#randomdogstory

The cold crisp air of the morning hit him in the face the moment he stepped out of his house. His boots crunched as he trudged through the inch deep snow that had fallen from the sky in the night. The icy wind felt normal to him, nothing peculiar, the day resembled any other day. But somehow today felt a little different, a bit odd in a sense though in a manner he could never really comprehend or explain. It felt that something was wrong.

It was nearly the same old routine every morning, get up, feed the dogs, clean them, prepare them for the sledding in the afternoon, have lunch, bring the tourist sledding and after that the rest of the day was free for him to do as he pleased. He had a total of fourteen sled dogs, nine Alaskan huskies and five Siberian ones. A sled usually required only twelve dogs but he always had two extra in case any of them fell ill or got injured.

He had grew up on a dog farm. His parents were expert dog breeders. He grew more accustomed to the sound of barking than to that of human speech. He spent more times with dogs than with friends. He felt a connection to each and every single one of them. They were special.

The first sled dog he ever got was a present for his sixteenth birthday. He named her Fang and she was his favourite. And he didn't stop there. By eighteen he already had a full stable of dogs that could pull a sled. That was nearly twenty years ago. The young chap with the dogs had given up dog sled racing and retired to a more comfortable and less stressful job of giving tourists rides on his dog sled.

He finally figured out the difference that the morning possessed. His stable was unusually quiet, the dogs weren't always really noisy, they just weren't that silent. Something felt amiss. He could hear his own footsteps as he approached the wooden stable.

The maple door creaked noisily as he opened it and then the morning greetings came as he stepped inside. It's true that they were all working dogs, not pets. However, both owner and dog have been so close to each other for so long it was almost as if they were family members. He could finally hear the loud morning barking, the same sound he's heard for years.

He grabbed the feeding bowls and loaded the dog food into each as well as water. Each dog had two personalized ones with their names carved on and they were trained never to eat from another's bowl. They were fed in order, the last two dogs drawing the short straw of always having to eat last because it was furthest away from the door. Each enclosure was separated by fencing so the dogs could see each other even though they lived in pairs. The last two always barked the loudest once the feeding started. It was like their protest against always being fed last.

Grey hadn't stirred since he came in. Grey was the pack leader, the oldest amongst the fourteen. He had raised Grey since it came into the world. Grey had established itself as an understanding and headstrong leader of the pack ever since it came into the team. He approached Grey's pen. His companion, Black, trudged up to greet him, looking up at him with sad, sorrowful eyes.

He placed his hands on Grey's head. The fur felt the same as ever but the body was cold. It's eyes were shut, never to open again. Grey had gone to doggy heaven.

It felt like deja vu, only this time it had happened a dozen times before.

He could see Fang once again, handsome Fang with it's white and black coat and it's piercing blue eyes. He could see Fang lording over Grey when it was just a puppy, establishing it's dominance. A full generation had passed him by. It felt like an ending to an era, a conclusion to his first team.

It wasn't his first dog death, but it was still as painful. He picked up each of the remaining dog bowls and fed them. The dogs still had to eat. He closed the stable door and headed home. The short journey back felt so surreal, like he had drifted across in a blank state, his legs lighter than feathers, his mind in purgatory.

He knew he had to bury the body. But that was for later, there would be time. For now, it was a time to mourn. This part of his profession, he hated it the most. He sat on the chair and put his face in his hands. It was never easy.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to be born and a time to die.

Note: i almost cried when i first saw my pet tortoise die, when i was 15. can't ever imagine what it would be like to lose a dog. i just had this story idea from the dog sledding in kiruna, which was so awesome by the way. the dog handler that led us had told us of his many batches of sled dogs. they had to accept death as a way of life but they didn't necessarily had to like it. it was probably one of the worst feelings you'll ever get to see a whole generation of your sled team pass you by. alas, the joy experienced each day is definitely worth the sadness at the end.

in other news: must. pass. nordic.

please.