Degrees of Separation Read online

  “What’s got you warbling first thing this morning, birthday girl?” he asked, padding down the stairs, his feet making little sound in a pair of heavy boot socks.

  “Oh—you’re up. Look out the window,” Jessie said, grinning at him and waving a spatula in that direction before turning back to the eggs she was frying to go with bacon and toast.

  Alex crossed the room and stood looking out into the dog yard with surprise. “Snow!”

  “Yeah! There must be five or six inches of the beautiful stuff—white, fluffy, wonderful, beautiful s-n-o-w! Enough to run dogs with a sled.”

  “No wonder you’re so cheerful.” He joined her in the kitchen to pour mugs of coffee for both of them, which he took to the table. “It must have snowed hard all night just to give you a birthday present.”

  “Yes, and they’re still coming down—big, fat, fabulous flakes. You can barely see the highway from here they’re so thick. If it keeps up like this, and we don’t get warmer weather and more rain, it’ll stick.”

  “How about the woods trails? Will there be enough snow under the trees? We had that big wind a couple of weeks ago. Will there be fallen branches clogging them?”

  Jessie brought plates of food to the table, set one in front of Alex and sat down with her own, pulling the sugar bowl across to spoon some into her coffee mug.

  “Just about all the leaves are down, so the trails should be fine,” she answered. “I went out on the four-wheeler after the blow and cleared branches and stuff from a couple of them—the one that runs across behind the Johnsons’ place and the one that goes to the top of the hill and loops around. I think they’re fine, but we’ll take it slow for a while anyway, just to be sure.”

  As they ate, Alex noticed the pleasure on her face, as she glanced often at the white flakes drifting down outside the window, and considered the enthusiasm with which Jessie was welcoming the arrival of winter.

  It had been a difficult and frustrating year for her. First, in the spring of the previous year, there had been the fall that tore a tendon in her knee enough to require surgery. It had taken her off a sled behind her dog teams for months, as she waited for it to heal, so there had been no training or racing—a frustrating situation for a dedicated musher. Along with it came many hours of therapy to rehabilitate the knee.

  The majority of her dogs had been moved to another kennel, where a friend had cared for and run them, allowing them to continue what they loved and lived for, trotting happily in a team in front of a sled. Two or three times a week, for the past year, Jessie had gone to visit this kennel, keeping her contact strong with the dogs that she would be running again this year.

  The dozen or so that had been left in Jessie’s yard were either older dogs like Pete, ready to be retired, or females pregnant with puppies that would need both their mothers’ care and feeding. It was also important that the pups be socialized—learning to recognize and imprint with a person who would eventually add them to racing teams, or sell them to other mushers. A few of them would, for one reason or other, be unsuitable as racing sled dogs, and would likely wind up in good homes as pets.

  Then there was Tank, her leader, from whom she refused to be separated, knowing they would both be unhappy and dissatisfied apart.

  In June, when her doctor finally allowed it, her dogs had been returned to their home yard, where she trained them during the summer months by letting the teams pull the four-wheeler on dry, local trails. Now she was not only ready but anxious to get back into the real game—on the back of a sled—on snow.

  “After all the rain we’ve had, it wouldn’t hurt to take another look at those trails,” Alex suggested. “Why don’t you run them once on the snow machine? I’ll feed and water the dogs while you’re gone, and get out whichever sled you want to use.”

  “Good idea. That’ll pack the trails enough to make better running for the mutts. But I can help with their breakfast before I go.”

  “Naw. You go ahead. I really don’t mind doing it. Which ones do you want to take out first? I’ll feed them before the others.”

  As Jessie named the dozen dogs she wanted to put into harness for the initial run, she and Alex took their dishes to the kitchen, where they quickly washed and left them to dry in a rack by the sink. Then, both dressed warmly against the cold, they headed outside and were soon busy at their respective jobs.

  Good sled dogs are agile, strong, love to run, and most are highly intelligent. Aware—perhaps from some nonverbal communication of Jessie’s elated intention for the day—that some of them were about to be taken on a training run, they leaped onto their boxes or pulled against their tethers. Their excited barking was loud, eager, and demanding: “Take me! Take me! Take me!”

  She grinned at their antics and crossed to a shed, where she kept equipment, supplies, and a couple of snow machines, one of which she drove out, intending to make a quick run to assess the trails through the woods.

  Though she would have preferred a dog team, as she drove into the trees and away from the cabin and dog yard, Jessie was pleased just to be outdoors, knowing that a run with one of her teams, and a sled, was finally about to become reality.

  Deciding to check the shortest trail first, she headed north through the woods and was soon passing behind the Johnsons’ place, just over half a mile away. It was so fine to be out on such a day, even on the snow machine, that she drove with a smile of appreciation on her face. Several inches of snow had buried all the bright brassy gold of fallen birch leaves under a white blanket several inches deep that matched the sky and the flakes that were still drifting down. The green of the spruce was so dark in contrast that she felt as if she were traveling through a black-and-white photograph.

  The trail was good, without fallen branches or other obstacles, so she soon took a side road west to Knik Road, where she followed along a trail beside it until she came to her own drive. There, she found Alex finished with the food and water chores, but still in the yard.

  “How’s it look out there?” he called, straightening from where he had been bending over Pete with a frown.

  “Great. No troubles. I’ll leave the other, longer trail for the dogs to break. They can use the exercise and experience.”

  “Before you hitch them up, come here a minute and have a look at Pete. I think he may have a bigger problem than you thought.”

  Turning off the snow machine engine, Jessie came quickly and fell to her knees in the snow beside the older dog, who had come out of his box and was lapping halfheartedly at the water Alex had poured into his bowl. Between laps, he was panting and there was a wheeze accompanying each breath.

  “That really doesn’t sound good,” Alex said, shaking his head. “And he’s not too steady on his feet—had trouble getting up. Hasn’t touched his food, just wanted a drink.”

  He watched as Jessie took a long careful look at her dog and ran knowledgeable hands over him. Laying an ear to his chest, she listened closely, after which she petted him sadly, crooning fondness. “Good old Pete. Not feeling so good, are you? Poor guy. It’ll be all right, good dog. I love you.”

  He leaned against her and gave one side of her face an affectionate lick.

  She looked up at Alex, and in her clear gray eyes were tears that overflowed and ran down her face.

  “He was like this once a couple of weeks ago,” she told him. “I took him in and the vet said that if it happened again, and didn’t get better fairly soon, I should bring him back and consider putting him down before his suffering got worse.”

  “What did he say to do while you waited for fairly soon?”

  “Just keep him warm, give him plenty of water, and wait an hour or two to see how he does.”

  “Then that’s what we should do. I’ll take him inside and make him comfortable, if you want to run that other trail.”

  Jessie shook her head as she stood up, unhooked Pete’s tether, and lifted him carefully off the ground into her arms. “No. I can do that trail later, or tomor
row. It’ll keep. There’s always another day for training, snow or no snow. Bring his water bowl—and Tank, will you? Having him along may make Pete more comfortable.”

  Once inside, she put Pete on the rug near the stove, where he lay down immediately, muzzle on paws. She could hear him wheeze all the way to the kitchen, where she put water in his bowl and took it back to him. Tank had followed Alex in the door and gone immediately to lie down next to Pete. In a few minutes they were both napping.

  Jessie settled close by on the sofa with the latest Mushing magazine, where she could monitor the older dog’s condition, but soon found herself unable to concentrate and tossed the periodical aside.

  “I think I’ll call the vet,” she said, getting up and heading for the phone.

  Alex, who had also been listening closely, nodded agreement.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  A sick dog was Jessie’s responsibility, he knew. She was more familiar with and knowledgeable about the health and temperament of each of her animals, so he hesitated to give advice or involve himself in their care unless invited to do so. Still, Pete was a favorite of his, as well as hers, and he knew without asking that she would welcome his support.

  After a few minutes on the phone, Jessie put it down and turned to say, “He says not to wait to see how he does, but to bring him in now. Will you come with us?”

  “Of course. I’ll take Tank to the yard and start my truck.”

  “Good. I’ll get a blanket to keep Pete warm and bring him out in just a minute.”

  He watched her leave the room as he moved to the door to put his coat and boots back on, assessing her mood. There had been no more tears. She was a practical woman who took life as it came, good or bad, with composure and little complaint. Dogs grew old, or got sick, and sometimes died. It was part of what owning and driving so many of them meant. She knew and accepted that as part of the game. It didn’t mean she took it lightly or didn’t care. That Pete was special in their history together made it harder, but she had a way of appreciating the good stuff and not allowing herself to dwell on the bad. He admired her for it.

  “Come on, Tank,” he called quietly.

  Pete raised his head at the words and watched his buddy get up and cross the room to Alex, but stayed where he was on the rug.

  They went out the door together without looking back, knowing Jessie would be quick to follow.

  Two hours later they were back. Jessie had said little on the way home, just stared out the window at whatever they were passing. Pete’s limp body lay in the bed behind the cab, wrapped in the blanket Jessie had taken along to keep him warm.

  “He’s a lot worse, isn’t he?” Jessie had asked, as the vet examined the old dog, listening carefully through his stethoscope to Pete’s breathing and heart.

  “I’m afraid so. And he’s not going to get better, Jessie. I’m sorry to say it, because I know he’s special to you, but you won’t be doing him a favor by keeping him around this way. I can put him to sleep, then give him another shot to put him down humanely now, without the painful struggle to breathe that he’ll have if you take him home to die slowly in the next day or two.”

  Stepping close to the table to lay gentle hands on Pete, she had given him a long, thoughtful look. Then she nodded sadly.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know you’re right. I’ll hold him while you do that.”

  So the three of them had come home again, for Jessie wanted Pete buried in an open space back in the woods behind the cabin, with the few other dogs she had lost from her kennel over the years.

  And so he was. Alex managed to scrape out enough of a hole in the cold ground for Pete and she had laid him carefully down in it, blanket and all. When it was filled in and the ground leveled again, she stood looking down sadly.

  “He was a sweet old guy, with a huge heart,” she said quietly. “Patient, hardworking, even-tempered, he never picked fights. He was good with puppies and there wasn’t a lazy bone in him. He may not have been the smartest, or the best runner of the pack, but he was always willing to try to do what you wanted of him—asking little, giving much. I’ll miss him—a lot.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MORE SNOW FELL DURING THE NIGHT AND WAS STILL FALLING thinly the next morning. Jessie was up early. While Alex made breakfast, she fed and watered the dogs, and readied herself to take a team and sled out for a run over the trail she had checked the day before on the four-wheeler. After choosing a sled from several in the storage shed, she attached a gang line to the front of it and brought out harnesses for eleven dogs.

  Familiarity with the activity set almost all of the dogs to barking enthusiastically and yanking at their tethers, eager to be chosen for the training run.

  Like many of the others, Digger, a regular team member, leaped excitedly at the end of his tether in the third row, wild with the desire to be selected.

  “Okay, okay! Take it easy. You can go,” she told him, laughing and giving him a pat of reassurance. “You too, Taffy. But I want food first, so settle down.”

  She came back inside, smiling at their antics.

  “All it takes is a little snow,” she said, pouring herself a mug of coffee. “After all these days of rain and no exercise they’re raring to go and it’ll take miles to calm them down. I’m going to have to watch it out there or they’ll have us ricocheting off trees on the turns.”

  “Well,” Alex answered with a grin, handing her a bowl of oatmeal. “I’d say the musher is just about as eager to hit the trail, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sick of being stuck indoors. Even with an evening at the Other Place night before last and bridge with Cass and Linda last night, it’s been too long indoors.”

  They had gone, as planned, for dinner with Ben and Linda Caswell, complete with a candle-laden cake for Jessie’s birthday, and had played several hands of bridge afterward in an ongoing casual competition begun years earlier. Though she had been a little quieter than usual, Alex knew the evening had lifted her spirits.

  “We really got lucky with all those good cards last night. And those new earrings looked great on you.”

  “Thanks to you.” Jessie lifted the last spoonful of her oatmeal, but held it balanced over the bowl as she nodded agreement. “We should get together with them more often—our turn next time.”

  Ben Caswell, a pilot who worked with Alex frequently, flew his small plane for the Alaska state troopers on contract. Jessie and Linda shared gardening and canning the results on a seasonal basis, exchanged recipes, and generally helped each other out with whatever needed doing by more than one person. The four had enjoyed each other’s company for years.

  “Well,” said Jessie, rising from the table with her empty bowl and coffee mug in hand. “I’d better get out there before the guys drag their boxes into the driveway or break their tethers.”

  “Not much chance of either, I suspect. You’ve got those boxes pretty well staked down and the tether cables are unbreakable.”

  “Thanks be!” She crossed to the door and began to put her warm outdoor clothing and boots back on. “Leave the dishes. I’ll clean up the kitchen when I come back.”

  “Naw, I’ll do it. As promised, I’m going to make a batch of beef stew and put it on the back burner to simmer. Seems appropriate for the first snow of the season.”

  “Sounds great! Just the thing after a day with the mutts,” Jessie called back over a shoulder, as she went out the door.

  Ignoring the kitchen for the moment, Alex took his coffee across to the window and watched as she put a harness on one dog at a time, took each to the gang line, and attached it securely in its place before going back for the next animal. In just a few minutes ten of them were matched up in pairs, still excitedly barking, and ready to go. Tank made eleven, in front, where he stood looking back for her signal, ready to lead the team out of the yard.

  After walking the length of the harnessed team and sled, giving each dog a pat or a word as she passe
d, Jessie swung herself onto the back runners of the sled, pulled out the snow hook that held it back, took a firm grip on the handles, and called to her lead dog.

  “Okay, Tank. Let’s go. Take ’em out.”

  He sprang forward and the team followed eagerly, jerking the sled into motion, all of them eager and pulling hard. In a very short time they were into the woods, vanishing from Alex’s sight like some kind of magic through the veil of gently falling snow.

  The dogs left behind in the kennel gradually quieted their yapping disappointment and went to their water pans or back into their boxes. Some, ignoring the weather, leaped to the top of them to watch, knowing the vanished team would eventually be back and they might get lucky next time.

  Alex turned back to the kitchen, where he quickly cleaned the few dishes from breakfast, poured himself another mug of coffee, and began to chop carrots, onions, and celery, while the cubed beef browned in a heavy cast-iron skillet. As he worked, he cheerfully whistled his way through a repertoire of golden oldies from the sixties and seventies, and decided that later a batch of biscuits would complete the dinner menu.

  As they followed the trail through the woods, Jessie let her dogs run until their enthusiasm calmed a bit and they slowed, content to drop into a familiar and comfortable, steady, ground-covering trot. As always, she was pleased with their desire to run. It was what they were born to, trained for, and wanted more than anything to do. But on this first of the snow season training runs she was just as pleased to finally be back in her own chosen element—the white silence of a winter trail, with the scrape and swish of runners on snow and the intermittent creak of a flexible sled almost the only sounds, the feel and soft whisper of tiny icy crystals on her face and clothing, the rhythmic motion of the team and sled crossing over uneven ground and around trees.