Even though I planned on taking my required 24-hour break much further down the trail, I decided to use it at Tanana to allow my team time to regroup and heal. I just prayed 24 hours was enough time to solve all of our problems.
Every few hours, all night long, I pulled on my snowsuit and mukluks, and tromped out of the warm mushers’ cabin to check on my team. I went from dog to dog applying new heat packs and adjusting blankets. I massaged their legs with Algyval, a warming oil, and rewrapped each wrist with neoprene sweat wraps to keep the joints from swelling. Working oil into their shoulders and back muscles, I watched them sleep and dream.
The rising sun cast a pastel-yellow glow over the dog lot as I fired up the cooker for another feeding. When they heard the rattling of pans and crinkling of Ziploc bags full of beaver treats, they all turned their heads with interest. I walked down the line and tossed each one an hors d’oeuvres to tide them over until breakfast was thawed.
“They sure are eating good,” the veternarian commented as he watched them lick their bowls clean. “They can’t be too tired eating like that.”
I knew he was right. Tired dogs don’t eat. My team was up, bouncing around and playing. The problem wasn’t exhaustion, weak appetites, or lack of desire. Bandit danced in place and flirted with Cherry. His energy was a positive sign but the way he pointed his front right leg told me a different story. Hours later, a pulled shoulder muscle forced me to drop him from my team. Kemmerer was also ready to work, but I eventually decided to drop her due to a soreness in her right hip. All of the dogs were feeling better within days, but in racing, recovery time is everything.
I dreaded the tough decisions I might have to make as the end of my 24-hour layover neared. Starting at the back of the team, I removed coats and wraps from one dog at a time and walked them on a long leash to warm up their muscles and evaluate their gaits for lamenesses.
I was down to an 8-dog team with 120 miles of Yukon River between Tanana and the next checkpoint. I told myself, “I won’t go unless all 8 dogs are perfectly healthy.”
Pig knew. When I clipped the leash to her collar for her turn to walk, she looked straight into my eyes as if to say, “I’m sorry.” She slowly eased herself off the ground and loped forward on three legs, keeping all of her weight off her right shoulder.
Pig and I walked to the bank of the Yukon River and watched the sun set over the Iditarod Trail. She sat in my lap as I cried. Our Iditarod was over.
( 0 Votes )
