Year One

I don’t care very much for the morning.

Well, that’s not exactly true.

I like it enough in the summer

When the sun kisses the waters of the harbor and the wildflowers cover the hills

And the warm air wiggles its way into your lungs and you feel so good.

I like those mornings.

But winter,

Well,

It’s not the same.

I don’t like the way the cold air nips at my wet nose

And the early wind howls through the cracks of this washed out ship that I call a home

And it goes right through your spine and you wake up with the sensation of

A hundred, tiny, cold tipped needles pricking your skin

At least the weather gives me an excuse to get my blood going.

I love running.

It is the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

I suppose the only thing more gratifying would be to run in a team.

I see the other dogs in teams during the winter.

My mom used to say that dad was on a team.

I never knew him, but I imagine that he must have been good

When I grow up, I’ll join a sled team.

I can’t think of doing anything else.

Their synchronized rhythm of energy as they pump themselves through the frosty terrain

Mesmerizes me

Fills me with feelings of happiness

Unity

Friendship

Or, at least it would

If I was actually on a team

The townsfolk don’t usually like me

The older humans say to their children, “stay away from that one, he’s part wolf.”

And the littlest humans squeal in terror when they see me in the streets

They run into their homes until their parents come out and throw rocks and shoes at me

There was one person who liked me.

He was a smelly man who sat alone outside a long building with the word “BAR” written

In scarlet letters over the oak door

Every day I’d come and sit by him and he would hold out his odd smelling hand

And stroke my fur

And I’d look into his face

His hair was wild and shaggy and his facial fur was grizzly and stuck out in odd ends

Sometimes I felt like he loved me

He named me Balto

The day he named me I was so happy that I ran around in my boat for hours with delight

Until the utter exhaustion I felt over powered my ecstasy

I don’t see him anymore

Maybe he found a home for himself like I will someday

Apparently news of my new name spread around town

Because one day when I was raiding the butcher’s dumpster

He called me Balto

In addition to the usual,

Unflattering volley of vulgarities he uses to describe me.

The other dogs don’t like me either

They tease me saying, “You ain’t got no daddy,”

Or things like, “Your mom howled at the moon”

 I don’t know how to answer those

My mom said Dad died before I was born

And she did howl at the moon.

There’s one dog in particular I don’t like

The biggest malamute in town

One year my senior

As strong as an ox

Twice as stupid

And with a sixteenth of the manners

The things he says to me make me so mad,

Sometimes I’d like rip out his tongue

But if I do, word will get around that I attacked the best sled dog in town

And then I’ll never be accepted.

So I just take his abuse when he gives it

Verbal

Or physical

And he has a lot to give

Of course, he has to catch me first.
I’m way faster than him.

But that only makes him all the madder.

I’d stay out of town forever If It meant not seeing him again

But I have to get food from somewhere

And maybe if I hang around town long enough, the people will stop being afraid of me

Maybe one will take me home with them

And I’d be

Happy

Loved

Accepted

For now the only things I know are

Prejudice

Disdain

Hatred

Sometimes when the meaner dogs are done using me as their punching bag

I take the long way back to my boat

Past the neat little wooden houses with crackling fires burning on the inside

Instead of the utter coldness I feel in my boat

I like to gaze into the homes of the happy people

And sometimes I pretend that I’m one of them

Safe, sound, and with a home

Afterward I go back to my boat and stare at the sea.

It’s so beautiful when the Northern Lights dance across the rippled waters

It makes me feel like there’s always hope in the world

Like maybe someday I’ll walk into town and people will smile as I pass

And pat my head and say, “You’re a good dog.”

Until then, I remain in my rotting ship

Wasting away, like my heart, by a sea of infinite sadness

I like to walk on the beach because only there do my tears feel small.