harnesses and ran them together. I couldnât run on city streets because if they caught me off balance, theyâd drag me right out into traffic, which there must not bemuch of in the Yukon because they have no sense of it whatever. Anyway, I usually ran the dogs on the service road beside the railroad tracks outside of town.
Dad arrived at the store about six-thirty that Saturday morning, just as we finished setting up the displays, and handed me a hundred-dollar bill from the cash register as I was leaving. The sun was just coming up over the wheat fields, and I thought Iâd take Cooper and DeuceâMomâs dogsâfor a short spin before passing out for the rest of the morning. Dad said to go straight home and put the money someplace safe, which is exactly what I intended, except I stuck it in the pocket of my windbreaker and forgot. At home I changed into my sweats, strapped on my weighted belt and wrist and ankle weightsâwhich I always wore in an attempt to even the odds with those damn dogsâpulled the windbreaker over my sweatshirt and harnessed them up. Then I headed for the tracks, screaming at them to slow the hell down, which they translated into âMush!â
About half a mile down the tracks I spotted a dark lump off to the side, and as I got closer, saw it was a person wrapped in blankets under a bush. You couldnât find a friendlier dog than Cooper, but you also couldnât find a more imposing one, at a lean, mean-looking eighty-five to ninety pounds, those eerie light blue snow eyes staring at you as if you were dinner. The guy saw us coming andshrank up under the bush, and I dug in my heels, because sure as guppies eat their young, these unruly beasts would want to go over and at least taste him. I reeled in the leash so I could get hold of the harnesses; sometimes I could get Cooperâs front feet off the ground to equalize things. We were about three feet away when I accomplished that, and this poor guy stared out from his blankets in terror at what must have appeared to be a man-eating canine, standing almost five feet tall on his hind legs.
I said, âSorry. Theyâre friendly. They wouldnât hurt you. I know what he looks like,â but he didnât say anything back, and I jerked the dogs on down the tracks.
The return trip was always easier because my little Deuce-Cooper was worn down from dragging me, so I had them under pretty good control when we came upon the man again, now awake and packed and walking slowly toward us. His hair was long and gray, his face brown and wrinkled as old leather. What appeared to be all he owned was wrapped in two blankets slung over his shoulder. I saw his socks through the toes of his boots, and his toes through the socks, another pair of which he wore on his hands. As we approached, he avoided my gaze and moved toward the ditch next to the road. The dogs were less interested nowâthough the man put off plenty of exotic smellsâand as we jogged past, he caught me with a sideways glance that feltlike a blow to my gut. It was the first time I recognized desperation, and though I couldnât put words to how I felt, I suddenly remembered the money in my pocket. Before I could even think I stopped, turned the dogs around, and went back. I placed the hundred-dollar bill in the sock on his hand and closed his fist around it; he never took his eyes off mine. I said, âYou should get something to eat, and maybe some shoes or gloves or something.â He said nothing and the look in his eye never changed, and I backed away. When I was maybe twenty-five yards away I heard a long, anguished moan, and I looked back over my shoulder to see him standing, staring at the money in his hand.
I imagine that sound is heard sometimes when a mother finally gets food for her starving child, or when a dying AIDS victim is gathered in loving arms to let him or her feel the warmth of human touch that has so long been
Dad arrived at the store about six-thirty that Saturday morning, just as we finished setting up the displays, and handed me a hundred-dollar bill from the cash register as I was leaving. The sun was just coming up over the wheat fields, and I thought Iâd take Cooper and DeuceâMomâs dogsâfor a short spin before passing out for the rest of the morning. Dad said to go straight home and put the money someplace safe, which is exactly what I intended, except I stuck it in the pocket of my windbreaker and forgot. At home I changed into my sweats, strapped on my weighted belt and wrist and ankle weightsâwhich I always wore in an attempt to even the odds with those damn dogsâpulled the windbreaker over my sweatshirt and harnessed them up. Then I headed for the tracks, screaming at them to slow the hell down, which they translated into âMush!â
About half a mile down the tracks I spotted a dark lump off to the side, and as I got closer, saw it was a person wrapped in blankets under a bush. You couldnât find a friendlier dog than Cooper, but you also couldnât find a more imposing one, at a lean, mean-looking eighty-five to ninety pounds, those eerie light blue snow eyes staring at you as if you were dinner. The guy saw us coming andshrank up under the bush, and I dug in my heels, because sure as guppies eat their young, these unruly beasts would want to go over and at least taste him. I reeled in the leash so I could get hold of the harnesses; sometimes I could get Cooperâs front feet off the ground to equalize things. We were about three feet away when I accomplished that, and this poor guy stared out from his blankets in terror at what must have appeared to be a man-eating canine, standing almost five feet tall on his hind legs.
I said, âSorry. Theyâre friendly. They wouldnât hurt you. I know what he looks like,â but he didnât say anything back, and I jerked the dogs on down the tracks.
The return trip was always easier because my little Deuce-Cooper was worn down from dragging me, so I had them under pretty good control when we came upon the man again, now awake and packed and walking slowly toward us. His hair was long and gray, his face brown and wrinkled as old leather. What appeared to be all he owned was wrapped in two blankets slung over his shoulder. I saw his socks through the toes of his boots, and his toes through the socks, another pair of which he wore on his hands. As we approached, he avoided my gaze and moved toward the ditch next to the road. The dogs were less interested nowâthough the man put off plenty of exotic smellsâand as we jogged past, he caught me with a sideways glance that feltlike a blow to my gut. It was the first time I recognized desperation, and though I couldnât put words to how I felt, I suddenly remembered the money in my pocket. Before I could even think I stopped, turned the dogs around, and went back. I placed the hundred-dollar bill in the sock on his hand and closed his fist around it; he never took his eyes off mine. I said, âYou should get something to eat, and maybe some shoes or gloves or something.â He said nothing and the look in his eye never changed, and I backed away. When I was maybe twenty-five yards away I heard a long, anguished moan, and I looked back over my shoulder to see him standing, staring at the money in his hand.
I imagine that sound is heard sometimes when a mother finally gets food for her starving child, or when a dying AIDS victim is gathered in loving arms to let him or her feel the warmth of human touch that has so long been
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