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Chapter Four

September brought cooler temperatures and with it came great changes to our lives. Pam had a big red machine called a four-wheeler that is sort of like two motorcycles hooked together side by side. Mushers use them to train dogs when there is no snow. Pam’s four-wheeler was like her pickup truck, a little old and kind of worn-out, but it worked. One day she harnessed Douggie and our mother, Alice, and hooked them to the machine with long lines but there was still one harness for a third dog in the team.

“Time to start back to school, puppies,” said Pam as she walked toward us.

Pam always took Anna first when we were going to learn something new, but this time she began leading me away while Anna and Roald looked on.

I don’t want to go in front of that thing. What if I fall over? I’ll get squashed, I protested.

Right then and there I sat down and refused to go any farther. I figured Pam was going to yell at me but instead she knelt down, cupped my face in her hands, and said softly, “Sojo, there’s nothing to worry about. You are going to do just fine.”

How do you know I’m worried?

Of course Pam couldn’t hear my words, she just smiled with kind eyes and scratched my ears. That made me relax a little and then we walked over to the four-wheeler where she hooked me up right behind Douggie and Mom. I was now standing just a little more than a dog’s length away from the front of the machine. I gulped when I turned and looked back at the front of the four-wheeler. It was so high I could barely see Pam as she climbed on.

I started jumping up and down. Can you still see me, Pam?

Pam turned on the machine and bellowed, “All right, let’s go!” The engine roared and started slowly inching toward me.

Yikes!Please don’t run over me!

When I saw Douggie and Mom lean into their harnesses, I leaned into mine and pulled with all my might and we sped up a little bit.

“Good girl, Sojo!” called Pam

As it turned out, I was worried for nothing because my first trip as a sled dog was just down to the road where I had nearly died and then we made a big, wide, sweeping turn and walked back to the dog lot. The whole time we never went faster than a slow walk. Pam took my harness off and said, “Here’s your chunk of liver, Sojo. You did great and I think you’re going to make a fine little sled dog.”

Anna was all excited to go next and, of course, she did great.

As I watched Roald take his turn, I thought, Maybe it isn’t so hard being a sled dog. I’ll have to see how things go. But 2,500 miles? I just don’t know.

By late October there was enough snow for Pam to start training us with a dogsled. It wasn’t much different from pulling the four-wheeler except we sped up much faster in the beginning. At first the speed was a little scary but after awhile I got used to it. I definitely liked sled training much better than the four-wheeler because I didn’t have to listen to the engine roaring behind us. What I didn’t like was that Pam started hooking me up beside my brother, Roald. Don’t get me wrong, Roald’s okay but he gets really excited before we take off and then he barks in my ear and that hurts. Pam keeps telling him to stop but he never listens.

Sometimes we trained on roads but other times we sledded on narrow trails that wound through thick forest. I liked the trails best because it was silent except for the whisper of the sled runners gliding over the snow and the trails smelled much nicer than the road and felt softer under our paws.

One day while Pam was outside splitting firewood, Dave showed up again. He walked up the path and looked over the two sleds Pam had finished.

“Hello, Dave,” Pam said. Whack, and a piece of firewood split in two.

“You still plannin’ on traipsin’ across the Arctic with them clunker dogs?” asked Dave.

“Yes, Dave, and they are not clunkers,” said Pam. Whack!

“You find any sponsors?” asked Dave.

“No, Dave, not yet,” said Pam. Whack!

Dave’s eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise and amazement. “You told me you wrote letters to over two hundred companies and you’re tellin’ me none of ’em would sponsor you?”

Pam took in a deep breath and sighed. “That’s right.”

“Well, what’d you expect? What are ya, five foot nothin’, 100 pounds soakin’ wet? Why would anyone sponsor you?” asked Dave with a sneer.

Pam didn’t answer; she just brought the wood-splitting maul down on another piece of firewood. Whack!

“So where you gonna get the money?” asked Dave.

His rudeness finally made Pam angry and she glared at him in defiance. “I’m going to borrow it, Dave. Then we’re going to cross the Arctic, then we’re coming home, and then I’m going to pay back every last cent,” she snarled.

Dave made a little snort and shook his head, like he was going to start laughing. Then he said the most unkind thing of all: “You know, no one thinks you can do this. Everybody thinks you’re gonna fail.”

“Maybe you care what everyone else thinks, Dave, but I don’t.” Whack! Whack!

“Well, good luck because that’s the only thing that’s gonna get you across the Arctic,” said Dave.

Pam straightened up and watched Dave as he walked back down the trail to his ratty old truck. With the woodsplitting maul clenched in both hands, she muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t hear and then turned back to the woodpile.

Whack! Whack! Whack!