the wolf-dog cross the wooden beam that took him from the boat’s deck to the ground and in a sprint, he ran towards Nome without looking backwards. 

“Oh, Balto,” Boris sighed, sitting down on the wooden floor. “Maybe you do love her more than I really know, . . .” He sighed again, now falling backwards and spreading out his wings against the deck. “ . . . but I’m sure this is the right thing for you to do. If Jenna means so much to you, only you can discover what you must do now.”

Once his paws entered the dirt and slush of Nome, he could hear the hustle and bustle of the mid-morning rush, listening to the barks and howls of his fellow sled dogs hitched to their respective sled-runners. People were moving about Main Street as they usually did,  spending quality time with their families by walking the wooden sidewalks all bundled in their coats and mittens to keep warm from the mid-winter chill in the air. He saw a couple of sled team – both with his own children in the harness – traveling back and forth through the snowy street, heading out to get their busy work done by the end of daylight. The town dogs that weren’t of the sledding quality were also out for the day, sitting and loitering near the General Store and the Boiler Room, the main hangout of all the gossiping canines. 

Hmm, Balto stopped to think for a moment as the Boiler Room came in sight. I remember that Jenna was friends with some of the gossipers before she met me. I wonder . . . maybe they can help me on my personal quest. Why didn’t I think of this idea before? With a brave sigh, the wolf-dog scampered forward towards the wooden building in the far end of town near the sea.

This early in the morning, not very many dogs were inside lounging around the warmth of the heated boiler, but the gray-brown Balto did happen to recognize two females that he knew only because they were once acquaintances of his mate. 

One of them was a light beige Afghan Hound with brown markings around her head, the tips of her long droopy ears and her ankles. Her long tail covered her slender hind legs from the bitter winds of winter. Her russet eyelids were low, lined against her dark pupils with long, dark eyelashes, but her gaze was towards her much smaller friend beside her. The other dog was a lavender-gray Pomeranian with white fur lining her chest, halfway down her belly and covering the top of her head. Around her neck remained that vintage purple collar with a heart in the center of it, for once her heart had longed to be with Balto’s purebred rival, Steele; however, after Steele spun a tale of the team succumbing to the wilderness when they were sent to save the sick children two years ago and then he was proved to be false once Balto’s howling cry filled the night air throughout the town, she began to despise the black and white Malamute with a passion.

That must be them, Balto thought. I remember catching a glimpse of them a few times before Jenna and I became mates. Jenna hadn’t told him much about those two, except that their names were Dixie and Sylvie. But which is which? I can’t really tell . . . she didn’t tell me that part. 

After a small cough to clear his throat, Balto approached the two females with a little bit of nervousness in his voice. “Um, hi . . .”

The much larger of the two – the Afghan – turned her long-muzzled head toward him, taking a good, long look the half-wolf’s physique for herself. “Well, well . . . no wonder Jenna took a liking to you, Balto,” she spoke with a low, feminine yet nasally voice. “I’m surprised that Dixie here” – she nudged the toy dog breed as she said this – “didn’t start hitting on you once she dumped Steele that night you saved the town.” 

Dixie only giggled before replying to Sylvie’s sentence. “Sorry, but I knew better to take another girl’s mate, Sylvie.” Her voice was high and snooty, which were a pretty good match for how the spoiled canine was. “I may be a feisty gossiping pup with high lineage, but I’m definitely not a tramp. I know when a good dog’s heart belongs elsewhere.” She turned to Balto, smiling amorously at him and batting her eyes.

Balto took a gulp at the tiny female’s flirtatious gestures, quickly changing to a dopey grin as he sat down in front of them. “I know that you two know Jenna pretty well, right?” 

“Of course we do,” Dixie spoke up, her true-blue eyes gleaming. “We’ve known her since she was adopted by her human. You could say the three of us were as close as siblings despite our different breeds.”

“Yeah, those were the good old days,” Sylvie began to reminisce, leaning her head back as if she were trying to remember those years ago. “We loved to sing harmonies in here to any dog that would listen . . . ah, and Jenna, she had this soothing soprano tone at times . . . but she mostly had such a wide range that she could switch from a mellow bass to a shrill alto like  . . . pure magic.” She sighed, taking a relaxing breath before returning her gaze back to the wolf-dog. “Tell me, Balto – have you ever had the pleasure to hear Jenna sing?” 

Oh no – not the singing topic again, Balto groaned lightly before answering her. I thought I was able to get away from this topic . . . “No. No, I haven’t, Sylvie.” He tried to fake a convincing grin. “I bet it sounds beautiful.”

“Oh, it does, Balto!” Dixie yapped. “She made the rest of us sound so inferior when she left our group to be with you, but music remains one of our guilty pleasures. It’s like our close bond to each other.” 

“You should ask her to sing for you or something,” The Afghan Hound suddenly gasped, remembering something. “Hey, wait a minute – Valentine’s Day is a couple of days from today, and I’m sure Jenna’s told you about the big fête we dogs are having, right?” Balto nodded, although he really didn’t understand the term that she used to describe the planned celebration. Dixie and Sylvie – as was Jenna – were well-bred and taught many proper mannerisms, so it was natural for them to have a higher vocabulary than his own; thankfully, the mutt could easily accept that. “Well, she and the two of us are singing a little bit that night before we mingle with the crowd; maybe you can get there a little early to take in a quick listen, okay?”

Again Balto nodded. “Thanks; I’ll be sure to do that.” As he turned to walk away, he could hear the yapping farewells of his newfound fans.  

“See ya later, Balto!” Dixie was bouncing up and down as if her encounter with the hero of Nome had given her a sudden adrenaline rush. “Come by and see us more often, okay?”

“I’ll try, Dixie,” The wolf-dog smiled back, trying to be graciously nice and courteous. “Just don’t tell Jenna I was here, okay?” 

“Don’t worry, dear,”  Sylvie replied as she noticed the hybrid mutt’s departure from the doorway. “We’ll always be waiting . . . and you can trust us. A friend of Jenna’s is a definite friend of ours.”

Once Balto passed through the wooden door of the Boiler Room, he began to reply to the Afghan’s comment with a howl as his large paws sprinted across the slush of the town streets until he made his way to the clear stretch of dirt path that led to the totem pole and the relics of grounded boats that lined the sandy shoreline. He slowed down to catch his breath, lowering his head to the ground as he stopped in front of back of the wooden artifact of Inuit culture. Balto looked upwards; he could see the top of the pole – the symbol of a painted raven – turned away from him against the brightness of nearly-high sun that the carving blocked. 

Balto let out a heavy sigh. “Even you’ve turned your back on me, Mother.” His head collapsed towards the ground, not noticing the light wisps of white mist that had begun to form around his paws because of his closed eyes. “How can I give Jenna the perfect gift when no one has given me any other suggestions yet? Everyone has been saying I should sing . . . but I just can’t . . .” Tears dripped from his tightly-shut eyes, landing on the ground by his paws. “. . . I don’t know what else to do . . .”

As he cried, the fog began to swirl beside him, forming the figure of a lupine creature that was a little bit larger than himself. The mist grew lighter as the wolf took on a natural look – white fur, large clawed paws, flowing thick tail, and those almond-shaped eyes of piercing yellow and amber. It looked at the pathetic half-wolf with a sense of sympathy, although it didn’t show its emotions on its face. 

“You already know what path you must take, my Son . . .”

The gentle touch of the white muzzle against his skin and the familiar, warm voice of one that could keep him safe made Balto sniffle and open his eyes, gasping in silent surprise by the wolf’s appearance beside him. 

“M . . . Mother . . .?” was all he could mutter out at the time. His surprise was natural, for the two of them had not seen each other for several months; the last time they had met was once his daughter Aleu had accepted her fate of joining the wolf Clan as their new Alpha . . . and that day, Balto learned that the Great Wolf Spirit Aniu, the white wolf, was his mother . . . guiding him via his dreams to his daughter’s destiny.

“You did call for me, am I correct?” Aniu murmured, her black-tipped ears twitched.  

“Yeah, I did . . .” Balto’s ears fell to the sides of his neck. “But what do you mean by . . .”

By the time he began to look up, his query was left incomplete as the mist surrounded him and the white wolf. “You have loyal, trusting friends, my Son . . . You must learn to follow your heart and listen to the song that guides you from within . . .” 

“Follow . . . my heart?” Balto repeated, still unsure of what his spiritual dam meant by the words. “I . . . I don’t