Poochie, True King of the North

I heard voices in the distance. I heard people talking. Their voices became loud and then louder. My eyes widened, and boom – ten slobbering dogs running full speed whilst pulling a sled of three permanently smiling humans, came rushing around the corner of the dog mushing trail. Poochie and I were fifteen feet away and trotting.

I calmy freaked out and pulled on the leash as I leapt into the neighboring snow, post-holing deeper than my hips, crashing sideways into the mushy snow, pulling poor poochie in tow. He got mildly trampled by a pack of tame but wild-spirited dogs, dog wild, and wildly running in a state of adrenaline mad joy. Poochie was pissed and started gnawing my elbow. He is not a biter, so I knew he was either injured or just real pissed off scared.

Bob, the always happy musher from Belgium, stopped the sled and everyone laughed. Each asking the other if everything was okay. No one seemed injured, except King Poochie. Fox Alaska was warmer this particular week of deep winter and so the normally frozen earth was mushy danger.

We managed to climb out of the snow and I began walking quickly with Poochie in order to see how his body was fairing. He was limping a bit, but all things considered, perfectly AOK. He is an old man, and has a hard time with his hind legs. Generally though, on trail, he channels his previous (younger years) life as a long distance mushing dog and runs with carefree abandon. I love it. This joy activates my own joy spark inside – every day!

My friend Sven had asked me to take care of Poochie for the summer, while he attended flight school. Knowing I may just get a future plane ride into my Alaskan dreams, and being the dog lover that I am, I said Yes absolutely! I had been missing my red rock adventures with my siberian husky Mr. Hobbs, whom never made it out of the four corners into the arctic magic of Alaska. When I run with Poochie, Mister Hobbs’ spirit and memories of our endless desert and forest adventures are not far off.

Sled dogs often live on chains, and that is not generally something I resonate with, but their howling in unison like a pack of wolves and dog loving dog handlers, set my heart at ease, early on this winter. Now living with fifty six-ish sled dogs outside my cabin door (my own little dog house), I see and feel and hear their exhilaration when they get hooked up to the sleds every single day. They love to run. They love to gang up and bark at the ravens. I love hearing them going ape wild while some are getting chosen for the ride and then – silence! I open the front door and see them rushing west into the sunrise, and quickly. Everything is so quiet.

King Poochers struts his freedom around the yard somedays and instigates trouble with the younger dogs. Mostly though, he loves to hide out under his personal lounge, the generator shack, that powers this off-grid paradise. I often hang out inside the shed with him for petting and hanging out time, as well as, sharing energetic healing with his thinning body. He is very receptive to this attention and I always deliver the good dog treats too.

King Poochie is now about fifteen or sixteen. He can barely walk somedays, but he will not stop running. I think he was written off in a way, as being retired, and not so long for the world. Then I came along and took charge of Poochie's fate, and his mine. We found eachother and inspire eachother to get back out there – and run wild.

My heart has opened wider since knowing Poochie. We have now experienced the hot smoky summer, the golden amber birch of fall, and the -25 winter runs. I don’t generally do leashes, as I love for us both to feel free! Poochie, however, has a tendancy to run clear to the highway, so usually I choose to leash up, when our journeys involve crossing the road, even though it's remote and fairly quiet.

When I stand in the sun too long, finding that sweet spot of sun streaming through the wintered forest, he goes nuts. He wants to move – and now! He is young at heart, though a bit grouchy at times. Once, while trying to keep up with the running beast in front of me, my leather gloved frozen fingers lost grip of Poocher's leash. I tracked his prints in the snow for a few hours, eventually leading me to his generator shed lounge, where he lounged nonchalantly.

At night, we journey around this north facing property, and while Poochie enjoys the smells and the freedom his retired status brings him, I trip in the snow, mesmerized in the bright star views above and dancing green lights.

I love how he runs ahead of me – and turns and waits, and I sometimes, run ahead of him – and turn and wait. These moments are the best! I cherish them on the daily.

Knowing King Poochie, I have gained a part of myself that I didn’t even know was needing a retrieval.