DARK SNOW

          Far away from the throngs of people cheering on the dog sled teams passing through the checkpoint in town, I stared at the open bottle of sleeping pills then at the crooked picture of my missing husband. It’s been six months since his plane vanished from the radar. Loneliness overwhelmed me. I couldn’t face anyone. “Poor Melody.” They all said. There were even rumors that he ran away with another woman. Isolation became the answer, but not without consequences. I wanted to get out. Leave this place, but how could I after he disappeared. The bottle of sleeping pills was the answer. Tonight, I planned on taking all of them.   

The distant barking made me furious. I saw a sled dog kennel once, each dog was chained to a small house, their range limited by the heavy weight around their neck. It made me sick and I walked out of the kennel. My husband wanted to start a dog sled team, but I refused after

seeing that kennel. I crushed his dream. Maybe he could have done it the right way, but does anyone here?

            The barking came closer. That never happened before. I pulled the shotgun off the wall and headed to the door. No musher was going to cut through my land taking a shortcut on their way to make money for himself.

            I waited outside the front door as the barks got louder, snow flakes started to fall and I wiped my eyes. The gun became heavier the longer it took, but I still lifted it when the dogs entered the field. The front two ran like maniacs dragging the slower dogs in the back like an anchor, their yelps couldn’t stop the panicked front dogs. The urge to shoot the musher came to me, but there was none. The dogs pulled an empty sled.

            “What the hell?” I dropped the gun then ran out into the field to stop the sled, but how do you stop a train coming at you at full speed. The answer was that you don’t.

            The dogs saw me, but they kept going and knocked me over, but I managed to grab onto the sled.

            “Whoa. Whoa.” I yelled out. The dogs closest to the sled gave up, their bodies slid on the snow. They were in trouble. With all my strength which wasn’t much nowadays, I pulled myself up and grabbed the handles. I pulled on the brake and kept yelling. Approaching a fence, the dogs slowed a bit and I yanked harder on the brake. The lead dogs turned then finally slowed to a stop. The other dogs crashed into each other, except the ones dragged across the snow. They slowly got up. The snow under them a crimson color. They all had bloody paws or booties with red stains, a few held legs up, they all panted.

            “Where is the damn musher?”

Nobody came out of the woods following the sled. In the distance, the race went on.

Pain flared through me, but it was not unwelcomed. I felt alive and now I had a mission. I would give this musher a piece of my mind and more, but first the dogs. I couldn’t get a cellphone connection here, so I used a landline when I needed to contact anyone, but I wasn’t calling anyone involved in the race, since they would just get the musher back in the race and drop a few dogs off at a checkpoint. The dropped dogs were doomed if they couldn’t race again. Performance culling, they called it.

            I struggled to get the back dogs up, they were sore, scratched, and exhausted. After massaging legs, rubbing backs, and a few kind words they got to their feet while the leaders waited. I feared they would take off despite the now locked brake.

            Each dog wore a collar with a number on it. No name, a number. The numbers ranged between seventeen and thirty-seven. There were missing numbers. What happened to all the others? I feared the answer.

            I managed to slowly release the brake and by walking next to the lead dogs, I led all of them into a large garage with individuals stalls we built when we first arrived in Alaska. The dreams of getting horses like the dog sled kennel never came true. I unhooked the sled and shut the door when they got inside. I ran into the house and gathered up all the blankets I could along with buckets I filled with water. I lugged them all into the garage.

            They drank and curled up on the blankets. Night came quickly and I stayed with them in the garage. I forgot about being lonely and I worked through the night keeping the dogs comfortable. A few still limped. Nobody came for them through the night, even though they could easily follow the tracks in the snow.

            Despite my desire for isolation, I needed to get help. I called the local animal hospital.       

They didn’t believe me, so they called the police.

            After an hour, a police car drove up and two state policemen got out and looked around. They saw the tracks and the dark snow where the dog’s blood soaked into the snow. They shook their heads and came to the door, but I waved them to the garage.

            “What kind of person loses a whole dog team.”

            “We did receive a report that a musher fell off his sled when the team went against his commands and sped up. He hit a branch.”

            “Are you kidding me. He’s blaming the dogs?”

            “Yep.”

            “The dogs are a mess. He was running them to their death, maybe they were sick of it.”

            They laughed, I didn’t.

            “He wants them back. They are his property.”

            I clenched my fist. “Property?”

            “That’s the law here.”

            “So, he can kill them?” I bit my bottom lip.

            “Yes. In Alaska he can.”

            “Tell him I want them or I’ll put on the news and internet how bad he treated them.”

            “He’s not going to let you just keep them.”

            “So, he would rather kill them.”

The two state policemen walked away. They made a few calls. After a while, I left and treated the dogs. It would be hard to care for them. Really hard. I might fail, but I couldn’t give

them back. How could I knowing what would happen to them?

            They came back.

            “He said, if you pay their medical bills and keep quiet about what happened they are yours. He just wants to race again with a new team and no bad reputation.”

            I looked at the dog’s, they all sat silently and I saw sadness and worry in their eyes. It was justified. Their lives were hanging in the balance and they knew it. If I spoke out most of Alaska would turn against me. I nodded to the policemen.

            They left and I heard one of them saying how tough I was, although I felt weak.

            The animal hospital sent out a doctor. Medicine was prescribed. I sold everything I could and called a fence company. The dogs filled up all my time, my loneliness dissipated, neighbors stopped by and I let them. I would never hook the dogs to a sled again.

                                                                                                                 ###

            On a night that the northern lights flared overhead, I heard an update on the dog sled race. A few dogs died of pneumonia or heart failure, no big deal they said, it happens every year. There were a few that were discovered to be drugged with pain killers, one musher accused another of sabotage, and a few dogs went missing. They were all forgotten as they praised the winning musher, despite the fact that he dropped six dogs during the race. What happened to them? Nobody can answer that question.

            I couldn’t listen any more. My husband remained missing, but I was found. Ten dogs saved me and I threw away the sleeping pills.

            As I removed the collars with the dog’s numbers on them, they all gathered around me. Warmth ran through me and I tried to think of names for all of them.

           “Who sent you here?” I asked out loud. They answered with barks. What were the odds a runaway dogsled team would come here on the night I was considering taking my life? I couldn’t save every sled dog, but maybe I could watch out for them. I could stand up for them, be a voice they can’t be. Do something, anything to let people know this is not okay. The mushers race for money, but it’s just survival for the dogs. It’s not fun for them. They need somebody. They need me and I need them.