FICTION -- DISPATCH FROM A FUTURE TIME

Hey, greetings from south Texas. Doc, thanks for getting this BBS up – with the problems of little or no internet, and the MSM broadcasting the party line Phog, I have really felt isolated.

I feel like I am living a novel, Lights Out to be specific. “Halffast” got it too close to right, and living in the general area that the novel is set really gives me a sense of déjà vu. This county is fortunately still inhabited by a lot of the old ranching/farming families which settled here 200 years ago and Texas individualism and patriotism runs strong through the people. Mutual Assistance Groups have popped up all over and we have a pretty effective barter system.

I sort of became the gathering point for a bunch of medical types, and cops. I used to work in the ER at the county hospital and got to know a bunch of people and was known as a “survivalist type”. The hospital was trashed when the rioting in San Antonio moved out to the surrounding areas. So a bunch of us, with the help of the Sheriff’s Dept. salvaged what we could when the dust settled and moved the “hospital” farther out into the county into a rancher’s pole barn – way off the beaten trail. The citizens of the county all know where it is and we are working 24/7 mostly as an emergency room, but have some OR and acute care abilities. A lot of the doctors who used to work at the ER have moved out here with their families and there is a ‘settlement’ of them near the new hospital – the place looks like an RV park.

San Antonio was hit hard when the military was ‘downsized’. The most heartbreaking part was the almost 1,000 kids who were at Lackland AFB in basic training. Without warning, their DIs went through the barracks and told them they had 30 minutes to pack up their belongings and get off base – they were no longer in the Air Force. That many kids, most were 18 an 19 year olds, really didn’t have a clue what to do, or how to get home, or even survive. San Antonio has always been known as Military City, USA, and the ex-mils and retirees living there took it upon themselves to get these kids (and any other now ex-military) folks home. They pulled out all stops and used every non-traditional means to set up transports. Long haul truckers and a very effective underground railroad managed to get about 3000 military members where they wanted to go all over the nation. Fortunately most of the folks got out of town before things went sour.

The Police Chief in SA was one of those new age touchy-feely type of cops which can all too easily turn into a Jack Booted Thug. He had spent the last 4 years making a ‘kinder gentler’ police force, with the addition of several ‘tactical’ units. The older cops had been leaving in droves from the time he was named chief, almost every one who had their 20 years in had already retired. When things got tense in SA with the cost of fuel, lack of food shipments and frequent blackouts, the city put in a tight curfew and new regulations which to most of the citizens looked and felt like martial law. Chief MacGuy and his Tactical Squads turned into JBTs. The final straw was when there was a march to the Alamo and Federal Courthouse demanding an increase in welfare benefits and a fuel allotment. Several thousand (estimates are as high as 40,000) people were in the march and it was proceeding as most of the marches on the Alamo had in the past – lots of yelling and placards and rhetoric on the Plaza in front of the Alamo. Then someone decided to go into the Alamo Chapel and hold a prayer session. Chief MacGuy was there and decided he would be the one to bar the door to deny access to the Alamo.

No one is quite sure what happened next. Of course this was one day the grid was up and the march was being covered by all the TV stations, so anyone who was not in the Plaza was watching on TV. What can be agreed on is that one of the Priests leading the attempt to enter the Alamo got into a confrontation with the Chief. Someone threw a bottle and the Priest saw it coming towards the Chief and tried to grab the Chief and move him so the bottle wouldn’t hit him. The Chief went down, and suddenly, the Tac Squads showed themselves. They were lining the roofs of the Alamo, the Long Barracks, and many of the businesses surrounding the Plaza.

No one is admitting to firing the first shot, but when it finished, there were bodies all over the Plaza. The JBTs had automatic weapons and it was literally like shooting fish in a barrel. There have been no official estimate of the casualty figures, but I would put it in the hundreds – then it seems like the entire city exploded into mass riots. When things finally quieted down about a week later, most of SA had been burned or taken over by gangs. Most of the fighting had been contained to the city proper but rioting and burning had extended north up I-35 all the way to Austin, which also joined in the riots. Many of the rioters/gangs also followed the main roads into the surrounding counties. Wilson County was hard hit by the marauders, being invaded on two fronts, US 87 and US 181.

The mass retirements from SAPD worked to our advantage, as about 150 of them lived in Wilson County and had signed on as volunteer officers with the various law enforcement agencies. The Sheriff was wise enough to use this resource as well as the military vets in the area and had established a County Militia. The militia set up a defense line just south of the county line on 87 and was able to turn the rioters back. The defense line on 181 was flanked and the rioters got all the way into Floresville. Fortunately for us, they were distracted by the hospital – the lure of drugs must have been too strong and the Militia was able to counter attack essentially ending the invasion.

All of this has taken Wilson County back to the 19th century. Isolated from San Antonio, no jobs as most of the residents of the county worked in SA, the power plant near the county line was down for about 2 weeks but is back in partial operation and we are able to have fairly dependable power, at least for as long as the coal and natural gas lasts. The Sheriff has commandeered all utilities in the county, including the phone lines belonging to ATT and Verizon for essential services, so I have access to the phone and the BBS while at the New Hospital. Most of the homes in the County have no electricity and a couple of the locals have set up a small refinery, using the production from local oil wells mostly to refine kerosene and are making some bio-diesel.

Fuel is limited to use for emergency vehicles only, so most of us are using ‘alternative’ forms of transportation. Lots of horses and mules, of course, and bicycles but the people have really gotten creative. I have a scooter that my once-upon-a-time couch-potato Malamutes are now pulling. A neighbor used his dog to plow his garden. The county has set up a battery exchange where they are using what electricity we have to recharge batteries – you bring in the dead rechargeables and swap for charged ones. A lot of us have solar or wind to generate some home power, and to run the pumps on the water and oil wells.

Sounds like the whole Nation is in about the same shape we are – but I feel sorry for the folks left in what remains of the cities. At least in the countryside, and somewhat the suburbs, the people are really doing a good job of growing food and the ranchers are still producing beef, goats and sheep, and almost everyone has at least a couple of chickens. Wilson County is lucky – we had a fairly large dairy – and a lot of dairy cows- which got back in production sufficiently to provide milk and cheese for the area.

School has not restarted since the riots and I doubt if they will reopen anytime in the near future. Home schooling or small community one room schools are now the norm. The old timers, those who have basic skills such as canning and preserving foods or sewing, are teaching their neighbors and holding classes at the area swap meets. Those who have skills and trades such as blacksmithing, leather work, cooperage and the many other skills which can keep a 19th century civilization running have taken on apprentices. Seems like the only ‘profession’ which has disappeared is the Politicians.

Someone once said, “All politics are local.” Well, now they REALLY are local. And they are all part time politicians; the County Commissioners, County Judge and the Sheriff are about the only politicians we have to deal with any more. Aside from the Texas State Guard and the Rangers and DPS we hardly hear anything from Austin – it seems that government at the State level has gone back to the Republic of Texas mode – and the legislature will not meet until the regularly scheduled every two year cycle.

The Governor did call a special session of the Lege, but barely enough of the Reps and Senators showed up to have a quorum – and most of them were from the rural areas of Texas. This was the first time that the Lege met that they only passed what bills were needed to adjust to the new normal we are living. The ‘sunset laws’ which limited the existence of many of the State laws and bureaucracies saw the sun set. We have a new leaner State government which leaves most of the governance of the people up to the counties.

The Federal government and its interference with life in Texas has gone the way of DC and most of the programs both mandated and funded by them have disappeared – even welfare is a local issue. We did have some guy show up at a County Commissioner’s meeting claiming to be from FEMA and DHS but the County Judge told him that we were doing just fine, thank you, and ‘requested’ he leave the county before the sun went down. That is the last we have heard from anyone claiming to represent the Feds.

The people really do feel like once again the government is ‘of the people, by the people and for the people. No one is going hungry here, and we all are working our tails off just trying to survive, like the rest of the country. There is a new feeling of pride and cooperation and purpose and patriotism as we try to adjust to the way things are now. I guess that going back to basics includes every aspect of life, including back to the basics of the foundation of the Republic – with all men (and women) being created equal and each person is judged on how well they contribute to the community.

This gives hope for restoration of the America I love.

We have an ambulance coming in so I need to get to the ER – will post more when I can get some time --- y’all hang in there.

Remember the ALAMO 2!

Dusty

JUST MY DAD

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Many of you will recognize this as the first stanza of The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. To me I remember it as one of the special benefits of having my Father as a teacher.

I went to a very small school (there were 49 in my graduating class) in southern rural Michigan. My Dad had been a teacher at that school since the year I was born. My Grandfather was a Preacher and the County Commissioner, my other Grandfather had been a blacksmith in town, and my Great Grandfather had built the flour mill in the next village. Many of the kids in my class had similarly deep roots in that town. Newcomers were those whose parents had not been born there.

This town during the mid 40’s to early 60’s when I was growing up could have come straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, at least on the surface. My Dad saw the world was changing and everyone, especially the kids he was teaching were growing up in a world very different than the one he knew. His hope was that ‘his kids’ would be able to walk into that new world armed with all the skills and knowledge he could give them. No longer was knowing how to farm or run the family business in town going to be enough. His kids, if he had anything to say about it, would be as well rounded and ready to learn and adapt to what ever may come as any kid from a big city.

One of his innovations was a class for the Ninth Graders (Freshmen) that he called Sociology. I have tried for years to think of a better name for that class, since it had nothing to do with the Sociology classes I took in college. What this class did was teach life skills – those that we would need to go out in the world, and those skills which Dad considered important but were not taught elsewhere.

There was one class where he taught ‘Table Manners’. Not the keep your elbows off the table and don’t comb your hair at the table kind of manners which he assumed that their parents had taught, but what to do when you find yourself as a real Formal Dinner. . .which fork to use, and what all those plates and glasses are for. Another time he showed a short movie of a ballerina and then showed game films of the football game. That class was connecting the athletic skill, grace and body mechanics in common to both endeavors. We never knew what was going to be the lesson or the presentation when we walked into class. To say the syllabus was eclectic would be to say a rainbow is just colorful.

One Monday we walked into class and on his desk was a human skull – and Dad was not in the room as he usually was.

I KNEW what was coming: Dad never let me know ahead of the class what was being taught, nor gave me extra help at home – if I needed help with homework from any of his classes, I had to go to Mom. He was way too careful not to show favoritism to me. There was a rule in his class – no chewing gum – I was the ONLY student who ever had to stay in the room during lunch hour for chewing gum. But I digress. The skull on the desk meant one thing – he was going to totally embarrass me.

That day, Dad walked into class after the bell had rung – walked up to the desk and sat on one corner, looking at the skull, he said:

That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once:
how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were
Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It
might be the pate of a politician, which this ass
now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God,
might it not?
. . .
Or of a courtier; which could say 'Good morrow,
sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might
be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord
such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?
. . .
Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and
knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade:
here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to
see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding,
but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ache to think on't.
. . .
There's another: why may not that be the skull of a
lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets,
his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he
suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the
sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of
his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be
in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes,
his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers,
his recoveries: is this the fine of his fines, and
the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him
no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than
the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The
very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in
this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?
. . .
This?
. . .
Let me see.
(Takes the skull)
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let
her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell
me one thing.
. . .
Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i'
the earth?
. . .
And smelt so? pah!
(Puts down the skull)

The students were quiet – some recognized this as Hamlet’s words, but all of us felt the majesty of the work – this was our introduction to Shakespeare. And, to my astonishment, I was not embarrassed….I was in awe, I had no idea that my Dad could do something like that and how moving it was. He then explained that in college he needed to memorize this to join his Fraternity (TKE) and he was very lucky that his teachers had taught him, from the one room school where he started and continued through the very School we were now attending, the skill of memorization. He then began teaching the unit on memory and learning. We learned how to learn in that class – and then he gave us our assignment.

We were to memorize the Gettysburg Address and excerpts of two works on a list he gave to us. As I recall, they were from The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, Thanatopsis, The Preamble to the Constitution, The Declaration of Independence, and several other which I have forgotten in the 50 years which have passed. We were then to recite our selections before the class.

Much to our amazement, we all completed our memorization and recitals. Little did the rest of the kids know that my assignment at home was to memorize and recite to my parents ALL of the selections.

We all grew in that class – and much to Dad’s delight most of us went out in to this new world and did well. We became doctors, nurses truck drivers, lawyers, professional musicians, teachers, dentists, police officers, business owners, engineers, mothers and fathers, and many other life paths, but underlying whatever we did was the one piece of advice Dad gave to all of his kids, “In life do what your passion leads you to do – but strive to be the best at it. If you become a ditch digger, be the best ditch digger there ever was.”

Next February, 2010, Dad would have been 100 years old. His legacy continues and his ‘kids’ have dug some very awesome ditches in this world and we can thank a very big teacher from a very small school who encouraged each of us to make our own Midnight Ride.

To me he was just my Dad….to the kids at the three schools where he taught; he was Fred B Ambler, Teacher, Principal and Football Coach.

And their greatest supporter.

TOUCHSTONES AND WISE WORDS

I am a Prepper -- but unlike some, for me prepping is not just a matter of stockpiling stuff but more so of mental and spiritual preparedness.

I am prepping to endure and survive the coming hard times, whatever they may be. . .but I AM prepping. I will not give up without giving life that good old college try.

As for Stuff and Food prepping, I am doing what I can with the resources I have. The how and why arguments and skills are readily available to all. Each of us can do this – it is to keep the physical body going during other than Pollyanna Times.

At the deepest core of a human, is another type of prepping – Spiritual. This is what gives each of us the moxie to actually survive and still to retain our humanity and hope for a better world. This is an individual thing – how or what your spiritual anchor is, is yours to find. . . I cannot tell you, I cannot give you this, I cannot direct you to a list of how-tos. You must find your own Spiritual anchor – that which makes your soul sing and gives you comfort. Those are the Touchstones which make you the YOU that you are striving to become.

But there is third area of prepping – the mental, the philosophical, those things which are the core values that develop into a sense of community or laws and of actions and beliefs. These are the things which make you a sheep, a wolf or a sheepdog.

Here are the values which make your heart sing – or weep - at what you see happening around you. Here are your passions, your hopes and fears for yourself, your family, your country and your world. Here are the things which let you get up in the morning and keep on keeping on to improve the world around you. Here are the values and directions that allow you not to just sit staring blankly like a deer in the headlights in times of rapid change. Here are your ideals of what should be and what should NOT be. And how to make those changes or move towards that ideal you see.

As we age and mature these values may change or refine – that is a part of maturing. They may also change in importance…that which you would have gladly died for in your twenties, may or may not be a part of those ideals that have importance today – that does not make you wrong, just a human developing through the different stages of life.

Along this journey, we each tend to pick up quotations which exemplify who we are and what we believe. I call these WISE WORDS, and I have been collecting them all my life – some I have kept since childhood – some are new and some have moved up or down on the personal importance scale. And some I look at and ask myself, “WHAT were you thinking?” But each of them is a thread in the tapestry of who I am.

This post is to encourage you to find YOUR ‘WISE WORDS’. Not your spiritual Touchstones, but your mental and philosophical words and quotations to contemplate and to live by – the threads in your own personal tapestry.

What are your WISE WORDS? Please share them with those who are dear to you – and broaden the symphony our hearts sing.

Here are some of mine:

“Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.”
Carl Bard

“We've taken to shallow breaths in case we should miss something; some subtle thing that lets us know the very thing we need to know to save our life. We sleep lightly in case our enemy should slip in while our eyes are closed.

We are the watchers. The preparers. The ones who will protect the young and will try to secure things when it all goes to Sh*t. We may also be the ones who will re-build our world.

Then again...maybe nothing will happen.”
Milk Maid / TB2K

"God forbid we should ever be twenty years without such a rebellion. The people cannot be all, and always, well informed. The part which is wrong will be discontented, in proportion to the importance of the facts they misconceive. If they remain quiet under such misconceptions, it is lethargy, the forerunner of death to the public liberty. ... And what country can preserve its liberties, if its rulers are not warned from time to time, that this people preserve the spirit of resistance? Let them take arms. The remedy is to set them right as to the facts, pardon and pacify them. What signify a few lives lost in a century or two? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time, with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure."
Thomas Jefferson

Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.
Benjamin Franklin (1706 - 1790)

These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated.
----The Crisis, Thomas Paine
December 23, 1776

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.
Mark Twain

Your talent is God's gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God.
Unknown

The best way to predict your future is to create it.
Unknown

"The trouble with small furry animals in a corner is that, just occasionally, one of them is a mongoose."
Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

The Winner Is In - The Race Is Over --- NOT!

HAPPY

Yesterday on the news, I heard that the Iditarod race was over and that Lance Mackey had won it for the third time in a row.

Well, like most news reports, they got it half right – Mackey did get a Three-peat. The race is over? Not hardly. Yesterday saw the first three mushers in to Nome – but there were still 54 teams out there. This, to me is the magic of the sled dog races. The race goes on – with as much interest, discussion and angst by the fans until the last team crosses the finish line.

Races traditionally have burning an old red lantern at the finish line. Called the Widow’s Lantern, it remains lit from the start of the race until the last musher is off the trail. That last musher to cross the finish line blows out the flame for another year and is awarded a trophy – The Red Lantern.

If you look at the historical statistics for the race you will find listed together – the first in to Nome winner and the Red Lantern winner. Placement of all the others who ran the race can be found – but with a lot of research.

In many sports, coming in last is a placement to be ignored or quickly forgotten – especially by those who have been there – but NOT in mushing circles. . . I have several autographs of mushers both active and retired and under their names they sign Red Lantern and the year they won it.

Far from being a symbol of failure, it is a sign of personal success and character – that the Red Lantern Winner had it in themselves to continue on, often alone on the trail and to complete what they started even without the ‘Bright Lights of Broadway”, to show that the true grit of old is still alive, that just getting the job done IS a victory. Honor comes with finishing, not necessarily by just finishing first. Perhaps this is something we all should remember in life.

Character is something which is common in the mushing community. Are there jerks out there racing dogs? Sure there must be – they all are humans, but I think there are a lot less of them than in other sports or in life. Mushing is NOT about the musher – it IS about the dogs. The dogs make the decision to run or not run. As Jeff king said “you can’t push a rope”. The musher must establish a relationship where the dogs want to work for him/her. Then to be in any way successful – dog care must come before their own comfort. Most mushers get to Nome and state they have not slept for two or three days – he dogs have – not the humans. The ego of the superstar sportsman does not lead to this commitment. This goes back to the mantra of dog owners everywhere – ALWAYS TRUST THE DOGS – and when 16 dogs will run a thousand miles pulling a sled for a person – well – that person can’t be all bad.

Another story of character – Libby Riddles, first woman to win the Iditarod, is retired from racing – but still very involved in the sport. It seems like she heard about the back story of Wade Marrs, 18 year old rookie from Knik, AK. Raised by a single mom, mushing has been his passion since he was a little kid. He has run the Junior Iditarod twice and won the Humanitarian Award. Somehow he was able to assemble a team and the funds to run the race this year but, as Libby found out, the money for his Mom to fly to Nome and meet him at the finish line was not there.

Libby knew that Mom should be there and put the word out and started collecting money for Wade’s Mom’s plane ticket. Today, we all got the word – Mom is in Nome. Libby is as close to a super star as they come in this game – but her concerns were for a rookie and his mom. This is Character. Thanks to Libby and all those who donated to get Mom there on Front Street, Nome.

Another backstory is that of a dog – Happy – from the kennel of Aliy Zerkle and her husband Allen Moore. This is the link – http://spkenneldoglog.blogspot.com/2009/03/iditarod-2009-happy-story.html
-watch the videos. You will find out why Happy has become the fan’s choice for Superstar of the 2009 Iditarod.

Nope, the race is not over – there are too many winners still out on the trail.

And Happy needs her kiss.

TEN YEARS WITH PATSYCLINE

We all have hard about “Gateway Drugs” that drug which is seen as ‘harmless’ but leads to a life of addiction – well, I would like you to meet MY ‘gateway drug”



TEN YEARS WITH PATSYCLINE

We brought Patsy our first Alaskan Malamute home from her BYB as a 9 week old ball of fluff. That afternoon, we took her to our vet for a check up; he heard a heart murmur and she was anemic – and loaded with fleas. We decided that we would take her back to her breeder and look for another, healthier puppy. She slept in the bathroom that night. The next morning, she was in the living room when I heard her screaming like the world would end. It seems that she did something that Tess, our old Momma Sibe did not like, Patsy ignored Tess' suggestion to straighten up – so Tess bit her. Face bleeding we rushed her to the vet who had to shave her face to treat puncture wounds to her face and head.

Kind of hard to have a BYB take back a chewed up puppy, so we were stuck with a bald headed back yard bred dog, with a murmur.

The next year was the normal adventures of raising a puppy. Normal IF that puppy is a Malamute. I discovered a couple of Malamute internet lists and began my education of the breed in general and with Patsy's help, the MRM (Malamute Resistance Movement) in particular. We found we had a dog that would fight a gate post at the drop of a hairy eyeball and at the same was the most loving dog we have ever owned.

At seventeen months – Patsy's cute little puppy hop had developed into a full blown bilateral bad hip bunny hop at anything faster than a walk – she hopped when she trotted. So off to the orthopedic vet – the verdict? Severe bilateral hip dysplasia and moderate arthritic changes to the right hip. The solution –Total Hip Replacement to the left rear. Three months of rehab – and Patsy was doing quite well. Then about a year later she developed an abscess on her left leg just above the hock. The implant had gotten infected. For a year she was on antibiotics – the abscess would clear up then return as soon as she was off the meds. It was obvious she was in pain, the right leg had atrophied and she was not using it. We were getting conflicting opinions on what, if anything could be done.

That year, 2002, the National was in Sacramento and a friend there offered to drive us to UC Davis if I could get an appointment to evaluate her leg.

Tom and I had driven there in the RV, and had decided that if there was not a VERY positive potential outcome if we operated on Patsy to remove the implant, we would have her put out of her pain when we returned. We were not going to put Patsy through another major surgery if it would not cure her pain. We loved her too much to put her through that for OUR benefit – only if it would really help HER.

The report from the wonderful Vets at UC Davis was very hopeful – if we removed the hip implants and all the cement where the infection had settled, there was an almost 100% chance that she would recover to become pain free and have normal function.

We left the National with the real winner of the year at that National in our RV – Patsy would get the surgery, and would live.

Patsy had the surgery and it was a success- she continued to travel across the country with us in the RV and has brought many special moments such as this.

Going to the National in Utah, Tom and I took the RV and did the touristy route. We spent one night at a WalMart (the cheap RV park) in Gallop. In the morning when I was walking her, 3 middle aged men walked by. Stopped dead in their tracks, and began talking to each other in their language (most likely Navajo, but could have been Zuni or any of the local languages) the one who had spotted Patsy put his hand to his neck and pointed Patsy out to the others. A bit later a VERY old gentleman came over to me and asked about my dog. l told him we were on our way to Ogden to National, and that she was a Malamute, and that they were the valued companions of the Malamute Inuits. He then looked at me and said, "Around her neck?"

I thought I was in for a major chewing out about those 'yuppie Indian wanna-be's' abusing traditional beliefs. I told him it was sent to her when she was very ill by a friend in CA, who is a Native healer. He asked me what was in the bag and I told him, I had been told to add turquoise and silver, but there were other herbs and I don't know what all else--you see it is HER medicine bag that Lori made for her. He smiled, and then asked if he could talk to her--of course I said yes.

He got down on his knees, reached out and put his hands on her head and spoke to her in his native language. Patsy, who will bark and bitch at strangers, just stood there relaxed, looking him in the eyes, as an equal. He told me "she is a special spirit", I told him I knew and thank you for seeing that. He smiled and walked back into WalMart. For the next few minutes, while I finished walking her 15 to 20 people, all Native, came out of WalMart, walk over to where we were, looked at Patsy and me and then went back in the store. Very special.

During this time, Tom's health had deteriorated and he was having a lot of trouble with his diabetes – many instances of going into insulin shock – with Pasty alerting me when ever he was unconscious. We also figured out that Patsy would alert Tom when his blood sugar would start to get low. She and Tom were bonded at the hip and she became his self taught Medical Assistance Dog. When Tom was having a bad day – he would take Patsy to work. She would spend the day sleeping under his desk, telling him when his blood sugar would drop. There were 6 times that she saved his life by alerting me that Tom was unconscious – and untold times, she alerted Tom to eat when he was going hypoglycemic.

Today, Feb 17, 2009 is Patsy's 10th birthday and she has led me on quite an adventure – somewhere along the line I lost my shyness and learned to embrace life with the joy and curiosity of a Malamute. For those who have seen her – you know she is not a Best in Show example of her breed – but that is only the outside. In her head and heart Patsy is 100% Malamute – a Best of Breed Malamute where it counts. She has taught me to look into the heart of those I meet and not to judge by what I see on the outside.

She has lead me to being involved in Malamute rescue and from there to work with RPOA helping Pets and Owners of all species. She had been the 'gateway drug' to a whole new world of interests (some would say obsessions) having to do with the world of working dogs – and sled dogs. Because of Patsy's influence in my life I have met my dearest friends, made many internet friends across the world – have traveled the US, gone to Alaska to the Iditarod and most importantly have had the love and respect – hard earned – of a fantastic if quirky Alaskan Malamute named CW Singin' PatsyCline.

***********************************************************

Now I sit here caring for 9 dogs, most of them Malamutes, all of them but Patsy rescues. My life is centered on Dog issues - Rescue; a facination with Northern Breed dogs, especially Malamutes; promoting giving Working Dogs jobs; a fanatic about the Iditarod and all the other activities with dogs; and working for animal welfare issues (NOT animal rights).

Hello, my name is Dust Musher, and I am an addict - all because of a gateway drug named PatsyCline.

Ravens and Food Drops

To the Native Alaskans the Raven holds a special place in their traditions – many consider the Raven as the Creator of the world, the nurturer of the first man. To all he is a trickster, a shape changer.

To modern man the Raven is a P.I.T.A. – a big black bird who I has been described as a rat with feathers. To me the Raven is fascinating – when I was in Anchorage my hotel room overlooked the back of a restaurant where the ravens gathered each day to visit the dumpster and shop for dinner. I would sit and watch them interact with each other and once they discovered me in the window, interact with me. I saw a level of intelligence similar to that of the African Gray Parrots I have known. Ravens also have a sense of humor – actually, I tend to lean towards the belief that they are the creators of the Arctic and they made the Malamute in their own image.

There are many stories of Ravens interacting with the dog teams on the trail, Karen Ramstead tells in her Iditarod Journal of Ravens who traveled with her team for miles. I can see how these beautiful big black birds can be seen as special spirits. http://northwapiti.com/Iditarod2K8/033108spiritravens.html

(to really learn what it is to be an Iditarod Musher – I recommend you read Karen’s Diaries and blogs – from her rookie year in 2000 to this year’s Yukon Quest 300 to the training going on today- she is a wonderful writher who is able to make it seem you are there on the runners
http://northwapiti.com/ouriditarods.html )

However – remember they ARE tricksters – one year during the race there was a remote camera set up so a picture of the checkpoint could be broadcast to the outside. Wonderful idea and the cutting edge of technology at the time, but there was this Raven ----- the Raven pecked at the camera, sat on the camera with his tail over the lens and finally was able to move the camera enough that all we got was a nice picture of a snow bank. Maybe Ravens created the stars that elude and fight off the paparazzi.

This year the Ravens out did themselves at the Rainy Pass checkpoint. This is a snip from an article in the Anchorage Daily News 3-10-09:

“(Check point worker)A former Iditarod musher, Anderson hadn't been quite so jolly earlier in the day when he had to chase off a flock of ravens that tore into some drop bags. The all-volunteer Iditarod Air Force leaves the bags of food and extra gear at most of the 22 checkpoints along the 1,000-mile trail days before the race.

These were covered with blue tarps to keep wild animals out, but the ravens saw through the ploy.

"(The tarp) was like a bull's-eye for them," Anderson said. "Those ravens are pretty smart."

The big, black crows on steroids were gathered along the lakeshore singing and dancing in celebration of what they'd found Monday morning, Anderson said. Between them and the foxes, about a dozen bags had been scavenged.
http://www.adn.com/iditarod/2009/story/716916.html

About the Raven
http://www.adfg.state.ak.us/pubs/notebook/bird/raven.php
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_Raven

On the subject of food drops – this is a technical aspect of the race that takes several Iditarods to refine. The musher must ship out everything he will need on the trail – dog food, people food, clothing, extra sleds. If they think they will need it, it must be shipped. The Drop bags are labeled with both the Musher’s name and the checkpoint it will go to. This is a good source of information on the food drops:
http://www.ultimateiditarod.com/fooddrops.html

But the mushers aren’t the only ones who prepare for the long haul of the Iditarod – many of the fans or should I say, FANATICS who will spend the next 2 weeks glued to their computers also prepare ‘food drops’. After all who has time to cook dinner and bake snacks when updates are coming every few minutes? One of the posters on the BSSD forum posted her recipe for 5 minute chocolate cake – which she had made several kits consisting of the dry ingredients in sandwich baggies and stored, ready to mix and bake during the race. She shared the recipe with me.

DILLI’S 5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well..
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again..
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired

Dollop of husky hair with a cherry on top optional.

I have gotten some questions on choosing the trail for the race and thought this site might be interesting – the bush villages have done an excellent job of creating on line educational sites and the kids really are in to connecting with their Native roots through studying the race.

Web site for Shageluk School Iditarod Project – interviews and history of the Southern Route
http://shageluk.iasd.schoolaccess.net/2009iditarod.html

I did my food drops early – frozen dinners, snack mixes, a stock of sodas. Having to choose between eating and keeping up to the minute on what’s happening in the Race?

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Black Ribbon: Mozilla's Moose on the Loose

Those of us active in Malamute Rescue are a close knit group across the country – we help each other out with dogs needing homes, and we laugh and cry together when it comes to our dogs, both rescues and personals.
Today I we got an email announcing that Mozilla’s Moose on the Loose (Moose) passed on to the Rainbow Bridge. Moose was a rescue who found his home with one of our rescuers – Vicky of Illinois Rescue. We all cried with her…

Mozilla's Moose on the Loose 10-31-2000 ~ 3-13-2009

One day, nine years ago or so, a pup was born into this world. Like every other pup that is born into this world, he had his whole life ahead of him, filled with thoughts of what would come - a home to love him, people to call his own, an anticipation of a good life to come. This pup was not so lucky - he was sold to someone who who should never have owned a dog at all. He was put out into a small pen, and left day after day to watch the world go by, and wish that he could be a part of it. The days turned into weeks, the weeks to months, the months to years. His neighbors would call animal control, so sad for the poor pup left alone, with nothing or no one to play with, no regular food or water, living in his own filth. His person would make small amends, for a week, maybe two. And then the calls would start again. The laws don't always favor our furry friends, and they certainly didn't favor this poor pup. Over the course of years, many calls were made, many trips were made by animal control. Finally, after four long years, conditions were bad enough to remove him from his sad environment.

And so he came to rescue. And what a sight he was. He was skinny, and dirty, and over the top excited about being free from the small pen that had been his prison for as long as he could remember. With no fosters available, he was placed at a rescue friendly boarding kennel, where he always had plenty of food, fresh water, shelter, and volunteers to offer up the walks and belly rubs he so craved. One after another, potential adoptors eyed our big wild boy, and all proclaimed him "too much dog" - he was after all, a great big boy with a heart full of puppy mischief, short on manners, but long on personality. He was - and I'm sure he enjoyed being - a real handful. He loved the kennel - it was sooo much better than anything he had ever known. He greeted everyday and everyone with a big smile - a smile that everyone knew just meant trouble. He was a favorite among the seasoned volunteers who liked a dog that gave them a "run for their money".

After many many months in the kennel, and many potential adoptors looking at this handsome fellow but deciding he was just too much, one warm August day, I decided that he had waited far, far too long for a real home of his own - and loaded him into the car. And Moose became mine. He was probably mine all along, it just took me awhile to realize it - after all, I'm just a slow human. And Moose was nothing if not trouble! He wanted to eat the cats, fight with the other dogs, escape at every opportunity, and cause as much general mayhem as possible - all with a great big silly "hey world, look at me!" grin on his face. We gave him Halloween as his birthday - it seemed so appropriate, as he was always playing tricks. We had FUN. Everything was fun to Moose - there is nothing that we did that he didn't meet with a "this is GRRREAT" attitude. He learned obedience (ok...mostly). He learned to pull a sled with his sister Miss, and went on many sled demos for the rescue. He went to some weight pulls - and always pulled his 1000 pounds as a novice. He learned to race like the wind in his big yard, chase and catch woodland critters, do the happy dance at dinnertime, go swimming, go on long walks in the twilight, chew a bone, sleep in a warm bed, and get belly rubs and cookies. He loved life - every part of it, large and small. And he loved his people, and we loved him back, fiercely. There was just so much love and joy inside his big heart, it seemed that sometimes it might just burst from all it held inside.

This morning, Mark went out to let everyone outside - and came running in to me and said that Moose didn't want to get up, maybe he was sick. I threw on a pair of jeans and a pair of shoes......and in those short moments, Moose was gone. It happened so quickly - it did not seem real. In shock, we brought our boy to the vet, for the last time, to find out what had happened, if we had somehow failed him. How could a boy that we loved so much - and that loved us that much in return - suddenly be gone from our lives without even a chance to say good-bye? The autopsy results confirmed....Moose had died of heart failure. It was sudden, and unpreventable...all the love, and all the joy he had inside - his big heart just couldn't hold it and gave out.

And so, our hearts are broken. I cannot imagine mornings without "good morning MooseMan!" and night times without "sweet dreams MooseGarou", and days without trying to keep up with my mile a minute boy full of joy. Our lives will never be the same. Not ever. And tonight, and until we meet again, the angels will be ducking for cover from my big boy in his silver harness, as he runs through the skies looking for mischief.

Once upon a time I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart
Turn around bright eyes............turn around......

I'll see you in the dark, in my dreams, MooseMan. You were so very easy to fall in love with. I'll love you for my whole life, and beyond. I promise.

******************************

Dear Mom Vicky and Dad Mark;

Please don’t cry but remember the good times – and every minute I had with you was a GREAT time. I am writing this letter because I didn’t have time to say a long good-by and a “see ya later” but things were moving fast and Lover Boy came to me and told me he needed my help on a special project.

You see this year the entire ’94 Malamute Iditarod team is running the race watching over all the dogs there – the trail is deep and punchy and they are needed to keep the route open and safe for those little Alaskans and Siberians on the trail; and the rest of the Mals North of the Rainbow Bridge are running with them. Lover Boy looked back towards the start and saw a small white dog named Nigel lost on the trail – and in Anchorage, a musher crying because her dog had been alone and lost for 4 days. Lover Boy went to search for Nigel. This morning, Lover Boy found Nigel and started to guide him back to people who could get him to his Hu-mom, but it was taking too long and Nigel was cold and hungry and scared and all the Humes were looking in the wrong places. Lover Boy needed me to help get Nigel home safely and quickly. We did it! And tonight we are watching Nigel and his Hu-Mom, Nancy, happily together in Anchorage.

Well with the serious stuff done – and not having gotten the time to scope out the Bridge fully, I was off to see what all the hoop-la called the Iditarod was about. Guess what I found. A musher and his team way out in front of everyone else – so I paid them a visit. Larry, the lead dog told me that his Hu-dad, Lance, was getting a little intense and agreed it was time to have some fun, so Larry and I ran the team and musher around the bush for a couple of hours – Boy THAT was fun.

As I joined up with the Malamute Silver Harness Team, the lead dogs, Jacob and Joshua, informed me that playing with the teams was not nice – they were working, after all – and as I contritely listened, they all burst out in laughter – agreeing you had indeed named me correctly – Moose on the Loose.

Now that night is approaching, remember I love you and you made my life on earth whole. I will hear your nightly “Sweet dreams, MooseGarou” and I want you to know I am living those sweet dreams.

I love you and want you to know I am not gone, just gone ahead to other adventures.

Love,
Your Moose Man

INSOMNIA AND STATISTICS

We have gotten started on the third day of the Race and the first five checkpoints are closed. This is the time the Race Geeks start to come out from under cover. To those of us who start keeping statistics NOTHING is too geeky (is that a word?) to compile, to figure, to compare to prior years. This is what separates the Fans from the Fanatics – to be able to let all who ask that THIS year all the mushers are at least into Finger Lake Checkpoint and no one has dropped out of the race yet - I am sure that somewhere someone is checking to find out if this is the farthest checkpoint without a scratch.

I am tracking who has dropped dogs and at what checkpoint. Others are tracking the comparable run times between checkpoints – this year, so far, the runs are a tad slower.

Once again – the best coverage by fans seems to be the Forum sponsored by The Bering Sea School District. http://wiki.bssd.org/index.php/Mushing_forum

As Internet fora go, it is a small group, a little less than 400 members and some of those are out on the trail in the race, but it is a GIANT as far as enthusiasm goes. Membership is free – just sign up and you do not have to be a total Fanatic to be a member. The BSSD board is one of the friendliest Fora going and we welcome anyone who is interested in the race – long time geek or new fan. The Board is also open to anyone who is not registered to read… Serious discussions, Talk to the Musher threads, and pure fun threads.

One of the most fun is the Who Is Trailbreaker? thread. A poster asked this innocent question during the middle of the race last year because there was GPS tracking of some of the mushers and always in the lead was a GPS designated Trailbreaker – the crew who marks and grooms the trail just ahead of the lead mushers. Well this question came up about the time the members were starting to suffer from sleep deprivation and during the time most of the mushers were traveling down the Yukon River – not a hotly contested part of the race. Well a legend was born – and the entire history of the Breaker Family was published – including a Family Tree and their Family Crest. My favorite member is Heart Breaker, the femme fatale of the family though others favor Jail Breaker, the Black Sheep of the family and Wind Breaker the family’s gaseous pet Golden Retriever.

One of the back stories coming out is Lance’s confrontation with a Moose on Saturday during the Ceremonial Start. The story can be read at Lance’s website: http://www.mackeyscomebackkennel.com/ But the photo from the Anchorage Daily News should be enough to get anyone’s attention.


2009 © Photo courtesy of Rebecca Keating

Well, back to checking the leader board and tracking the Dropped Dogs – now the mushers are over the Alaskan Range they should start dropping more dogs-those which were needed for the power to climb the mountains but not needed for the speed of the Interior and the trip down the Yukon.

Mush on!

The Re-Start -- and so the game begins

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

The Cremation of Sam MacGee
by Robert Service


Tonight 67 mushers and 1071 dogs are spending their first of many nights in the Alaskan Wilderness. . .

For some fans, they can watch the progress of the mushers on the Trail on the via the Iditarod web site tracker for the Insiders who have paid the subscription, for the rest of us we have to follow the old fashioned way – by checking often the Current Standings page at:
http://iditarod.com/race/race/currentstandings.html

But all of us will continue to bounce between the web sites, the blogs, and the emails flying between friends following news, speculation and wild rumors. In other words – just another typical Iditarod race watched by the Idita-nuts in the Outside.

I have lit two candles, one for the Mushers and one for the Dogs which will burn until the last Musher and team arrive in Nome and the Widow’s Lantern is extinguished….thus ending the race.

The story of the FROG in a Sled: http://www.alaska.net/~freefrog/home.html

Photo by Donna Quante

And Photos of Lance’s tag sled on its side can be found on Backstage Iditarod Blog – link on the left side of my blog.

Pictures of Eric’s tag sled flipped is on the Anchorage Daily News Photo Essay of the Start.

Off to bed – to continue the internet quest in the morning – at least I have a nice warm and dry bed to curl up in – but then, catching a catnap surrounded by my team is not such a bad dream either.

Today was the Ceremonial Start in Anchorage. Today is for the fans - the mushers use any sled they wish and the dogs they run with often are not the dogs which will be on the team for the rest of the race. Today's theme was celebrating 50 Years of Alaska's Statehood and the Honorary Musher's Sled driven by Dan Seavey, was an antique Freighting sled borrowed from the Knik Museum.

Jeff King who is noted for being 'innovative' when it comes to sled designed went 'old school', VERY old school and ran the Start using an historical design of a Gee Stick Sled. This is a type of sled used by the freighters before the turn of the century like - in the 1800's. The musher/driver is on skis allowing the sled to be filled with freight. Remember that these sleds were designed to be pulled by freighting or sledging dogs, like our Malamutes, not the NASCAR Alaskan Huskies used today. Jeff has posted a You Tube video of a training session - notice the voice control he has of his team - amazing.

Jeff's You Tube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYB5dRPkmDI&feature=channel_page

From the Anchorage Daily News: Four-time Iditarod champion Jeff King waves to the crowd near Alaska Native Medical Center as he skis in front of a freighting dog sled during the Iditarod Ceremonial Start on Saturday, March 7, 2009. His freight sled was equipped with a "gee pole" that were used on most every freight sled at the turn of the twentieth century. According to a U.S. Department of the Interior Bureau of Land Management web page the gee pole was a stout pole lashed to, and projecting from, the front of the sled, which the sled driver could use to leverage and steer the sled. Most dog drivers still did not ride the sled, instead running besides or riding skis or a sort of early snowboard between the dog team and sled. Riding the sled-runners was used only by drivers of light and fast mail and race teams. http://www.adn.com/iditarod/2009/v-gallery/story/714227.html?/1521/gallery/713606-a714407-t3.html

One of Jeff on the Start
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_0wcP1a0fw


June’s Blog with lots of pictures http://backstage-iditarod.blogspot.com/

Some Links to follow the inside view of the race:
http://gomush.com/2009IditarodStartpage2.html

I am sure there will be more later -- Tomorrow is the Re-start of the race - the 'real' start where the timer is ticking.

Meantime there are questions floating around about the Start ---- Like:
Alexie and the camo dogs
Lance’s tag sled rider got dumped?
Eric's did, too?
A frog in the sled