Mush, eh?
January 6, 2009
Allow me to debunk the first myth of dog-sledding: "Mush!" means nothing to sled dogs, at least if said dogs are French Canadian huskies.
To make them go, you say "Allez!" while giving the sled a shove. To slow down, you say "Doux..." and step on the foot brake. To stop, you say "Whoa!" and hope the dogs figure out what you meant before your sled either plows into the sled in front of you or keels over the side of a hill and tosses you headlong into a tree (which is pretty much what happened to the unfortunate fellow piloting the sled in front of me).
Risk of bodily harm aside, it made for a memorable ride. Our lead dog Ates was a gorgeous huskie built like a small linebacker, who looked back at you periodically with big baleful eyes, seeming to hang on your every word - at least when he wasn't thrashing like a mongoose at his fellow harness-mates. The other dogs trudged dutifully along behind, taking only the briefest of detours to mark a bit of territory or - I wish I were making this up - enjoy a bite of trailside poo.
Whenever the dogs all came to a stop, sometimes they would sit still, and other times they would start howling in unison for no apparent reason. This wasn't like your neighbors' dog whining. This was a wolf howl: a raw, high-pitched trill that tore through the arctic air. At that moment, I confess, I felt pretty glad about the leash.
File under: Personal
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