KING IS A REAL SLED DOG

By late November, two heavy snowstorms had blanketed our northern Minnesota paradise, sculpting massive drifts that became the perfect playground for King and me.

The first snowfall melted quickly, but not before King and I carved a snow cave into a huge drift near the house. He’d dive in headfirst, digging furiously with his front paws until he’d shaped a cozy cavern. I’d crawl in after him, and we’d huddle together inside, the space warming quickly with our body heat. It became our secret hideaway. I imagined the Inuit doing the same, boy and dog, side by side, waiting out the storm.

That image felt even more real when Mom brought home a borrowed book from Betsy about the native peoples of Alaska and the Arctic. One chapter described their winter clothing, and that’s when I discovered a new word: mukluks, soft, knee-high boots made from seal or fox skin, warm and waterproof.

My rubber boots didn’t measure up. They were short, loose, and let snow in, leaving my socks soggy and my feet freezing within minutes. So, I added mukluks to my Christmas list.

One glorious day after the second snowfall, Marley and Betsy arrived on our hill riding a beautiful wooden sled pulled by Champion and three of Misty’s nearly full-grown pups, King’s littermates. Misty trotted alongside the team, barking as if begging to be harnessed too.

I laughed out loud, the sight of a real dog team in motion was pure magic. When they reached me, Marley hollered, “Whoa!” and the dogs skidded to a graceful stop, panting clouds into the cold air.

I ran up to inspect the sled. It was sleek and sturdy, lashed together with caribou hide.

“The Inuit made this,” Marley said proudly. “It’s the real deal.”

Then she smiled wide. “Remember my promise last summer? Let’s see if King wants to be a sled dog.”

Betsy unhooked one of the dogs while Marley adjusted the harness for King. “This is the bridle,” she explained. “It connects to the gangline, the line that spreads the pull evenly. Let’s see what he does.”

King bounced in place, tail wagging wildly, eager for action. I thought of Yukon King, Sergeant Preston’s wonder dog, and hoped my King would follow in his pawprints.

Marley climbed onto the sled and shouted, “Hike!” The team surged forward, powder billowing behind them, and King ran with pure joy, his first taste of the work he was born for.

When they circled back, Marley’s grin was electric. “He wants to lead! Let’s give him Champion’s spot.”

They switched positions, and Marley gave the command again: “Mush, you Malamutes!”

My heart leaped. That was Sergeant Preston’s command!

And now it was mine.

King took off like a legend, head high, muscles driving, paws pounding with power. The others followed his lead, the sled gliding smooth and fast across the snow. He was a natural.

When they returned, Marley beamed. “He’s a born leader, Jerre. If you had your own sled, he could pull you anywhere.”

“I’ve got a sled!” I said. “And a toboggan. Mine’s got metal runners, not like yours.”

“No problem,” Marley said. “Your toboggan will work. I brought a single-dog harness just for this.”

I raced to fetch my toboggan, brushed it off, and handed it over. Marley fitted King into the harness and showed me the lines.

“These tuglines attach to your sled,” she said. “The leads on each side are for steering. But trust your dog, he’ll read the trail better than you. Don’t fight him unless he veers into deep snow.”

She added a soft pad for me to sit on. King was trembling with excitement. I grabbed the leads and shouted, “On King! Mush, you Malamute!”

We launched forward, slicing across the field. The wind stung my cheeks. I yelled, “Oh my! Oh my!”, half terrified, half thrilled, as we tore across the open snow and up the hill road.

I tested him on deeper snow in a nearby field. King kept us gliding, his paws finding packed crust beneath the powder. I barely needed to guide him, he somehow knew what I wanted.

When I pulled the leads gently, he pivoted and headed back toward the house. Minutes later, we reached Marley, Betsy, Mom, and Cathie, all cheering like I’d just won a race in the Yukon.

And in that moment, it felt like I had.

That day was one of the most unforgettable of my life, and, though I didn’t know it then, a turning point I never could have predicted.