....inside a dog, it's too dark to read

"OUTSIDE A BOOK, A DOG IS MAN'S BEST FRIEND. INSIDE A DOG, IT'S TOO DARK TO READ."
-Groucho Marx



Thought I'd mention....btw....these books are where Kuz got his name. It may sound crazy, but his name IS Kazan. I usually spell it with an "O" (Kazon) if I write it out. He's not registered or anything, but I consider it his official name because it's what's on record at the vet. Ha! He has always been Kuz or Kuzin....so I'm quite sure he has absolutely no idea and probably wouldn't even respond to his full name....just thought I'd share.

I randomly ran across these books tonight. Interesting.

Also, "Baree" is Brother's real name. I know, I'm throwing you for a big, damn curve ball tonight. Being all weird and tell-y. But really, Brother's name on paperwork is Barrie. Some fucktards say Barry, but they're wrong as hell. I tried to make the spelling easy on them, but they insist on failing. Either way, Brother is Kuz's only son, so we HAD to name him Barrie. Make sense? Thought so.

Next time, I'll be more normal.

and we'll do anything when the time's right

Well then, can I just ask one question? WHERE DID FALL GO?! What is happening? Last I checked, the semester had just started and we were on our way into October. But now? Thanksgiving is out the window (the second story window) and December 1st is three days away.


So, that was my question….and this is my fact: race reason is one month away. ONE MONTH, people! Are YOU ready? Am I ready? No comment.

I have a confession to make, and it’ll probably bite me in the ass before I can even turn around, but a 4dog team seems much less stressful. For 6dog last year, I was a mess. A complete mess. If we missed a day of training, I’d go off the wall. Unless miles were going my way, I was pretty damn near impossible to be around. This year, I’ve made an effort to change that.


Taking my pro team down to 4dog has helped a lot. Right now, we SHOULD be nearing a comfortable four miles…..but we don’t have it. We’re at a solid, solid, solid, three. It bothers me a little, and I care a lot, but I’ve resisted the urge to flip out. It’s life. It’s training. It’s Michigan weather. It’s what happens when you’re a full time student and the good trails are off limits for the last two weeks in November.


There comes a point where I have to step back, shut the hell up, and realize there are worse things in life. I’d so much rather be where I am right now, calm and relaxed and enjoying every minute of it, than where I was last year……right on the dot and wound so tight I’d literally panic if I had to take a third day off. And by panic, I actually mean it. I would go hysterical if the weather didn’t work out. Honestly now, what can I do about the weather?

Getting miles for the wrong reasons can be miserable. It’s nothing short of torture if you’re comparing your schedule to everyone else.

We should be running 4X/week. We’ve comfortably managed two and three days all season. I don’t think it’s killing anyone. I’ve got happy dogs and I’m done worrying about things I can’t control. I’m trying this game called optimism. The season will turn out just fine. See? I’m not half bad.


The setback with Keytone is a real bummer, but she got hurt working her ass off for me, so I’ll let her dig into her retirement savings a few years early.
Oh, and did I mention….to fill out my 4dog, I think I hit the jackpot. The female on her way to me (in place of the white pony of wonder….aka Keytone) may or may not have previously raced Rondy and ONAC…..four times. Excited? You’re not the one who has to act interested in normal life while you wait for a day off to go pick her up…..

'cause she's the girl all the bad guys want

This is Keytone. She's seven years old. She's the best gee-haw leader I have. She has more race experience than I do. She's the most honest dog money can buy. And, I regret to inform you, Keytone is retired.

Such is the life. It has really put a damper on the season so far. Remember last winter when I wrote that she was going to sit out the last two races because she had an odd limp? Her gate was off and her back end was tender? Well, she DID sit out those races. She sat out the whole summer. We started training in early October. She made it up to late November and 3 solid miles. Now, The Limp of Unknown Origins is back. So she's out.
At seven, with the career she has had, we're all pretty sure she'll never make it back. I'm about to sound hugely dramatic, but I've never heard worse news. This dog is a big deal to me. She's the epitome of the perfect sled dog.....until she starts limping. The worst part is that she would gladly run on three legs, but of course I'm not willing to allow that.

Right now my idea is to lend her and another older dog to a jr on weekends. That way, she can still run, but it'll only be a mile or two. A mile and a half run will seem like one big joke to her, but it'll have to work.

Oooooh Keytone, when dogs like you get hurt, this life becomes a hard one.


BUT, okay, I can't end on that note....in other news, Fred, Heini and Bren are ready to kick ass this season regardless. Joppy has a pretty solid grasp on commands thanks to Petunia. Fox and Brew are going to make the sport class look like a cake walk. Star and May are both leading very well. You see? Not all the news is bad.......

"what was she doing putting her face by tires?"

I don’t even know how to tell this story effectively enough to do it justice…… here is my opening sentence: A FUCKING MOUSE JUST HIT ME IN THE FACE.

Let’s set the scene—I was feeding dogs, as they generally tend to require food daily, and I leaned down into the bin of dog food. The terrible little bastard children were lying in wait; they lept at my face. They were bloodthirsty, I swear.

I almost didn’t make it out alive.

A bystander’s account says I screamed and dived out of the way, treating the furry pieces of varmint like shrapnel, covering my head and screaming more. I don’t believe it.

If my being HIT IN THE FACE BY A FUCKING MOUSE isn’t a good enough story already, then how about this: allow me to tell you how my dedicated team of personal protectors responded.



Obviously, the fate of the free world was at stake here….I couldn’t feed dogs without reaching into the bin and I couldn’t reach into the bin when it was full of (2) lion-sized, mouse beasts.

I yelled for Elsie first. Well, actually first I grabbed a shovel—in case things got out of control, and then I yelled. She sprinted in and immediately lunged into the open dog food bin. I exhaled a relieved “thank you,” feeling satisfied that she had read my mind and the horrifying ordeal was done…..but then I saw one of the mice jump onto her nose. She merely shook her head and kept eating dinner.

“What!?” I screeched in honest disbelief. What kind of farm dog doesn’t eat mice!?

“You’re not doing anything!?” I questioned in a very high voice, panicking because I knew the lion-mice were only gaining strength and planning another attack.
Elsie knows that having one’s head in the dog food bin is a giant “ima kick your ass” infraction, so added to the fact that I was yelling like a fool and wielding a shovel, she scuttled away.

This was it. It was time to call in the big guns. I needed a specialized tool, known for his cunning and intelligence.

I yelled for The Black Dog Himself.

Luckily Connor was trained by Lassie, so he tore into the shed bent on investigating why I was screaming like a sober homeless man. This all happened much faster than it seems….. I was still in the fetal position, protecting my most vulnerable organs from danger, and rocking back and forth, knowing I’d never truly be the same person again.

Connor bounded towards me.
“Sssssssic it!,” I managed and rapped the shovel handle on the side of the bin.
The monster went to work. He shoved his nose into the bin. At first, he started eating and acting like a terrific failure……but then one of the little fuckers made a dash across the one-foot space. Bad idea. Connor used his immeasurable stealth to snatch it up and swallow it whole. That made me scream again. When Connor looked at me, I thanked him for the work and asked him to never mention my reaction to anyone. He agreed.

It wasn’t over yet; there was still another bastard in the dog food bin. I can’t exactly explain why, but I literally said, “Repeter, S’il vous plait. Vite!”
Apparently, in times of great need, I speak French. Good to know. Apparently, Connor understands French, which is also good to know. He re-inserted his top half into the dog food bin to finish the deed.

The hunt didn’t last long. He snapped and shook his head. A mouse body flew through the air. “Absolutely unnecessary,” I told him.

He grinned and pounced on it. He smacked his lips and licked his nose, eyes sparkling in delight.

“You’re nasty, but I love you for it,” I said.

I think his response was something like, “you’re a giant wuss, but I love you right back.”