Hellhounds

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Can we talk about the first few fall hook ups? In fact, let’s just talk about the first fifteen.

Take a moment and picture dogs that are bred to run and have endless amounts of energy and endurance. Then picture them sitting all summer until it gets cool enough to run again. Of course, if you read my last blog post, you know that they don’t actually just sit, and that I’m using it as an expression.

Now imagine these dogs finally being hooked up for the first time that fall when the temperature drops low enough.
They are usually a bit stunned, (at least my dogs), and they don’t quite know what they should be thinking. Hook up goes fairly smooth, and the run generally goes well enough, and you pull back into the yard amazed at how well they did. But deep down you know it won’t stay that way. But you can still hope.

By the second run they are usually quite a bit more crazy. By the third, they’re NUTS.
It’s absolute insanity, which I… fondly, refer to as Hellhound month, (or months, depending on how long it takes them to figure it out.). Last season, I switched my old mainline out for cable covered with rope so that it isn’t chewed through quite as easily. This decision was made after one of my yearlings chewed through my mainline and almost sent the rest of my team down the trail without me.

Even my wisest most experienced dog, Freckles, who is also one of my leaders, starts attempting to go through Necklines at the beginning of the season.

I can only assume that they are so excited to finally run again that anything that holds them back must be destroyed. They become, in the best sense of the word, Hellhounds.

This involves chewing lines, screaming like banshees, and just general chaos.

I remember one morning this fall having the most circus like hook up. It was the morning after I wiped out running two dogs with the scooter, and I had almost all eight dogs hooked to the front of the quad. The dogs were screaming per their usual Fall Hellhound attitude, and hookup seemed to be going normal for how Fall hook ups usually go. Until the brakes on the quad failed. Luckily it took eight insane in the brain Sled Dogs a few seconds to figure out that they were indeed moving forward, and my mother, who was at the back of the crew hooking Sunny into the team, was able to leap and grab the brake.

Sunny, who is sometimes pretty much scared of life, saw the quad rolling and my mom jump, decided that might be the scariest thing that could happen and, with no neckline on, backed out of her harness. She proceeded to run the front of the team to say hello to the other dogs, and then ran out into the gravel road. Sunny is very pack and ‘Christina’ oriented, so I wasn’t worried about her running off. I walked to the front of the team and called her, at which she promptly turned around, ran towards me, and took a flying leap into my arms. Of course, she didn’t think that would impress me enough, so she really truly tried to make it onto my head.

Thankfully I caught her and set her down, walking her by the collar towards the quad, (where her harness is still hooked up to the gangline post escape. Of course, in that moment, Sunny decided that the quad with its glowing orange eyes was most definitely a demon and she better get away as fast as she possibly can, and proceeded to attempt to back out of her collar.
Having previous experience with Sunny and her irrational fears, I immediately stopped fighting her and slacked tension, preventing her from backing out.

Meanwhile the rest of the dogs are still screaming to go, so this is all happening under a roar of noise in which neither me nor my mother can talk to each other, while she is clutching the brake for dear life as seven fully charged sled dogs attempt to pull her down the trail.
I made a snap decision to let Sunny go knowing she wouldn’t leave, and walked back to get her harness, walked back to where she had been, called her, put her harness on, picked her up, carried her back to her spot, and hooked her to the line.

Exactly three cars drove by while this whole fiasco was going on. I can only pray they weren’t paying to close attention, but I think that might be false hope, as they all slowed down quite a bit.

Eventually, after some time, hard work, and about fifty gallons of patience, the team starts to even out and training becomes more rhythmic.

Happy Trails,

Christina