Recently, my wonderful outdoor editor here at the Great Falls Tribune sent me an e-mail entitled, “Time to fess up...”
My immediate reaction was to think, “What did I do? What did I do?” I had to be guilty of something - twelve years of Catholic school taught me that.
And then I read the body of the e-mail and realized what he was talking about. For the last several months, I have been putting off writing about my “retirement” from the sport of dog mushing.
There, I said it.
Last spring, I decided to quit my full-time job as a dog musher. I don’t really think “retired” is the best word to describe getting out of mushing;that word seems to imply two things - that I am old and that I made a living (got paid real money) as a dog musher. I am getting older by the day but, I can assure you, I never made money raising, training, and racing sled dogs.
And calling mushing a “job” is a stretch for me too. Many of the best moments of my life were spent standing on the runners of a sled being pulled by a team of huskies - dogs I brought up and loved like family - across remote and magical landscapes. I am a very lucky woman.
I think the reason I’ve had such a difficult time writing about getting out of the sport is because it was such a personal and emotional decision for me. And the idea of it, the reality of it still feels pretty raw. How do I write about getting rid of my dogs when I barely even want to talk about it?
I kept putting off this column because I thought I might have some grand epiphany that would help spell out and define what I am feeling - the emotional side of retiring from dogs. I am still waiting for that revelation. But then I realized that the practical side of not being a dog musher was quite simple to explain and understand. So why not start with that?
To most people, the thought of owning 40 dogs or more seems anything but practical. The time and money spent caring for, training, and racing a sled dog team is truly endless. Unlike many other sports, mushing can’t be done easily as just a hobby. It’s all or nothing when you are dealing with living beings. You have dogs, therefore you must take care of them, love them, and exercise them every day, year-round. There is no other way. At least, that’s how I see it.
Last spring, I finally realized that I was facing a major decision in my life. All of my time and money was going into mushing so I knew that it was important that I actually think through if this was the right thing for me to continue doing. I had already completed the goal I gave myself several years back - to run and finish the Iditarod - so what next?
I knew that if I continued to run dogs that I would want to be more competitive. I was no longer content with racing just to finish. But being competitive in races like the Iditarod means more dogs, more handlers, more time, and more money.
I came to the conclusion that I am ready for a change. I am ready to devote my energies to different challenges - other outdoor adventures, sports, and most importantly, my career as a writer. Life is short and there is so much to do. There’s something about having 40 dogs that seems to consume your every waking moment.
But what about the dogs? That’s the question that made getting out of dogs almost unbearable for me to consider. The dogs are why I became a musher. And they are why I continued to be a musher even after I knew that I was ready for a change.
I don’t feel right about selling my dogs to most other mushers and losing track of them in the endless cycle of buying and selling that is involved in the sport. When it was time for me to find a home for dogs who didn’t make my team or became too old, I preferred to give them away to good pet homes where I knew they would live out the remainder of their days on a nice warm couch, receiving lots of love and attention. But giving valuable dogs away as pets is not a good business plan for a musher.
It’s hard enough to find a good home for one dog; for months, I agonized over the thought of finding good homes for my entire team. And then I got practical. I sat down and made a list of the mushers who I respected and knew would value my dogs as much as I do. I picked up the phone and called the two mushers on the list. I told them that I was thinking about retiring from mushing and I was looking for a good home for my dogs. I called them because I knew that they saw their dogs as more than just an endless string of athletes passing through their kennel; they saw their dogs as family. I offered each person half of my team - the adults going to one home and my beloved puppies (now two-year olds) going to another. I had already given many dogs away to pet homes.
Both friends called me back within a few days, saying they would love to have my dogs. We made an agreement that if they ever decided to sell them or find pet homes for them that I would be involved in the process. I hung up the phone feeling shocked, relieved, guilty, and sad. And I still feel all of those things.
The dogs are now settled in and happy at their new homes in Michigan and Wyoming. I get regular updates on how they are doing. Both mushers plan to run the dogs in the 2007 Iditarod.
I miss the dogs - each and every one of them. But I have to be honest, my days seem to have tripled in length. I am enjoying the time to write and do new things. And the money part of it needs no explanation. I still have my sled dog, Borage, and terrier, Jigs. I will always be involved with dogs in one way or another.
So there... I fessed up. I am out of dogs. It wasn’t so hard writing about the practical side. But the emotional side is gonna take awhile.
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