Toby: A Life Unlived

The wind swirled and howled around a man and two dogs. The man carried a shivering little girl in his arms, doing his best to shield her exposed face from the stinging snow with his body. Ahead of him strode two dogs in single file, clearing the barest semblance of a path. The dog in the lead struggled to keep moving, taking his progress in leaps and bounds. With each landing, his chest plowed into the surface of the snow. As his chin struck the ice each time, a spray of powder kicked up into his nose, eyes, and ears.

As he sprang into the air again, he strained his eyes for any sign of a place to get out. They were walking along what was probably a riverbed during the warmer parts of the year, the banks on either side too steep for anyone but the man to jump out. And the dog knew that the man would never abandon them or the girl in his arms, even if it meant none of them might ever be found.

'But we have to get back,' thought the dog, fighting desperately to keep warm, as if his will could drive back the cold creeping into his paws and up his legs, seeking to sink its icy talons into his chest and strangle his very heart. There were so many back there for him. Friends, loved ones, and one particular loved one with whom he had so recently had a bitter exchange of words. He couldn't let it end like this, couldn't let such a conflict be his son's last memory of him.

'I have to get back,' Toby thought to himself. 'I have to talk to Melchior.' He let out a vaporous sigh and kept struggling on. Even now, as darkness closed in and strength ebbed with every movement, he could remember it all: the arguments, the frustration, the hurt, and how it had all begun.

Before he got lost in a blizzard and stuck down in a ditch, Toby's life had been a good one. A nice home, a beautiful mate, and a handful of pups he couldn't help but be proud of. Arrow, a former thief and stray who had chosen to embrace the joys of family life. Angel, a beautiful miniature of her mother Luna who had managed to grow into her name magnificently, and Star, a plain-looking but lively pup on her way to becoming a sled dog. Balthasar, a son who, if not particularly spectacular, was easily contented with a simple life and possessed an eye for danger second to none. And of course, never one to be last or least, Caspar, a brilliant leader of a pup who could figure out a solution to just about any problem faster than you could tell him what it was.

Then there was Melchior – Mel to his siblings. It wasn't that Melchior was bad. He was good at just about everything; his mother's thick fur and powerful build, and his father's keen nose and remarkable stamina gave him the raw talent he needed to be just about anything a dog could be in Nome. In fact the only thing he couldn't seem to accomplish was... accomplishment. His parents tried to motivate him to participate in suitable activities, but nothing seemed to work. Things never really got problematic, though, until Caspar decided to try his leadership skills on his brother.

It all started when Caspar found his brother out on a walk around the town. Melchior's owner, a boy named Jimmy, carried the leash slack in his hand, for Mel rarely strayed or wandered much. Caspar trotted up to him. “Hey bro,” he greeted. “How's it going?”

Mel shrugged. “It's okay.”

Looking up at the sky, Caspar took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out in a great puff from his mouth. “Mm, beautiful day.”

Mel took a casual sniff. “Not really. There's a blizzard close enough to nail us sometime today.”

“Really?” Caspar took a whiff himself. “You've got some nose, Mel.”

Melchior just rolled his eyes. “Any dog could figure it out, Caspar. It's getting colder, the wind is picking up, and there's a bunch of dark clouds headed this way. That's why Jimmy took me out for a walk now, to get me back inside before the snow hits.”

Caspar shrugged. “Okay, so you're observant. You know, those skills would be really good for...”

“Tracking, I know,” groused Mel.

'Uh-oh,' thought Caspar. 'Never show your hand if you can avoid it when they're in this kind of mood.' “Tracking? Who said anything about tracking? I was thinking maybe a nice game of hide-and-seek.”

“You'd lose,” Mel replied matter-of-factly. “You always came last in that game.” 'About the only time when you were the loser and not me,' he added mentally.

“Yeah, but it's still fun,” Caspar reasoned. “And there really aren't any winners in hide-and-seek, not when there's just two playing.”

Mel shook his head. “No, I don't feel like playing that game.”

Caspar, not one to be discouraged easily, answered back, “What about a race? Come on, they're so much fun.”

Melchior thought about it for a moment. 'It would be fun to show him up and teach him a lesson,' he thought, 'But I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.' “I don't feel like racing,” he replied. “What do you want to race for anyway? You're terrible at it.”

Caspar was quick as a whip with a rebuttal. “Then why are you so dead-set against it? You're good enough at it.”

“I just don't feel like it, okay?!” Mel snarled in his brother's face. “Why don't you just leave me alone?”

'Well,' thought Caspar, deciding that there was nothing left to try but the direct approach, 'He did ask.' “I just wanted to get you doing something... active. I don't think you should just sit around all the time when you could be...”

“Oh, shut up!” Melchior had had it with everyone expecting him to live just like Toby simply because he was so much like him. Coming from the same brother who had always gotten in the way of that, the one who had always stolen their father's interest and respect, it was too much. He leaned towards his brother with his teeth bared, refusing to move when Jim tried to pull him away. “You want me to be just like Dad, right? Ace tracker, sled team hero, Mr. Accomplishment? Well, guess what? I'm not Dad, and I'm sick of everyone trying to make me be him. You think I want someone else telling me how to live my life, Mr. Perfect? Mr. Dad's favorite? Now get out of my face!” And with that he turned away, kicking a pawful of dirt in Caspar's face as a final note.

But Caspar wasn't done. “Mel, what is your- AGH!”

In his anxiety, Caspar had stepped into leash range. Before Melchior knew quite what he was doing, he knocked him over and was lashing out with paws and teeth.

“Mel, cut it out!” shouted Jimmy, trying to pull Mel away. But by now the pup had his teeth dug into Caspar's ear and couldn't be easily removed.

“Ow! Hey!” Caspar tried to push his brother away. “What is your problem?!”

Melchior let go long enough to look his brother in the face, teeth gnashing, eyes burning. “You want to know what my problem is?” he snapped. “My problem is you-oo!”

His rage was cut short as Jim finally gave a hard yank on the leash, lifting him completely off his paws into a backward somersault. By the time he regained his footing, Caspar was back upright and sprinting away.

“Hmph,” snorted Melchior. “And everyone says I got the legs in the family.”

Jimmy hooked two fingers into Mel's collar and forced his head around to look him in the eye. “Bad dog!” he scolded. “Bad dog! You don't fight with other dogs, you understand?!”

Melchior growled, but said nothing. Jimmy whacked him on the nose and started dragging him back home. “Let's see if a night outside teaches you a lesson.”

Caspar, meanwhile, was racing back to his house when he crashed head-on into another dog. “Sorry, mister, I...”

“Caspar?” A tall yellow husky stared down at him.

“Oh, hi Uncle Pete.” The pup had been running so fast he hadn't even seen who he crashed into.

“What the heck happened to you, kid? You look like you just got jumped by a wolf pack.”

Caspar shook his head. “Not a wolf pack. I got in a fight with Melchior.”

“Mel did this to you?” Pete could hardly believe it. “He's about as aggressive as a rabbit. What happened?”

Caspar shrugged. “I just tried to get him to try some tracking, or a race or something, and he attacked me.”

Pete furrowed his brow. “Why would he attack you for that?”

Caspar shrugged. “I don't know. He said something about everyone trying to make him want to be like Dad.”

Pete hesitated for a minute. “I think your dad's going to want to know about this. Come on.”

Caspar followed Pete to Toby's house like a lamb, but as they approached it a feeling of foreboding came over him. “I don't think I should talk to him right now.”

“What?” asked Pete. “Why not?”

“Well, when Mel jumped me he said something about me being Dad's 'favorite.' I think he was mad at me because of all the time Dad used to spend playing with me, and if Dad gets mad at him for attacking me then he'll hate me even more.”

Pete mulled that over. He certainly knew how the jealous mind worked; he'd lived enough of his life consumed with bitterness and hatred. And if