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The first day of the Iditarod was grueling. We departed Anchorage for Willow at 10 AM.
It’s still mostly dark here. The sun won’t make a full appearance for a few more months.
It’s in the teens here but it feels single digits.
I laugh at the cold. My fur keeps me warm.
My musher has selected me to be the lead dog.
It’s the roughest job.
If I stumble at high speed or take the wrong step, the rest of the team follows me.
All around me, I hear the other teams urging their dogs on.
We know the challenges we face but something forces us to go on.
We are a special breed and we live to race.
Faster I bark to my team mates. I urge them on.
We have to get to Willow first.
We work non-stop in the cold.
Our only reward – the satisfaction of knowing the rest of the race is still ahead of me.
“Will you cut that out!” a voice jars me back to reality.
“Ralph you are such a nut! We aren’t in Alaska. We’re in Florida.”
My dog parent is such a downer some time.
Just because I live in Florida doesn’t mean I can’t run the Iditarod.
I’ll see you in Yentva.
Come on guys, it’s us against the grueling elements.
