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“Often times, our males are just slow learners,” I explain to hundreds of junior high students during an Iditarod presentation. “They just don’t catch on as fast as the girls.”
The auditorium erupts with high-pitched, female laughter. Although I am speaking of sled dogs and not humans, the girls always love hearing this and tease the boys next to them. Even the teachers smile and nod their heads in agreement.
Many of the dogs that I train and race are from a bloodline of Alaskan Huskies that my mentor, Terry Adkins, acquired from Herbie Nayokpuk, an Eskimo from Shishmaref, Alaska.
In 1973, when Terry was working as the only veterinarian on the first Iditarod, he pulled one of Herbie’s dogs from the race and treated her for a hernia. Terry liked the dog so much that he offered to buy it.
“No, Patsy is pet dog. You doctor, you fix.” Herbie told Terry.
The next year, after Terry finished racing his first Iditarod, he flew to Shishmaref to visit the Nayokpuk family. As a gift, Herbie offered Terry a walrus skull with two 30-inch ivory tusks.
“Herbie’s entire family was living in a one-room cabin,” Terry explained. “I thanked him but said, ‘I can’t take this from you. It’s very valuable. You should cut up the ivory and sell it’.”
Herbie sent one of his boys outside and he returned with Patsy.
“You like Patsy, you take,” Herbie insisted.
Terry didn’t want to offend his friend a second time so he took the dog.
“Patsy was the foundation of my kennel,” Terry explains.
Typically, Nayokpuk dogs have tough feet, good hair coats, an aggressive appetite, and “strong heads.” Bred north of the Arctic Circle, they have to be durable dogs to survive.
“But the males take awhile to develop,” Terry says. “Gladstone wasn’t a leader until he was 9 years old and then he went on to win the Beargrease for me.”
Another of Terry’s best male leaders, Oly, didn’t start running up front until he was 5 years old.
And today, there is Borage.
In the first column that I wrote for the Great Falls Tribune on October 18, 2001, I introduced Borage, the slow-learning sled dog that Terry gave me for a pet after he refused to run.
“The tallest and strongest of the bunch, he was scared of everything,” I wrote. “As soon as Borage was hooked into position, he plopped down flat like a sack of potatoes. He refused to run, pull, or even stand up.”
Eventually, after a few months of one-on-one attention, sweet-talking, and daily walks, something seemed to “click” in Borage’s brain. After his first 3-mile sprint standing up and running on all fours, Borage was literally grinning from ear to ear. I have never seen a dog so proud. And even though Borage has been drastically slower than all of his teammates over the last 2 years, it was that self-pride that has kept me working with him, knowing he truly wants to be a sled dog.
So far, Borage’s main job has been public relations. He looks like the typical, beautiful “Snow Dog” from the movies and his easy-going, goofy disposition makes him perfect for schools visits, fundraisers, and photo shoots. But I have always known that deep down, Borage has longed to be more than just a pretty face.
And I think it’s finally happening. Two weekends ago I took Borage to the Joe’s Trail fundraiser in Ulm to meet the public and donate a sled dog ride for the auction. Borage has always been well-mannered in public, walking obediently on a leash and lounging at my feet. But Borage had something else on his mind that day. He didn’t want to socialize; he wanted to work. After running all summer, his power was not only startling, it was overwhelming. He wouldn’t have won any obedience contests but I was tickled by his uncontrollable strength and desire to drag me around like a true sled dog. My boy is growing up. Maybe this year he’ll make the team.
To the right are photographs of Borage and a photo taken at the 2002 Iditarod Starting Line. Dr. Terry Adkins, DVM is pictured on the far right next to Herbie Nayokpuk and his wife and daughter.
( 8 Votes )
