that time", I suppose they are right, although I never considered myself a doggy Derren Brown

The Performance - Winterdance

This mornings run started well before the first strains of "The Star Spangled Banner" became applicable, but the biting winds and overnight sleet showers meant that the ground was treacherous and our course time reduced. In the first part of the run I made mistakes, finding footing on mud and slipping sideways under the force of the wind was an annoyance to both me and the pack. But once exertion had restored circulation to toes and fingers we rattled on at high speed.
The first law of wilderness mushing is that the dogs come first, literally and metaphorically. This law still stands for us as urban mushers, so our return home is a routine with little variation. Rounding the last corner to home there is one final surge to the front drive. Once through the gate the pack stands, clouds of steam form around them as I un-hitch the line and one by one release them from the harnesses. Sometimes it is "not so slow moving Millie" who I let slip first, others it is Mishka, it all depends on whose efforts have been most significant on the run. This daily appraisal has no SMART objectives or praise sandwich, no increased pay follows, simply a pat and word of affection.
In summer both dogs will take chance to bathe in the water filled childrens sandpit in order to cool down. In Autumn as the mud forms both dance in the spray of the hose pipe. Today however, after drying them both off, Mishka and I played with the sleet, forming it in to balls and playing catch. Admittedly the ball never actually became mine to catch but wide eyed visceral pleasure meant that staying out in the cold felt like a surrender to the observance of a ritual performed since man and husky first teamed up- the welcome to winterdance.

The Preparation

Sometimes I think I should apologise to the neighbours. It starts as soon as I get out of bed, I'm sure that my movements, smell and possibly thoughts mean that the dogs are certain- This is the day! As I head downstairs I can hear them, stand, stretch and yawn, starting to limber up like any good athlete. During the ritual of dressing, over trousers, boots, day-glo top, neckercheif and helmet, they pace around tails wildly flapping. As I claim the door the atmosphere changes, they stand paused, for what will be the last moment of calm, as players pause before representing their country. Out of the door and it's time to get the scooter out. While I connect line and scooter, closing up the garage door the two hounds continue the warm up routine. The fear of betrayal by a cup of tea is gone, the joy of the day ahead. Millie is first into her harness, obligingly raising a paw at a time and standing quietly for Mishka to come in close. Mishka has been circling like a racehourse entering the trap, or a shark, restless in search of the target. She casually strolls towards me and in one movement slips into her harness. Now the noise, which before was only a vibration of excitment becomes audible. Small whines, yips and high pitched yowls from both dogs.
I open the gate and they surge forwards, but this is a false start to get us on the path. By now the musical shreiks are interspersed with barks and real volpine howls. "We must go, we must go now!"
And so we leave, a cacophany of primal power, an alarm call and warning to all those humans and pets- the pack is on the road at last.