My two-month road trip is halfway over. Just one more month of traveling to schools and libraries all over Indiana, Ohio, South Dakota, and Wyoming giving talks about dog mushing and the Iditarod Sled Dog Race. Then I head back to Montana to devote my summer to finishing my first children’s book.
I know the next month of lectures will fly by. The first month did. My sled dog, Borage, and I only have 29 talks left. I can see a light at the end of my talking tunnel. But Borage would be happy doing this forever.
I have always appreciated Borage and his simple but unusual talent - patience. Borage is the most patient soul on this planet.
At the end of every presentation, I sit on the ground with Borage by the exit door and every student and teacher gets to pet him as they walk out. Often times, I feel clausterphobic by the hundreds of kids surrounding us, climbing all over us. And then I look at Borage - he never ceases to amaze me - he wags his tail as students throw themselves on top of him, fall over him, and wrap their arms around his neck and squeeze him so hard you’d think his eyes would pop out. The kids whisper secrets in his ear, shout in his face, sing rap songs to him, and try to coax him into following them out the door.
In the last month, Borage has been petted, stroked, rubbed, scratched, tickled, and massaged by over 8000 students and teachers. With that many fans just dying to pet Borage, he inevitably gets a paw or tail stepped on. Every once in awhile, a class clown will pull Borage’s tail to see if he (so far my troublemakers have all been male) can get a rise out of Borage. Mr. Patience just lays there, never flinching. Nothing bothers Borage.
No matter what is happening around him, Borage just lays on the ground, sprawled out and so relaxed that teachers sometimes ask me if I drugged him for the talks. They can’t believe how good he is. And to tell you the truth, even though Borage and I have done hundreds of presentations together over the last 5 years, I continue to be amazed by his patience and acceptance of whatever comes his way (and no, he’s not drugged). I did not train him to do this. I don’t think it’s possible to train a dog to be as accepting as Borage is; it is his nature.
Borage does seem to have an unusual defense mechanism though. Most dogs - even the best trained, most loving and friendly dogs - would eventually get tired of being petted and poked and mauled by hundreds of kids a day. Most dogs would want to run away from whatever was annoying or bothering them. But as the students get more and more rowdy, Borage falls into his own personal doggie meditation. Instead of getting stressed by the chaos, he becomes so relaxed that he eventually falls sound asleep. He even dreams; his nose twitching and his legs jerking. Borage is no longer in a stuffy gymasium surrounded by 400 middle schoolers; he’s back in Montana chasing chipmunks. I wish I could escape as easily as Borage does.
A few weeks ago as I was setting up my dog sled and gear for a talk, the vice principal told me that the students could look at Borage but could not touch him. They did not want Borage to bite anyone. Dogs were dangerous and unpredicatble, she said.
I wanted to say back that humans were the dangerous and unpredicatble ones but Borage was almost a saint (he would be a saint but he ate my mom’s potted pansies on mother’s day). But I didn’t. I made Borage lay and stay on the stage. When Borage realized that I wouldn’t let him visit, he became visibly sad and depressed.
I never put Borage on a leash at my talks. He knows that it is his job to greet the students as they enter the auditorium. Borage will even walk along the bleachers, letting the students quickly pet him as he walks by. He methodically goes from one row to the next. He does not want to leave anyone out.
It was hard for me to keep Borage from doing his job. He kept trying to sneak off to visit with the kids when I wasn’t looking. I hated to tell him no, but I had to.
Then a few days later, I did a series of 5 talks in one day. At the end of the marathon day, I calculated that Borage was petted by over 1200 people.
At the hotel later that night, Borage kept trying to get me to pet him while we were lounging in bed watching TV.
“Is 1200 kids petting you not enough?” I asked him.
He looked at me with his blue eyes and shoved his nose under my hand.
No, he said in dog language.
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