the wolf-dog crept closer to the front of his home until he placed his front paws gently up and peered over.  As his gaze wandered down the snow, he could see the figure of illuminated red fur looking up.  The red of the figure stood out like a sore thumb on the white slushy ground, as did his father to a lesser extent against the yellow light and dark blue evening sky.

“Dad?”  Dingo asked in response to the figure’s presence.  “I-…Is that you?”

Balto continued to stare down the figure, not in anger but in curiosity.  He remained focused on the red fur.  There wasn’t a great many dogs in Alaska with red fur, and those he knew that did have it were in fact related to him.  He could thank his mate Jenna for such an easy form of identification.  Even so, he wasn’t sure which of his children was now here before him.  It was a dark night, and five of his six pups are at least a close shade of red.  Of course, there was a couple that he had not seen in a while as well.  Filled with indecision, Balto simply lengthened his pause, darting his eyes around hoping that this visitor would break the silence and share his name.

Dingo did finally consider the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in quite a long time, and after withdrawing a bit by looking away in embarrassment to that fact he continued.

“Umm, y-you are Balto aren’t you?  I-…It’s Dingo.”

Balto’s eyes widened with great haste and he returned his gaze to the red dog with his own likeness.  The name, at least, rang a bell of recollection for the wolf-dog.  He would never forget the names of his children.  Of course, the name still caught him by surprise as this was one of the children he had not seen in years.  It wasn’t his fault; he tried to.

“D-Dingo?  Well uh…what are you doing here?  I thought your owner was very particular about-?”

“Seeing you?  Well, don’t worry about that anymore…  Can uh…can I come up?”

“Oh, sure.  I’ll lower the plank.”

Dingo watched his father disappear behind the boat again, followed with the sounds of shuffling paws and the creaking then scratching of planks.  Soon a long slender strip of wood slid down from the side of the ship, the end opposite the boat slamming against the ground to make a slope leading upward to the deck.

“Come on up.”  The wolf-dog’s scratchy voice proclaimed from the center of the ship, even echoing slightly in the darkness.

Dingo accepted the invitation and, head lowered slightly, padded forward towards the plank.  On a moment’s notice, he decided to hide the collar in a patch of snow wedged under the ship.  It would easily give away what the problem was.  As he continued and eventually set foot onto the cold wood it wobbled a bit from years of use as well as misuse, but it held his weight as he moved cautiously towards the halfway point, somewhere in-between the safe slushy ground and the worn wood deck that his father called home.  The wood continued to shake with every lifted step, but it still supported him and therefore gave him the confidence to continue, finally topping the ramp’s elevation and setting his first paw on the residence.  Looking down as he set the three remaining paws on the cold wood, then back to the unstable ramp he just came from, he didn’t notice his father seated in front of him waiting patiently.

“I know it’s not very sturdy,” he said, startling Dingo into looking forward to him, “but it works well enough.”

Dingo paused, not knowing what to say in the midst of what really should be a heartwarming reunion.  He looked down and to his right, both in shame and embarrassment while almost purposely keeping it right outside the light of the lantern and preferably in the darkness.  Balto took the hint, stood up and continued the conversation, the two of them surprisingly keen at picking up on each other’s emotions and signs.

“Now, what happened?  How is it that you’re suddenly allowed here?  Your owners would never let me see you, in part because I was a-.”

“A wolf?”  Dingo replied, turning his direction and face back up to Balto, showing his father the wolf-like features of his own as the propped up lamp brought them to light.

“Oh…”

Balto stared at his son for a moment, this being the first time they’ve seen each other’s faces in years.  He took particular notice to the features that he was likely responsible for: the dark brown bushy eyebrows and eyes of the same color, filled in with the very same gold shade as his own.  The brown-tipped ears that Jenna’s red fur, even if darkened on their son, could not completely dominate.  Even the build was his own: thin and scrawny, like no Siberian husky he had ever seen.  As for the facial markings, they’re anyone’s guess. 

Balto then, almost instinctively, realized the problem.  He stepped in closer, his relaxed demeanor now transitioning into one of great concern.

“Oh no…they didn’t throw you out did they?”

Dingo could not bear the expression from his father and, looking back in the same corner as before, brought his face out of the light.

“Yeah, the mom did.  She said I got too big and…and looked too much like a wild animal apparently.  Guess she thought I’d scare the kid or something.”

“Well I guess I’m to blame for that,” Balto replied, looking off into the same corner of his own shame, “I’m the ‘wild animal’ part of things…I’m sure your mother told you that…”

“Yeah…she did.”

Balto regained his composure and returned his gaze to the red offspring before him.

“Well uh…what else has she told you…about me?”

“Well…”

Dingo looked down to his front paws, lifting one to study the shape of the pads underneath before moving on to study those of his father with a gaze.  This gesture brought Balto to study his own paws, knowing full well the wolf already in them.  He then noticed his son moving again, and he looked up so that their eyes could meet again.  Dingo actually had a little smile on his face, looking almost unnatural after all the displeased expressions and absent glances.

“…she said I remind her of you.”

This brought a little grin to Balto’s face as well, also bringing him to give his son another visual once-over.

“Well I can see where she’s coming from.  Well come on then; I’m guessing you wanted to stay here tonight?”

“Oh, uh…right.  I didn’t want to bother with Mom’s place; she’s not the only one living there and I didn’t want to wake everyone up.”

“I see, so you came to bother me instead?”  Balto replied in a teasing manner, already turning around to lead Dingo to the sheltered section of the deck but keeping eye contact to make sure he was following.  Dingo was, so he continued.

“Well, I should tell you that I’m usually not alone here either.  But you caught me on a good night; the other ‘tenants’ are out at the moment.  Don’t worry though; you’ll get to know them in time.”

“Do I…want…to meet them?”

“I don’t see why not.  They’re a great source of entertainment out here.”

Dingo imitated his father’s smile as they finished their tread into the shelter portion of the deck and reclusion from the lantern’s glow.  Balto lowered himself to tunnel right into his trusty blanket, turning back around with it over him to lie down and watch his son take a seat opposite him. 

“We’re uh…we’re sleeping in here?”

Balto looked up to him, displeased as if his shelter had been insulted.

“Oh umm…yeah…”

“S-sorry, it’s just…”

Dingo’s gaze slid away to his right and out one of the cabin’s windows.  The little shack atop the vessel where the steering wheel was meant to be placed offered a slight protection from the cold air of winter, but the cold also got to the old wood beneath their paws.  Dingo began to shiver slightly, having been accustomed to staying inside on these cold nights.  There were previously just more important things on his mind than considering the cold, his red and tan fur protecting him only for so long.  His father’s form, however, was very used to this weather.  He brought himself back up and put his blanket onto Dingo, easing his son’s shivering a bit as he was relaxed enough to lie down. 

“You need it more than I do.”

“Oh, t-thanks.”

Balto then returned to his spot and soon regained his position on the ground as well, sighing in relaxation.  His gray-brown eyelids began to grow heavy again, closing and diminishing the hallway light of his gold-rimmed eyes until Dingo’s shivering came back to his attention.  His eyes reopened, the parent swinging open the bedroom door to let the light in again.  It sounded now as if there were whimpers in-between and superseding the shivering; he looked to his son to see the paws placed strategically to cover his eyes.  The visible features of his pup’s face were tensed and near tears; the abandonment