Turning Heads Kennel

Alaska Dog Sledding Tours

passing on

Changing Weather

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It’s been cold out. When you walk outside in the morning the cold air hits you like a slap in the face. It’s a great way to wake up. We’ve been slowly building the mileage up on the dogs. They’re back to doing 20 mile runs again. You can tell they’re happy to be running further but our lack of trails means we are simply doing more and more loops of the same. We tried venturing out onto some of our old training trails early this week only to discover how badly they’d been hit. The soft, small gravel that once graced these paths was swept away and replaced by large rocks that are not good for dog feet or dog wrists.

So, with that, we decided to pack the dogs up and head twenty minutes down the road to another set trails. Unfortunately, when we got there, we discovered the same thing: wash out. It was a little demoralizing to say the least. On the drive home, the clutch on our truck went out. It seems like its just been one misadventure after another or as they say: when it rains, it pours. While we’ve seen our fair share of rain, I’m happy to report that we’ve had beautiful, glorious sun shine for almost two weeks now. The cold is good for that.

Turning Heads Kennel travels down Old Exit Glacier Road as a part of Fall Training

The winds have been picking up slowly too. We wake to snow covered peaks then watch, slowly, as the snow gets blown from the mountain tops. The dogs are happy in their houses, safe out of the wind, their own howls muffled by mother natures’. When we’ve run the dogs, we’ve been tremendously impressed by the cadence and rhythm of the team. They move with grace, style, and ease. We’re happy at their progress, not only in terms of miles covered but also in how they’ve become their own unit. They are a team.

Watching their gate, the subtle movements of their legs and hips and shoulders all in unison, it’s easy to get lost in the moment. On a dog team is a very peaceful place. As we pass the trees with their shriveled leaves, it’s hard not to think of all that’s happened this last year. Fall has always seemed to be a natural time for reflection for me. The stark change between summer and winter begins settling in, and it’s impossible not to reflect on all that’s happened, as you see the myriad changes unfold before your eyes.

Last October was such a pivotal month. Humbling, really. It’s hard to forget the things that bring you to your knees. The dogs who made you, who changed you, and who inevitably had to  leave you. It’s impossible to forget the dogs who got you to where you are today, so we’ve been thinking a lot lately about both Hatchet and Chena who passed away almost a year ago. Even though we are in a completely new home and have a completely new dog lot, it’s still strange not seeing them here. They would have loved calling this place home. I don’t think the pain of losing someone whether it be a person or pet, ever truly goes away,  but I do think that time can wash over it, dulling it a little. We’ve found new things to pour our hearts into: new dogs to love on and who loves us,  but there are always little reminders —  like the pictures we print and display or the paw print you so desperately cling to. I like to think that each dog changes us, whether you have one dog or forty of them, and when you lose that dog a part of you changes

We’ve come so far since last year. It’s hard not to be proud of our dogs or ourselves. We moved.  I started my qualifiers for Iditarod and Travis finished his. We bought a house. We started a business. We reclaimed our back yard. We built a dog yard. Travis signed up for Iditarod. We built a gift shop. We built a garden. We did many, many dog tours over the summer. We built a bunch of brand new dog houses and then painted them whacky, fun colors. We had 3 (thankfully small!) litters of wonderful puppies. We flooded. With help, we built a new dog yard. We made new friends. We are rebuilding our basement. We are rebuilding our giftshop. We signed up for several dog races. We went to a tourism conference. We are conquering the obstacles that are in front of us. We are working hard. We are going places.

 

When They Leave Us Behind…

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We apologize for not updating sooner, but the end of October was not kind to us. We lost two dogs rather unexpectedly this past week and are still trying to recover.

Hatchet

Hatchet, was one of our mean lead dogs and spent the entire summer up in Anchorage keeping Travis company. He was an exceptionally friendly and intelligent dog.  I remember one day this fall when it had been raining for several days straight, Travis and I went out into the dog yard to start digging ditches to clear some of the water. When we got to near Hatchet’s area, he took one look at what we were doing and, voracious digger that he was, he pitched in and helped out. He wasn’t digging just randomly either. He was an incredibly smart and talented dog who, on more than one occasion, walked leash-less in downtown Anchorage. All he needed was vocal commands.

Although he was primarily Travis’ leader, the few times I ran Hatchet up front I was nothing short of impressed. Travis had Hatchet since he was a puppy and, fortunately, we have several of his kids to remember him by: Larry, Curly, and Little Screamer.  I will always remember how excited he was whenever he ran off leash or how excited he was simply to pull; Hatchet knew how to get the team moving. He will be terribly missed.

Chena

Chena was my pet dog. A ten-year old Siberian husky, she was incredibly devoted to me. To others, she was frustrating. Try as they might, Chena was difficult to befriend. She had an incredibly ambivalent attitude towards most people. A gentle-spirit, Chena was extremely shy, incredibly funny, and unbelievably loyal. I’ve never had a dog follow me around the way Chena would. My mother used to call her my lady-in-waiting. If I left a room, Chena would leave the room or if I stood up, she’d stand up. Simple things, but her love and devotion were evident. If I left her for the day, you’d never see a dog jump up and down with so much excitement upon my return — I will certainly miss that. I actually couldn’t even get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom without her following me to sit outside and, on more than one occasion, she simply barged her way in. She was a dog that knew what she wanted and often got it.

One time, Chena  tried to eat my college diploma. She once ran around under the chairlift at Killington Ski Resort. When we went skiing, we used to tie her up outside and gosh, could she howl — we could here her from the mountain. She had two stuffed sheep that she liked to think were her puppies and that she’d do anything for. She walked into a lit fireplace, forcing us to coin the phrase “Chena-dumb.” But she was anything but stupid. She knew how to get what she wanted. She often felt like she needed to compete for my attention and, as a result, often didn’t warm up to the other people in my life. She routinely ran away when my parents watched her. She always barked like mad at my father. And, on more than one occasion, she tricked Travis out of bed simply to steal his spot and lie next to me. She is the only dog I’ve ever known to break into the pound and the only dog I’ve ever known who ran away from sheep. We used to live near a sheep farm when we were still in New England and I used to walk her out there. She’d sit and watch the sheep but, one day, her presence seemed to upset the flock and they started baahing. This terrified her. That dog high-tailed it out of there so fast I had no time to do anything about it; but I didn’t worry. I walked home and she was simply sitting on the front porch waiting to be let inside. She was incredible dog and moving forward will not be easy.

Saying Goodbye

The shock of losing both Hatchet and Chena within such a small span of time still doesn’t feel real. I still come home and open the door gingerly because Chena used to sit in front of it when I went out and, if I opened it too quickly, I’d hit her with it. I still look out at Hatchet’s house and expect to see him there — instead, there’s a young goofy looking pup because the sight of his house empty was simply too hard to see. Yesterday, putting away harnesses, we saw Hatchet’s harness and Chena’s. It’s the little reminders that they’re gone that are the painful ones. Not having to yell at Hatchet to line out when we first start hooking up or having to put him back on his house when we’re done with a run. Not hearing Chena barking with excitement because oh my god! it’s time to eat. It’s looking at Goblin and Gremlin who weren’t her puppies but whom she adopted anyways and protected from the other dogs.

Hatchet and Chena are buried next to one another in the back yard. To make things a little more bizarre, Chena was actually pregnant with Hatchet’s puppies. Unfortunately, the puppies did not survive — and Chena, who so desperately wanted to be a mother, I think died mostly of a broken heart. Although it by no means makes things easier, we take comfort knowing that Chena, Hatchet, and their puppies are together as a family in heaven.