IKE KNEW HE WAS NOT THE FIRST to tame wolves and breed them into dogs. He had no idea where it was first done and who did it. That would be like knowing who made the first harpoon. Various versions of harpoons turned up in many places around the same time in the Arctic. But he knew he was one of the first and that he was particularly good at this new venture. He took the wolf out of its natural den, but he never wanted to take the wolf out of the dog.
It had begun as play when Ike was a child. His mother had shown him and his young sister, Isa, a den of five wolf pups. They saw the pups venture out of the den in early morning when both parents had gone hunting. It was a new pack of only the mates and their pups, no pup sitters. Ike was not allowed to watch the pups for long on the first visit, lest the wolf parents return and find them there.
Ike and his sister pleaded to return daily, moving to a spot closer to the pups each day. The pups became used to the scent of the children and did not scurry back into the den when Ike slowly approached and let the friendliest pups mouth his hand. His sister did the same. They brought bones to entice and play with the pups, being careful to take the bones home again so the pups’ parents would find no trace of them.
Ike asked many questions of his own parents about wolves. His father told him to stop visiting the wolf den, it was unmanly. He should be playing with other boys, wrestling and racing, building his muscles and speed in order to become good at the hunt. He was spending too much time with his sister and mother. He would become weak if he spent so much time watching baby animals. Wolves and other animals are to be respected and used when needed for food and clothes. “And do not feed the wolf pups,” said his father, finally, firmly.
His mother kept silent. She was an observant woman but she made no report of missing meat to her husband after Ike stole some small morsels of hare to give to the pups in early summer.
The punishment for this came not from his father but from the wolves themselves: the next day, when Ike went to their den, they were gone. The den was completely abandoned. Ike and his sister said nothing about this to their mother and father. They were sure they had caused the young pack to flee.
Perhaps the parents had killed the pups for taking food from humans, his sister said, and would not pursue wolves any more.
When his father went on a long fishing trip with the other men, Ike spent several mornings searching for the wolves. He spotted them in a clearing near the forest by a small lake. Both parents and all five pups were there, chasing each other, wrestling each other to the ground, leaping over each other, doing all the things his father said he should be doing with the other boys.
When his village moved to another location in the autumn, Ike resolved that if he found another den of pups, he’d take one for his own and raise it to be his friend. He liked wolves better than boys. But as long as Ike was a boy living in his father’s house, he was not allowed to keep a wolf pup.
When Ike grew up and took a wife, his father was not surprised that they bore no children. But he was grieved. His son had never been normal. Ike’s wife, Piji, was deeply disappointed and depressed that she did not bear children. She mated often with Ike, before they slept and when they awoke. He was good to mate with. They mated in the forest. On the river bank. In the full and in the waning moon. Nothing worked. Then Piji secretly bargained to mate with another married man who had produced three babies. Nothing. No babies came of this affair.
Piji cried. Ike comforted her. In her distress she confessed to him about the affair and its fruitless outcome. Ike took his arms from around her and was quiet for a long time. Only the noise of his sharpening knife was heard in their summer hut.
Then he turned to Piji and said, “Will you raise wolves with me?”
They started by stealing just one pup from any litter they found of more than four pups.
They justified their theft by pointing out that an entire litter seldom survives into adulthood and that one less mouth to feed could mean the remaining pups would get more and grow stronger. They stole a pup only when it was more than one moon old and could live on chewed-up meat.
The first pup Ike stole was from a new pairing of lone wolves who had no nanny to tend their litter of six hungry pups. Ike had watched as the mother growled and herded the pups to stay in the den while she went with the father to bring down some caribou. When the parents were far from sight, Ike lured the pups out of the den with well-chewed pieces of meat. He observed their behaviour … the ones most aggressive, least cautious, most trusting of a human hand. Ike played with those willing to play, turning them over to see which were female. He chose the female most willing to nuzzle his hand for food. She may not be the smartest, he thought, but she’s strong and should be the most trainable. Yuki, they had decided to name her. She had a dark coat, with a white face and underbelly. Ike picked her up, threw meat to divert the others and ran off with Yuki as fast as he could. He was a thief with a mission and a conscience. As he ran, he assured himself he had done well, for no pups had been harmed and all had good chance of survival. But what stayed in his mind was the memory of the most cautious, or thinking, pup in the litter, the one who would not take food from his hand, though she would fight for food dropped to the ground, and she would not allow him to touch her. She dodged and ran to a spot where she could sit and observe him. That’s a lead wolf, he thought. Some day I’ll have a pack with one like that in the lead.
He carried Yuki in a sack so she couldn’t see or smell the trail. It was a long day’s run through the dwindling forest then along the frozen river, back to the spring campsite of his village. Piji was waiting with a bone bowl of fresh caribou near the fire. Ike set the hide sack on the bed of furs, pulling the opening wide for Yuki to come out. She would not. She was so terrified she had not made a sound during the journey, and the sack was soaked with saliva from her mouth and sweat from her paws. Piji pulled her out of the sack and lifted her up by the pit of her forepaws.
“Beautiful face!” Piji nuzzled Yuki’s snout, then held her close to her body.
“She’s not a baby!” Ike grabbed Yuki by the scruff of the neck. “Pick her up the way a wolf would. Like this!” He handed her back to Piji.
Carrying Yuki close to her body, Piji frowned at Ike, took Yuki outside and set her down on a patch of lichen where she squatted for a long piss, her ears back. Yuki trembled as the village children and adults formed a circle around her. The children were noisy with exclamations until Ike silenced them and promised that soon they would be able to play with her. Indeed, they would be asked to help keep Yuki within the confines of the village, but first she needed time to get used to her new family. Piji picked up Yuki and carried her back to their hut where she greedily devoured chewed meat while keeping a wary eye on Piji and Ike.
During darkness, Yuki lay still on the bed of moss Piji had made, with her back up against the poles and hides of the summer hut. Every time Ike or Piji stirred, Yuki would look up, sometimes sit up, staring intensely beyond the glow of the oil pot flame.
With firm instructions from Ike, Piji was left to look after Yuki while he went in search of a mate for her. “Don’t forget you’re a wolf mother,” Ike said. “Keep picking her up by the scruff of the neck. Chew her meat and spew it out for her to swallow. Lead her outside to piss. But keep her away from the village brats who want to tease or maul her. Keep her away from everyone as much as you can until I get back. And don’t let her out of your sight. From now on you are her mother and I am her father.” Ike howled like a wolf then laughed and departed.
Piji smiled and said to herself: my husband has his own wisdom and I have mine. This wolf pup is my baby. She picked Yuki up, lifting under the shoulders, as she would a baby. She set her on her lap and put her finger in Yuki’s mouth, letting her sniff and then mouth her fingers and hand. Then Piji put meat on her hand and Yuki ate from her hand. Piji used food to lure Yuki around and to have her sleep on a caribou skin up against Piji’s feet
Finding an unguarded litter of more than four pups was not quick or easy. Ike grew weary and impatient as he tracked and searched upriver, night and day. The moon waned from full to a sliver. Then Ike found a litter of three, out of their den, sporting and mousing in a clearing, guarded by an old wolf. They were handsome pups, like Yuki.
In a flash of desperate covetousness, Ike abandoned his principles and speared the slow moving old wolf as she rose up in alarm. Seeing their nanny speared, fallen, bleeding on the ground, the pups yelped frantically and scattered in fear, circling in confused directions. Ike pursued the largest one, which did turn out to be a male. The pup yelped and growled on being grabbed but went silent and still once the sack was over his head. Ike then speared the fallen wolf in the heart. Her body stopped writhing and lay dead. He wanted to touch her, apologize, explain. But the pack might return at any moment. Ike fled.
Back downriver he ran, carrying his pup, and haunted by the scene of the old guard wolf, speared, encircled by the frantic pups.
“She’s fat!” said Ike upon seeing Yuki. “Working animals can’t be fat!”
“You’ve been gone a full moon,” said Piji. “Yuki is still here and healthy. I have done a good job. What have you brought me?”
Ike set the sack on the earth floor. They watched in silence while Yuki sniffed the air and stared at the loose opening of the sack. Nothing moved within it until Yuki whimpered at the scent of another pup and then sniffed all around the sack. The pup then emerged, slowly, cautiously.
“I have brought you a mate for Yuki,” announced Ike.
“Yukitu!” Piji clapped her hands and smiled as the pups sniffed at each other, circled each other. Then Yuki lay down and rolled over onto her fat back, in submission. Yukitu wagged his tail, then stood stiff in alarm at his surroundings. His coat was darker than Yuki’s. He had a similar white underbelly, chest and face, but with dark marking around the eyes.
“Looks like he’s wearing sun goggles!” Piji laughed. “But he’s handsome. This is a good looking pair. Like you and me.” She smiled and reached out to pet Yukitu.
“Water,” said Ike. “He needs to drink and eat. Me too.”
Ike sat down in front of the doorway so the pups could not escape while Piji assembled a bowl of water and meat for Ike. Yukitu had run to the far wall and sat watching while Yuki deliberated between following him and following the food. Piji filled her hand with unchewed meat which the pups were now old enough to eat. She made the mistake of setting a portion down in front of Yukitu first. With unusual alacrity, Yuki pounced on the food then Yukitu pounced on her and a vicious fight ensued. Ike and Piji dove in to separate the pups. Yuki got the worst of it but both were bleeding from bites on ears, neck, snout and back.
“Never do that again!” Ike shouted at Piji as he held Yukitu and she held Yuki.
“What!” said Piji. “What did I do wrong? Food must be shared. It was right to feed him first. He hadn’t eaten in a long time. Yuki has to learn to share. She did wrong, not me. Do you understand, Yuki? Share!”
“Wolves don’t share.”
“They do. They eat from the same caribou. Pups suck from the same mother. Don’t think I don’t know how to raise these babies.”
“They are wolves!” Ike shouted.
The pups’ ears flattened at the shouting. They struggled to get free.
The neighbours’ ears perked up. They smiled knowingly at the sound of parents quarrelling over how to raise their young.
“You feed Yukitu,” said Piji more calmly. “I’ll feed Yuki.”
“No!” Ike stomped his foot firmly. “Yuki is not for you and Yukitu for me. That is no way to raise our wolves. There must be order. Order in the home as in the pack. They must eat together and work together.”
“Peace and order,” said Piji. “You speak like an elder. There is no need. There is peace and order in our home.” Especially when you’re away, she thought. Though I do not like it when you are away. “I will clean the pups. And then I will feed them. You bring home the meat and I will prepare it. I give you food and then I will give to Yuki in that place.” She pointed to one end of the hut. “And then to Yukitu in that place.” She pointed to the opposite end. “That will be the order in our home.”
She wet a thin piece of hide in the water pot and proceeded to wipe the blood spots off Yuki and Yukitu. Ike settled them into separate corners where they lay down eyeing each other. Ike took his seat near the fire while Piji chopped pieces of caribou and fresh fish. Yuki rose to sit near the food source.
“Stay!” Ike said and pointed firmly to where she should stay. Yuki looked at Piji, who carefully kept her back to her as if in perfect solidarity with Ike’s command, though she was saying to herself: you have to learn, Yuki, that there is a new order now that you have a mate. Yuki lay down.
“The village has kept me well supplied while you were away.” Pigi handed Ike a bowl of fish and water.
“I’ll go fishing at sunrise,” said Ike.
“We’re not owing,” said Piji. “I have made leggings and parkas and traded well.”
“Good wife.” Ike picked his teeth and smiled at her. “We need much time to train these wolves. Two summers from now we should have the first litter. May it be large. Then Yuki and Yukitu will pull sleds for our village. We will be able to move faster and further than any village. We will be the greatest traders on the greatest river. Our wolves will be known as the great sled pullers of the Malamutes. They will be famous up and down the Yukon.”
“Now?” Piji smiled as she held up two long-handled bone ladles of meat.
Ike nodded. He picked up Yukitu, holding him above his feeding place.
“Yuki, come!” Piji dumped one ladle on a flat stone in her place.
While Yuki was busy eating, Piji put the food on Yukitu’s stone plate and Ike set him down. Yukitu hesitated, looking cautiously at Ike and at Yuki, who looked up momentarily from her food, growled threateningly, then dug in again. Yukitu gobbled his meat in two swallows.
The pups were led outside, each in a leather harness with leather rope attached, designed and sewn together by Piji. Yuki was used to hers. Yukitu, still traumatized by fear of all that had happened to him, had to be nudged into his harness; once in it, he did not want to move until he saw Yuki assuringly at ease. He followed her, the only familiar creature in sight. After Yuki had squatted to pee, Yukitu followed suit, lifted his leg and pissed on the same spot.
Ike and Piji then led their pups through the village towards the chief ’s hut. Yukitu stopped frequently to sniff, in extreme wariness of everything around him. Ike did not yank or force him on his first walk but he would not let him turn off in any direction.
The chief stood at his doorway, having donned his best jacket. He was amused at the presentation of the fat and thin wolf pups in harness. He was familiar with Yuki, now the pet of the village and fed by too many. She leapt up in friendliness at others but she was taught to sit respectfully in front of the chief, who leaned over to scratch behind her ears.
“Sit down,” said the chief, pointing authoritatively to Yukitu.
Yukitu sat down.
“Very good!” The chief clapped his hands together and laughed.
Yukitu jumped back. Ike attempted to make him sit again. Yuki put up her paw, demanding more attention.
“Now you have competition, fat wolf,” said the chief. “This will be good for you.”
“Welcome,” he said to Yukitu. “Our village is honoured to have two wolves.”
Piji had felt the chief ’s blessing. In walking back through the village with their wolf pups, Piji felt a new sense of pride in her husband and in herself. Ike was not a normal man. He had never really proven himself as a man. No great hunter. No great carver or maker of weapons. And no children. He was a dreamer. But now that they had a male and a female pup behaving like tamed wolves in harness, the harness she had invented, and it was she who had taught Yuki to sit and offer a paw, like a respectful child. Now Ike’s dream of turning wolves into co-operative, working members of the community, seemed like a practical plan. The villagers had begun to look upon their peculiar family with respect and hope.
Of course there were the scoffers. Those who joked about her “suckling pups” and “sleeping with wolves.” But always there are scoffers. Piji had a clear new role in life. She would raise wolves who would be as good as, if not better than children. She would raise them with affection and discipline. They would have good manners, be kept clean and healthy. They would grow up into strong working adults. And when her own body perished, she knew where her spirit would reside. It would be in all the wolves she would raise. Yes. She would make a perfect job of this. Beginning with admitting her first mistake and proceeding to correct it, with the help of her practical partner and mate.
“Yuki,” Piji said to her when they were out of earshot of the villagers, “you are too fat. Ike is right about that.”
Cut off from constant snacking, Yuki put her mind to raiding the food sources. When Piji and Ike had their backs turned, absorbed in piling stones all around the foundation of their summer hut because Yukitu had taken to digging his way out of the confines, Yuki tore open the sack of dried fish and managed to fill her stomach to bursting before she was caught. Ike was so angry and disgusted, he raised his foot to kick Yuki.
“Don’t!” Piji stopped Ike by kicking his foot.
A fight ensued, Ike and Piji grappling with each other.
“Don’t raise your foot to me, woman!” Ike held her at a distance by the shoulders.
“Order!” Piji cried. “Order!”
Ike released her as he saw Yukitu, head lowered, slinking away from such human behaviour. Yuki tried to run away but staggered to the ground.
“She’s going to die!” Piji bent over the pup, feeling her taut stomach.
“Stealing food,” said Ike, justifying his violent reaction. “It’s the worst thing. She might be killed if caught doing that to someone else’s supply.”
“She has killed herself.” Piji began to weep. “Her stomach will burst open.”
“That never happens,” scoffed Ike. “Give her water. Flush it out.” Ike proceeded to get the water bowl.
Piji considered. “No!” She held up her hand to Ike. “Water will make the dried fish bigger.”
Ike put the bowl back in its place. My wife is smart, he thought. Sometimes a mother knows best. He put his hand on Piji’s shoulder. They sat together, watching over their pups. Yukitu moved a little closer, watching intently, with his head resting on his front paws.
“It’s my fault,” said Piji. “I spoiled her with food and now she’ll die from it.”
“No.” Ike sank back into a comfortable position to see this situation through. “I chose Yuki because she will do things for food. You have taught her much and Yukitu learns from her.”
“She has taught me never to leave food where she can get it. We must ask the neighbours to keep their food away from her … if she survives.”
“They would kick her. They might beat her to death.” Ike thought it over. “It was good you stopped me from kicking her. My father kicked me. He hit my mother. I hated him for that. I never wanted to be like him. It’s good you stopped me.”
“My mother never let anyone strike my brother or me.” Piji reflected. “What would a wolf do if it was attacked?”
“Fight to the death.”
As they imagined that, Yuki got up onto her paws. She walked carefully, as a human might walk with hand on a painful stomach. She found her way to tufts of grass outside and took a few large bites of it. She lay down. Yukitu lay down several lengths away. Villagers gathered around.
“Yuki looks sick.”
“Is she dying?”
They listened to what had happened. They were worried. They felt Yuki and Yukitu belonged to all of them. Everyone had joined in the protection and training of the pups. They had joined in the chase and rescue when Yukitu had escaped the village boundaries, Yuki following after him in pursuit of rabbits or squirrels, geese or freedom. Yuki they had known and played with the longest. She was more affectionate and was more attached to them than Yukitu was, as yet. But in the life and offspring of both was their growing hope to have working dogs that would transport their goods easily and quickly, making for better hunting and trading. With such dogs, their village could become rich and famous in the land of long darkness and long light.
Yuki stood up. She arched her back and lowered her head. She barfed up a pile of grassy, sodden chunks of fish. A large pile. Piji, Ike and others dove in to pull her away from re-eating the pile.
The pups were taught early to work. They started small, dragging a few sticks of firewood in a sack. Yuki took to this quickly, enjoying the applause and the morsel of meat at the end. Seeing Yuki’s example, Yukitu wanted to do it too, and do it harder, faster. When harnessed together by a slack hide tie between them, Yuki would try to lean into Yukitu, perhaps to nudge him aside, but Yukitu would then pull ahead and Yuki would do her best to keep up with him.
Yukitu had quickly become dependent on Yuki’s company and stimulation, but he took longer to become relaxed and comfortable in the hut. Early one morning, Piji and Ike were enjoying a roll and hump in the furs, when they were stopped by the sight of Yukitu pissing at intervals around the hut. Piji began to rebuke him. Ike put his hand over her mouth. “He’s marking his territory,” Ike whispered into Piji’s ear. “Yukitu has accepted us.”
“A roll and a hump in the furs!” Meg exclaimed out loud and laughed. “That’s barnyard talk, such as my brothers were never allowed to speak in front of Alice and me. Giddyup! Let’s go!” She turned the page onto the next chapter.
WHEN THE WINDS TURNED COLD and geese formed flocks to fly south, Ike’s village prepared to move north with the caribou. The ground froze as snow arrived in windy gusts, blizzards or dense, steady falls during the increasing darkness.
The pups were nearing their full size and had grown thick fur coats. They were big and practised enough to pull a light sled but their legs were still too young and pliable to cope safely with deep snow. So the villagers, pulling their own sleds, went first, breaking trail, packing a path for Piji and Ike who had hitched themselves behind Yuki and Yukitu, guiding and helping them to pull a heavily loaded sled. They travelled beyond the forests to a place where they could build igloos of snow and be close to the water too deep and wide to freeze.
All went well enough, except for the haunting howls. Ike had taken the pups as far as he could from their packs’ territories. With constant attention, feeding, activities and affection, Ike and Piji had become the pups’ replacement parents, the villagers their extended pack. Pulling and carrying heavier and heavier loads further and further became the only work and challenge that the young wolves knew, life within the village the world they had become familiar with. But sometimes as darkness descended, or the moon and stars lit up the sky, when the winds were quiet, the plaintive call of wolves came from afar.
Piji and Ike tensed as they lay pressed together in their bed. This was why Yuki and Yukitu were locked into their home at night. Their ears perked straight up at the sound of a distant wolf pack. Yukitu sat up, then Yuki. They began to howl in harmony. Piji got up and sat in front of the secured doorway. She joined in the howl.
Ike covered his ears. He would have covered his eyes if it would have blocked out the vision of Yuki’s shocked and bewildered siblings, of Yukitu’s dying nanny, his panic stricken siblings. And along with that, Ike had the acute imagining of what it might feel like to have these pups taken from him now. How badly did they want to return to their own, to their natural life? He couldn’t bear these imaginings. He lay paralyzed with guilt and fear.
Meanwhile, Piji howled with the wolves. Yuki was excited. She turned from one direction to another, sometimes yelping in the howl. Yukitu sat still, his head raised high in howling sonorous lament, a beckoning appeal. When the howling subsided, Piji clapped in encouragement, not reprimand. She reached out to the pups, petted them, scratched their ears, stroked their backs. Yuki rolled over to let Piji rub her chest and belly, but Yukitu remained alert. He looked for exits, tried to escape, but the exits were blocked. Sometimes neighbours would join with Piji in howling or chanting from within their own dwellings. Yukitu eventually settled down, keeping his eyes open with a look of not full resignation.
Yukitu had a charcoal-coloured coat, which sharply defined the white fur of his face, chest, underbelly and legs. His black “goggles” became more prominent. Yuki was sable–coloured, with black guard hairs on her winter coat. The whiteness of her underbelly, legs and chest also sharply defined her face. Both wolves had ginger-coloured eyes, almond shaped and narrowly rimmed with black skin that intensified their shape and glow. With all the pulling they were trained to do, they developed bigger chest muscles, though Yukitu was naturally larger and could pull ahead just a little harder than Yuki. No one could tell which of them was clearly dominant, for they pulled together so closely and behaved as though they were more afraid to be separated and left alone than concerned with dominating. No one saw them growl or snarl at each other, except in warning over a favourite stick, a bone or food.
As they became yearlings, everyone noticed greater displays of affection between them. They leapt and rolled over each other. They put their chins over each other’s neck, let themselves be mounted, briefly, playfully, in turns. They licked each other’s snouts. But they were too young to mate in their first spring. They shed their winter fur in clumps as Piji combed them smooth with her own comb.
Word of this handsome pair of tamed wolves spread from village to village, along the river routes and around the coastal settlements. But no serious attention would be paid to the pair until pups were born. Then a new generation of dogs might be declared.
It happened at the end of the following winter.
“Eeewww!” said Piji to Yukitu. “You stink!” The smell within the igloo was always pungent: the burning seal oil, the dead fish and raw meat, the hide underwear, the dampening fur outerwear. The farts that Ike enjoyed but Piji did not, the smell of wet wolves when they came in covered with snow. But now Yukitu had a different odour.
“Eeewww!” Piji repeated.
Ike sniffed. “This is good,” he said. “Yukitu is ready to mate.”
“No!” Piji yelled at Yukitu as he lifted his leg to leave his mark on the igloo wall. “That is not allowed inside.”
Yukitu did not lower his ears. He looked around, cockily. Yuki looked unconcerned, but she was restless that day and kept cleaning her private parts. At night, Yukitu slept very close to her. Early next day, still in darkness, Yukitu began scratching at the ice block door to be let out. Yuki stood quietly.
“No! It’s too early. You can wait,” Ike told him, eyes still closed.
But Yukitu scratched and moaned until, drowsy and grumpily, Ike got up and pulled back the ice block. The wolves rushed out. Ike was taken aback, not quite awake.
“What’s going on?” said Piji.
Then they both remembered that Yukitu was in male heat and perhaps Yuki was receptive. They ran out into the cold dark morning. Yukitu and Yuki were already out of sight.
The village was alerted. Ike and Piji began to give chase, following the tracks of their wolves. But after a while, Ike, who was far in the lead, stopped. He saw ahead of him the forested area of spindly evergreens. This is not right, he said to himself. We should let them mate on their own. And pray they will return to us. He turned around and went back to meet the villagers, telling them to turn back, to respect the privacy of mating wolves.
“I can’t bear it,’ said Piji. “I can’t just stand here and wait. They could join another pack.”
“Another pack won’t accept a mating pair.”
“Then they will be killed by another pack as a threat to it. They’ll be attacked for being on another pack’s territory.”
“Wolves want to bring down caribou, not each other.’ “You don’t know everything about wolves!”
“I think they’ll come back on their own.”
Piji frowned. Her husband could be such a dreamer. “I’m going after them. Our wolves are known upriver and down. They could be stolen. I’m going to go and call them back.”
Ike turned his back on her. He returned to the igloo, which was beginning to melt, and lay down on the furs. He lay down with his guilt and his fervent hope and his resignation. The guilt of killing and stealing the creatures he admired most of all in nature might be assuaged, if he simply left it up to them to return or not to return.
Led by the chief, most of the villagers accompanied Piji into the woods, following the tracks of Yuki and Yukitu. They carried satchels of fresh and dried meat. The tracks of the wolves ran side by side, then scrambled together in some kind of tumble and sport, then moved on again side by side. The short span of daylight was being obscured by clouds. Winds were gathering in force. Piji stopped. She called Yuki and Yukitu. She broke into a sorrowful howl punctuated by urgency. It was the best imitation of a wolf she had ever achieved. The chief and villagers supported her, the chief slightly annoyed that his howl was not quite as good as Piji’s. They waited for a response.
There was only the ominous sound of wind whistling through evergreens, the gathering of a late winter blizzard. The chief pulled his fur parka closer round his face and bent into the wind, leading Piji and the others in the tracks of the wolves. He stopped and held up his hand.
Yes. Far off in the opposite direction, Piji could hear it too, the sound of numerous wolves, a large pack.
“We must be quiet,” he said. “No more howling. That pack will think their territory is invaded.”
They trudged on, following the tracks to an open expanse along the river. Then the blizzard was upon them. They moved back into the small forest and huddled together, making seats of their snowshoes under the shelter of tree branches. The storm did not end until long after nightfall. Stars appeared illuminating the fresh deep layer of snow that covered all tracks. For two more days and nights, they searched for fresh tracks of Yuki and Yukitu, but people on snowshoes, expert as they were, could not catch up to runaway wolves. The chief ordered a return to the village to regroup and consider a new plan. The consensus was that Piji must not be allowed to continue the search on her own. At that pronouncement, Piji lifted her head in a most desperate howl. No one joined in with her. She put her head down and wept as she trudged along in the footsteps of the chief. No one looked back. Consensus ruled. That was the order in the village.
It was a peculiar sight, one Ike would never forget. The tired and grim troupe of the chief and villagers, including his wife, Piji, who looked grimmest and yet still defiant.
“We have to leave,” she blurted out as she rushed to Ike. “We have to leave this village and search for our wolves on our own. I won’t give up until I die.”
As she said this, also in sight, though very far behind the village troupe, were Yukitu and Yuki, bounding out of the forest, heading in no uncertain terms towards the village, their igloo, their food.
There was much speculation as to what had induced the wolves to return. Piji believed it was because of her search and call. Ike liked to think it was the wolves’ own choice, that they had taken the turn away from forming their own wolf pack and preferred to stay with the village, be fed, loved and work for their keep. But no one could be certain. Ike and Piji were all the more determined to be vigilant and rewarding to Yuki and Yukitu, who paraded themselves now as mates rather than pals. They acquired an air, subtle but noticeable, of regality.
When Piji announced that she had felt some formation of pups in Yuki’s belly, the villagers cheered. They agreed to move immediately to find a good location for hunting and fishing on the greatest river, where commerce for their new breed of dogs would be better. It took more than the full turning of the moon to reach the Yukon River, which was still frozen. They found a clearing where they could build sturdy shelters of wood like the ones built by the clans who lived this far south year round. Ike and Piji built their hut near a small cave-like piling of rocks, which they cordoned off and linked to their hut by a fence of tough branches, as tall as Ike. They secured the base of it with stones. Yuki and Yukitu were kept within this wide area of fencing when not in harness.
“Good wolf! Good Yuki!” Ike and Piji applauded when Yuki began to dig a tunnel near a fallen tree within the fencing.
Villagers gathered outside the fence to watch as Yuki dug deeper and deeper. Earth and small stones flew with a force no one wanted to get in the way of. At the end of the tunnel would be the den where Yuki would have her pups. She was busily occupied, digging hard and gnawing at roots that got in the way. But Yukitu was restless, pawed at the fence to get out.
They tried to keep him busy, or tired, by having him haul loads for everyone in the village. When Ike trusted a neighbour to handle Yukitu, he got away. Ran into the woods. Ike and villagers pursued but could not catch him until they found him coming back with a rabbit in his jaws. Yukitu would not let go of it, growled and snarled threateningly, until he dropped it in front of Yuki.
One time Ike caught a villager hitting Yukitu with a stick to keep him in line. Yukitu yelped in shock then snarled menacingly.
“Never, never strike my wolves!” Ike took Yukitu away from him. “They will strike back.”
“You have to teach them who’s boss,” the villager shouted. “They should be taught to obey, like children.”
“Not my wolves,” said Ike. “They’re smarter than children. You have to respect them and gain their co-operation.”
“You’re not doing very well then,” the villager retorted. “Your wolves are always running off.”
Piji stepped in to back up her husband. “All a stick teaches,” she said, “is fear and retaliation. Our wolves must never be beaten. Yukitu could leap up and kill the next man who tries. We want to tame these wolves, not make them vicious.”
The villager turned his back on her. “I don’t argue with women,” he muttered as he walked away.
When Ike was off hunting and Piji was busy brushing the beds in the hut, Yukitu took a run and leapt over the fence to catch a passing squirrel. Piji and others ran after him and he returned willingly enough but it was decided that the fence had to be built twice as tall as Yukitu could reach when standing on his hind legs.
“You should just tie that wolf up,” a villager advised. “Keep him tied up.”
“Would you do that to your children?” said Piji. “Think about it. What would it do to the spirit of your children to be tied up night and day?”
“Ours?” The villager’s wife laughed. “They’d cut loose and run like the wind.”
“So would our wolves,” said Piji. “And never come back.”
The chief observed the situation. He noted the bleary-eyed, overworked condition of Ike and Piji, managing their project at this crucial stage, guarding, working, feeding their wolves to ensure a safe and healthy litter. He heard the voices of criticism. The chief then called a meeting of the village and made a brief speech commending the villagers for co-operating in the project of taming wolves so successfully that they were about to produce the first litter in their village. He spoke of the fame and fortune that that could bring to their village. He then asked for consensus in helping Ike and Piji make this project a success. He received a unanimity of nods, no one wanted to be a saboteur at this stage. The villagers agreed to follow Ike and Piji’s rules of wolf taming, and they organized night and day volunteers, since in this new, warmer territory, there was the added danger of lynx and cougars on the prowl for unguarded wolves and pups.
Snow remained on the mountain tops and the ice had not yet broken up on the Yukon River, but the land along the river valley had absorbed the melted snow and was sprouting various shades of green, as moss, shrubs, flowers and spindly trees came to life. Evergreens had fresh tinges of blue or green. Bears had come out of hibernation. Hawks and eagles soared and swooped down upon scurrying mice. Porcupines lumbered along the river bank, twitching their small ears at the sounds of ice beginning to break up.
Yuki’s belly sagged with the weight of her unborn pups. Then, for the first time in her life, Yuki ceased to eat every morsel of food.
“Look!” said Piji to Ike. “She has left half a fish.”
Yuki lay down near her tunnel. Yukitu kept an eye on her while he finished his fish. Then he decided to go for her leftovers. She let him.
“Either she’s very sick,” said Piji, “or her time has come.”
Yukitu lay down near her, licked his chops, but did not relax or rest his head on his paws. Yuki rested hers for a while, then got up to take a drink of water. She lay down beside Yukitu but looked uncomfortable. She whined very briefly then crawled into her tunnel. Yukitu paced at the entrance. Piji wanted to go and calm Yukitu. Ike held her back.
“Is it happening?” said the villager on guard outside the fence.
“Probably,” said Ike. “But keep back. Keep quiet. We must leave them alone.”
The villager considered this command, then ran to inform the chief and everyone else. The chief led the procession to Ike and Piji’s hut. He took his place beside Ike and Piji in their doorway looking onto the wolves’ pen. Villagers gathered round outside, peering through the fence, whispering and conversing in hushed tones. Yukitu paced and lay down, paced and lay down. If Piji or Ike made any move in the direction of the tunnel, Yukitu curled his lips. The chief, well practised at sitting regally still, couldn’t help but smile at Piji and Ike looking offended at being so fiercely turned away by Yukitu.
“A wolf is a wolf,” he said. “How many generations will it take to make these wolves into what are called dogs.” Ike looked at the height of fencing all around and shrugged. “I don’t know, Chief.”
Eventually the villagers went home for their supper. The chief dined with Ike and Piji. Then they heard excited whining from Yukitu. They stood up in the hut and went to the doorway holding pieces of raw moose in their hands. They saw Yukitu dancing about on all fours. When Yukitu halted his excited dance and began to howl, the villagers came running.
The humans howled as much like Yukitu as they could. It was so loud that it carried to a wolf pack on the other side of the Yukon. All joined in on what they hoped was the birth of a large litter of healthy pups.
Next morning Yuki emerged from the tunnel for food and water and a long pee. Then she went back into the tunnel to attend her pups. Piji noticed that all eight of her teats were swollen and in use. The second day, Yuki came out for longer periods and allowed Yukitu to crawl in for a look. The villagers brought the best meat and fish to feed Yuki and Yukitu.
On the third day, Yuki emerged from the tunnel carrying in her mouth a dead pup, its eyes not yet opened. She carried it to the furthest corner of the compound. There she lay it on the ground while she dug a hole, then lifted the pup into it and buried it. All the while, Yukitu stood watch at the entrance of the tunnel. Piji stood weeping. Ike put his hand on her arm. Yuki took a drink, accepted some meat, then crawled back into the tunnel.
After that, everyone watched with fear. The great smashing sounds and loud cracks and blasts as the Yukon River’s ice broke up held little interest to Piji and Ike compared to their vigil at the wolves’ den. They watched through a full turning of the moon. No more dead pups were brought out.
They could hear the sounds of baby pups whimpering as they nudged and nuzzled against each other, coming closer to the opening of the tunnel in their increasing explorations. Yukitu’s watch at the tunnel entrance began to change in manner. At first he growled, telling the unseen pups to stay back. Then he became more lax, sometimes coaxing with the pups, sometimes scaring them back quickly.
“He’s teaching them and warning them of dangers outside,” said Ike.
“It’s been a full moon,” said Piji. “Yukitu should let the pups come out.”
“The pups come out when they are ready. Yukitu won’t stop them. I have seen it before,” said Ike.
“Yes,” said Piji. “That makes sense. Children walk when they are ready. A father doesn’t stop them. Look!” She nudged Ike in the direction of Yukitu. “See how proud Yukitu looks. I think he wants us to see his pups. Maybe they will come out now.”
“I’ll send for the chief,” said Ike.
The chief was standing with Ike and Piji at the doorway of their hut. Yuki and Yukitu stood outside the tunnel entrance. Yuki lay down calmly. The sounds of several pups increased at the entrance. Everyone watched intently, the villagers peering through the fence, as a snub-nosed grey pup put its head out, squinted at the bright sunlight and quickly withdrew. Soon it emerged again and ventured wholly out, staggering and tottering its way towards Yuki. A second and third, a fourth, fifth, sixth and finally a seventh, tumbled out and converged on Yuki.
Yukitu lowered his head and growled, drawing attention to himself. The pups’ ears went back. Some cringed. Yukitu looked at Ike, Piji, the chief, then lay down regally beside Yuki and all the pups, his paws straight out in front, his head held high.
Piji clapped her hands together and jumped in excitement. “Look at that!” she exclaimed. “He’s grinning. Positively grinning!”
“Wolves don’t grin,” said Ike.
The chief looked at Piji and Ike. They could bicker over their interpretations of wolves’ behaviour all day. “Yukitu is proud,” he declared. “He has done well.”
“Yuki,” Piji said quietly, feeling a watering in her own eyes, “delivered the pups.” The chief nodded, turning to Ike and to Piji. “You have done well.”
He turned to the villagers cheering outside the fence. “Our village has done well.”
There was a feast. There was drumming, dancing, chanting, well into the night.
THE PUPS LOOKED BASICALLY ALIKE. They all had white faces, chests, legs, and underbelly, though some had darker coats than others or more markings around their eyes. They were of varying temperaments and strengths. Ike and Piji studied the character of each pup and experimented to determine the most orderly arrangement of them in a team.
It was expected that the first pup to come out of the den would be named in honour of the chief because the first to come out was male and presumably the most brave and aggressive. He was a handsome pup with a shining dark coat and white face. But he turned out to be so un-cautious that he could not be trusted to be in the lead and avoid thin ice. He was so avaricious and daring, or arrogant, that he attempted to steal a piece of fish Yukitu had inadvertently dropped. Yukitu tore into him, grabbed him by the neck, shook him and threw him down. After that, he kept a respectful distance from Yukitu but he did not get along well with his siblings, always trying to lord it over his brother and five sisters, rather than play or work with them.
The chief laughed ruefully at his behaviour. “He reminds me of a comrade I once had,” he said. “Don’t name him after me. That comrade was eventually banished for stealing from his hunting partners. This young comrade has trouble sharing even water.”
And so, that male pup was named Comrad and the other male was called Chiefdog. Comrad was given a position of strength on the team, the one closest to the sled, but he kept trying to over-ride the others and had to be constantly reigned in. The leader of the pups proved to be Icebarb, a female who was sharp as a barb of ice, impressive and aggressive as Comrad, but wary of dangers and deferential when necessary. Icebarb was placed in training behind Yuki and Yukitu. Chiefdog was harnessed beside her because she would tolerate no females in that position.
Piji frowned at Icebarb’s behaviour. “She treats her sisters as though they were simply ‘the others,’” said Piji, “as though she has no dependence on them at all.”
“She had better learn,” said Ike, “that seven or nine pulling together are much stronger than one.”
During that summer and autumn, kayaks and canoes, traders and adventurers travelled up and down the Yukon River, stopping to see the tamed wolf pups. Trades were made and stories exchanged in a mixture of sign language and sounds and words common to Malamute and other languages of the north. Some marvelled at the Malamutes’ wolves, declaring them better natured and better trained than any other tamed wolves they had seen. Others pointed out that you couldn’t tell much from first-generation pups. They had yet to prove themselves as working dogs. Who knows … they might run off and revert to the wild at any time.
As winter set in, some strange looking teams came along the frozen river. Or so they were judged by Ike and Piji. They were sled dogs of various descendants of various wolves. They came in various colours and markings. Some teams had an all black or all white dog. Some dogs were different shades of brown. There was a distinctive silver coat dog. Not many had white faces like Yuki and Yukitu. Their eyes were ginger to dark brown. They all had the body shape, sharp ears and bushy tail of wolves. They were strong and made to pull hard. Some sleds were pulled by only two or three dogs.
Ike judged those sleds overloaded. And the way some of the mushers treated their team, using a whip, angered him and Piji.
“You’ll see,” one musher with a whip told Ike. “It’s the only way to keep a big team in line.” Piji thought some of the dogs exceptionally beautiful. “Imagine a whole team of that silver one,” she said.
“Never!” said Ike. “I will always honour Yuki and Yukitu, and their packs. Our teams must look like them.”
“It takes all kinds,” another trader argued with Ike, “to make a strong team. You should have your pups mate with my team when yours are old enough. I could give you a good deal on that. Want me to bring my team back here, end of next winter?”
Ike stood up in silent disgust and walked away.
“We must go away from here,” he said to Piji, after relating the trader’s proposal.
“Yes!” Piji cringed in alarm. She had lived in dread of Yuki and Yukitu running off, or being taken by a pack of wolves. Now she imagined their precious pups being seduced, or attacked by a team of “all kinds,” all at once. It was an indecent proposal. “Let us speak with the chief,” she said.
It was agreed they would go back up north but not so far as they had been before, since they had seven young pups to transport, their legs not yet strong enough to go a long distance. It was a peculiar sight, the village of Malamutes on the move over early winter landscape, the people pulling sleds with their belongings, and one sled full of wolf pups, bound together, sitting up, looking attentively ahead, as their wolf parents pulled them onward.
When they came to a clearing near a river where they could ice-fish and where caribou had been sighted, the villagers camped and built their igloos. They helped Ike and Piji construct a kind of double igloo where their wolves could have adjoining quarters, though access was only through Ike and Piji’s. Thus they raised their pups in isolation from “all kinds,” treating them like their own children. It was a good-looking team that coursed around the village, carrying people and products. Ike had succeeded in creating a team, not just a pair, of working wolves.
The following spring, when Yuki and Yukitu had produced another litter, five healthy pups, Ike and Piji faced the fact that they must eventually let go of some of their progeny and allow outside influence. A team of more than nine was unwieldy. A team of five could work, but who could be trusted to train it as well as they did? Several villagers offered much meat and furs if Ike would give them pups from the next litter. There were just a few in the village Ike could bear to let handle pups when they were separable from Yuki. It worried him to do so, but he knew that it was inevitable, if his line of wolves was to go on.
“Icebarb won’t always defer,” said Piji. “She tests Yuki’s authority sometimes. Yuki puts her in her place but Icebarb may be driven off in time.”
“She wants her own litter,” said Ike.
“But daughter must not mate with father, nor sister with brother,” said Piji. “We need new wolves.”
“I’m not stealing any more wolves!” Ike shouted. Then he spoke calmly. “You must prepare Yuki and Yukitu to accept other litters in the village, litters of their own descent.”
“I?” said Piji. “I?”
“Yes. You talk with them best. It is you who brings them back. And I must bring in new blood. I’m going to find some dogs for Icebarb and her sisters when they come into heat next year.”
“What’s the difference?” said Piji. “Tell me again the difference between a wolf and a dog. You said wolves are dogs when they stay with you for food and work for you. To me, Yuki and Yukitu will always be wolves. I still fear they will take off. Though their pups work hard and aren’t always trying to escape.”
“They try to go after any animal they see on the move,” said Ike. “Rabbits, mice, martens. Even birds and geese. It’s just that we can hold them back now, in harness. And look how many men it takes to hold them when we go on a caribou hunt! They’re always trying to break loose and show us how to bring down a caribou.” “How many generations will it take to get that out of them?” “Never!” Ike declared. “Never! “Our dogs will always be wolves.”
Next winter, when Comrad, Chiefdog, Icebarb and the four other females were in their second year, Ike set off with them pulling the sled towards the Yukon River. Piji stayed in the village with Yuki, Yukitu and their new pups. The plan was for Ike to find mates for the females, then, well before birthing time in late spring, he would bring them back to join Piji and the villagers at the old summer camp grounds. Ike’s sled was laden with a month’s supply of dried fish and meat for the trail, plus furs and clothes sewn by Piji to be traded for dogs or stud services.
They had travelled over frozen open spaces of flat and rolling landscape, through mountain passes and dense forest, following the same route Ike had travelled so much more slowly with his village. Alone with his team, Ike rode on the sled when going on the level or downhill. He ran beside it when going uphill. He fed his dogs as much or more than he ate himself. He slept with them curled up around him, his sled as his shelter. He talked to them and chanted under starlight, setting them to howl in harmony.
First thing upon reaching the Yukon, Ike used his biggest spear to make a hole in the ice to fish. He camped for several days. No one and no dogs had come into view. Then he stopped peering up and downriver and just got on with the business of fishing, hoping that not looking would bring someone along.
Suddenly Icebarb sat up on the alert. Ike narrowed his eyes, trying to see through snow being blown sideways by strong winds. He could see nothing coming but reached to secure his wolves in any case. Too late! Icebarb took off and there was no holding any of them back. The brake on the sled served only to tip it on its side, dumping the cargo of furs, weapons, utensils. Ike ran upriver on the rough ice, chasing the sled track through swirling snow.
He heard several sharp barks, brief silence, then the voice of a man shouting commands angrily. Panting, Ike came into view of Icebarb prancing provocatively in front of the lead dog of a team of five. Both teams were straining to engage in play or combat.
“Keep your dogs in control!” the musher was shouting at Ike. He was wielding a whip.
Ike yanked his sled upright and stood on it. Comrad snarled at the lead dog, who was responding to Icebarb. The lead dog snarled at Comrad then turned his attention back to Icebarb. With a frantic jerk, Comrad broke his harness and ran to attack the lead dog. The musher lashed Comrad repeatedly and expertly, driving Comrad back in shock and pain. Ike drew his knife and threatened to throw it into the musher’s chest. The musher gave a lash to his dogs and took off in the direction Ike had come from.
Comrad lay down on the snow, blood seeping from the lash marks under his belly near his vitals. He would not let Ike touch him, let alone put him onto the sled to return to camp. The few hours of light were fading into darkness. Ike settled his wolves around him, preparing to wait until Comrad could recover enough to stand on his own. The wind had calmed, letting snow fall lightly. Ike prayed that it would cover his scattered belongings from the sight of the musher, whom he pictured scooping up all his furs, weapons, tools, utensils. Would he also find his camp and steal his food stores? One who would whip his dogs, thought Ike, would steal anything.
His wolves’ ears suddenly quivered. They raised their heads sniffing in the direction of their camp. Some sat up, but all stayed silent when Ike heard the familiar shout of the musher, then saw him appearing, on foot, through darkness and snow.
“I left my team back there,” he spoke with gestures and a language similar enough to Malamute for Ike to understand. “Don’t want to fight with yours. I picked up your furs and stuff. They’re on my sled, back there.”
He went over and looked at Comrad who snarled as he bent over to look closely.
“You’ve got bad manners,” he said to Comrad. “I could have whipped your balls off for trying to attack my dogs.” He turned to Ike. “He’ll be all right in a day or two. Come on.” He looked at Ike’s sled. “Let’s get him onto the sled and back to your camp.”
“Can’t,” Ike shook his head. “He won’t move.”
“Then move him!” he shouted. “You’re the musher, ain’t you!” Impatiently, he pulled a large hide he had draped over his shoulders and stretched it out beside Comrad. “Bring the sled close. Stuff something into his mouth so he doesn’t bite me. We’ll lift him onto the sled.”
Ike put the sled beside the hide and took off his inner mitt to stuff into Comrad’s mouth. But Comrad lifted himself onto his legs and moved himself onto the sled.
The musher laughed. “You’re workin’ with a pack of wolves here, ain’t you, pal. I saw that right away. They could destroy my dogs in a fight.”
The musher set up camp with Ike for several days so they could hunt together, stocking up a store of meat. As they skinned a caribou, Ike listened to the man’s advice.
“Keep them tied up so’s when you want them to run, they go like the wind. And never let them get the upper hand. Use a whip. It’s just like a woman. Words are never enough.”
“Do you whip your wife?” asked Ike.
“No.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t have a wife and none would have me. My dogs are enough for me. I’m always on the run. Been to the source of this river and to its mouth. Plenty of women along the way. And I’ve got the best dog team, right here with me.”
He looked over at his dogs who were tied to a tree within sight, but not within reach, of Ike’s team. Ike’s dogs were similarly tied to a tree, as the only way of controlling them while on the hunt or in range of other dogs.
“Lie down!” shouted the musher.
His dogs lay down. Ike’s remained in their various positions.
“And stay!” The musher’s dogs stayed still.
“There, see!” he said. “That’s the hardest to teach them, to lie down and stay, on command. Wolves won’t do that.”
“How long did it take you to get them to obey like that?”
“Five generations,” he said. “I started with two wolves, just like you. Then I did some trading, took whatever behaved liked dogs, up and down the Yukon. That’s what you’ll have to do. And if you want to start soon, I’ll trade you that Comrad, plus a parka, for one of mine.” Ike had already considered trades. Decided he did not want any smaller dogs or ones without white markings similar to Yuki and Yukitu. He wanted to keep his line distinct, with big, heavy-weight pullers, as much like the wolves he had started with as possible, without having to live in fear that they would run off and re-join the wild at the first opportunity. The way to do this, he had concluded, was not by whips and constant tying. He would continue as he had begun, by gaining their co-operation, and arguing it out with them when necessary, as he did with Piji. Domination on his part and obedience on theirs, was not how he would proceed. For in the end, he realized, in travelling over ice, he had to depend on their instinct and intelligence to say when it was safe or not. They were in the lead. He wanted to respect and develop their intelligence, not beat it out of them.
The only dog of the musher’s mixed bunch that Ike wanted was the one that attracted Icebarb, the lead dog who was big, mostly black, with white mask and light brown eyes.
“Comrad is my biggest male,” Ike began to bargain. “And he was first out of the den.”
“Ah,” said the musher, pleased but not saying so. It was what he was looking for, an aggressive dog, new aggressive blood for his team which was fast, but becoming too timid. He was impressed by Comrad for breaking tether to attack his dogs. And first out of the den makes a good lead dog. His own lead dog was getting old at six winters. “Maybe I’ll take Comrad, without the parka.”
“Maybe,” said Ike.
“Why isn’t he your lead dog?”
“Too headstrong,” said Ike. “Like a bad wife.”
The musher laughed. “You like my dogs? Which one you want?”
“Your lead dog.”
“Can’t trade my lead dog,” said the musher, but thought, yes I could. I need a new stud dog, young, aggressive.
“How old is your lead dog?” said Ike.
“Four winters,” he said readily, feeling virtuous for having lied by only two winters. This Ike couldn’t tell the difference.
“Must be six or more,” said Ike. “I’m tired of talking.” The musher threw down his knife. “My lead dog for Comrad. Take it or leave it.’
“Comrad plus a promise.”
“What’s the promise?”
“No whip. No whip on Comrad ever again.”
The musher shrugged.
“Speak,” said Ike. “I want your word.”
“You have my word. If he’s smart, he’s learned his lesson already.” “
Comrad is smart.”
This is the hard part, thought Ike as he parted from Comrad, leading him over to the musher who gave Comrad a hunk of meat then patted him on the head and scratched his ears.
Ike tried not to think or feel. Raising dogs felt good, but putting one’s dog into the hands of another man and never seeing him again, losing all control over what happened to him … .it didn’t bear thinking about.
The musher was used to this. He was ready with food and pats and encouraging words as he led Comrad to the front of his team. He shouted at the rest of them to lie down while he tethered Comrad to the front. The musher gave him one more piece of meat, then ran to the sled, put one foot on the runner and yelled, “Hike!”, cracking his whip on either side of the team.
Ike flinched. He could not see the startled look in Comrad’s eyes as he was forced to speed ahead with the others on his tail. But Ike could hear his startled yelps as he disentangled himself again and again until he took the lead, running faster than he had ever run.
All the while there was the intermittent, frantic howling and yelping of the deposed lead dog, Snowface, whom the musher had tied to a tree.
“Keep him there until I’m long out of sight,” the musher had said. “But feed him and all your dogs right away. Get their attention away from us. Put that one you call Chiefdog back where Comrad was and put Snowface up with your Icebarb. Let her and Snowface race it out for lead. I bet your Icebarb will want to show him her furry rear end.”
The musher proved to be right. Ike headed up the frozen Yukon River with Icebarb in the lead, Snowface keeping close to her with a new excitement in his eyes. But Ike had a new disquiet. It was the trust with which Comrad had accepted being put on a lead and taken by Ike and then the look of being betrayed and sudden resistance Comrad had shown when being handed over to the musher. Ike could not forget that look, hard as he tried to counter it with imagining Comrad enjoying mating and being lead dog. Nor could he put much trust in the word of the musher. It would be up to Comrad to avoid the whip through obedience.
Ike also felt a new tension in his team with the replacement of Comrad. He tried to squelch this feeling and ease the tension with rational assurances. Snowface was a good acquisition, Ike assured himself and said so to all the dogs, in calming, confident words. When breeding time comes, Ike said to himself, this dog’s white face and black coat should combine well with Icebarb’s and some of the other females’ markings. And he should be an old hand at mating: well-practised, no young fumbler. But Ike needed more than one new male to take back to his village in order to create new strong lines.
Chiefdog was his favourite male: smart, quick to act, greedy for food but more interested in sporting than dominating. Chiefdog had a way of insinuating himself into a position he wanted, rather than demanding it. He habitually sought affection, nuzzled up to his mother and leaned up against his father, until they snarled at him, telling him he was too old for that. Then he leaned up against his sisters and Ike and Piji. Ike also liked his sense of humour, the way he liked to tease his sisters, and how, when Icebarb got annoyed at him, he would take a running leap over her back. Ike planned to keep Chiefdog, acquire a female for him and another male for his sisters. He travelled far upriver encountering various dog teams and mushers.
I’m certainly not the first and only to come up with this idea, thought Ike as he sat near his fire, his dogs sleeping around him. But I am doing it differently. Most mushers don’t mind what their dogs look like. They trade and breed for speed, strength and obedience. They were more or less like the first musher he had traded with. And they criticized him for having such an unruly team.
It was true. Since acquiring Snowface, there was a new disorder in the pack. Snowface got along with the females. Icebarb confirmed her position as lead and the chosen of Snowface by strutting imperiously around her sisters and snarling fiercely if they approached Snowface. Sometimes they curled their lips in return but they did back off. The fights that broke out were between Snowface and Chiefdog. Snowface started it and Chiefdog would not back away.
Ike had seen that Snowface was obedient, whereas his wolves were at best co-operative. If Ike raised his hand when he called an order, Snowface would cringe and immediately obey. This helped when they were in harness. Snowface’s immediate obedience and Icebarb’s siding with him, made the rest of the team follow in reasonably quick succession.
Ike knew that Snowface’s obedience was the result of years of training with the whip. He knew he could never bring himself to whip his wolves and certainly didn’t want to, when he saw in Snowface its side effects. When Snowface was out of harness, he wanted to fight with the nearest male and beat him to the ground. That had happened the first time Ike released the team to feed and rest at the end of the day. After his supper and brief rest, Chiefdog had gotten up to sport with his sisters. Snowface then attacked Chiefdog in the midst of a prance. Icebarb leapt on side with Snowface and the others leapt into the fray.
Ike had yelled to no avail. He saw blood spouting from Chiefdog’s snout. Ike grabbed his spear by the spearhead and tried to whack Snowface on the rump. He got Chiefdog on the back. Chiefdog kept on fighting. Ike jabbed and whacked, dispersing the others. Snowface was well practised at evading whips, but when Ike did crack him on the back, he stopped, snarled, threatened to begin again but slunk away. Icebarb then went for Chiefdog’s ear and came away with a piece of it, halting when Ike rapped her on the snout.
All had small injuries, including Ike, with blood on his hands and arm. Snowface came out of it with a bleeding neck, though it was not in a crucial place and it soon healed. Chiefdog had reacted so smartly that he couldn’t be pinned to the ground and he protected his neck. The bite marks round his head soon healed but his inner ear remained more exposed, and vulnerable as it was to piercing winds from behind, his hearing became impaired. But it was the shock to his psyche that affected him most.
Chiefdog ceased to sport. He wanted to get away from further attack but was also ready to fend it off at the slightest suggestion of its coming his way. He began to growl more readily and fiercely. Ike bestowed more affection on him. He responded as of old, leaning up against him, but a new distance and wariness grew between him and his siblings and the male intruder.
Ike’s heart felt heavy. He did not like the work of a trader.
When he reached the junction where the Klondike flowed into the Yukon, Ike knew that this was where he had to finish the job of trading for new blood lines, in order to get back to his village in time for the mating season. This junction was the centre of northern trade routes. The flatland made a convenient winter campsite. The large rounded snow-covered mountains rising up on both sides of the rivers served as barriers against the worst weather. Owners of dog teams from distant regions converged and stayed here for days at a time to trade and talk. It was here that Ike saw his dream team of dogs, driven by a couple who shared his ideals.
They had come from another large river which flowed further north, into the Arctic, a river to be called the Mackenzie. They had eight big dogs, all with dark coats and white markings, wolf-like in appearance, though broad in the chest. They were at ease in the harness and confident and friendly with people. The dogs were as harmonious and orderly as a well-led wolf pack, except when vying for attention from people greeting them. They did not cower.
After observing them, Ike approached the couple, a strong old man and his wife who smiled approvingly and knowingly at him and his team. He found himself choking with emotion as he said, “No whips?”
“No whips.” They invited him to share their campfire.
Ike returned to his village like one who had travelled to the sun and rubbed noses with the Great Spirit. They had exchanged gifts. Ike returned with proof positive of the existence of the ideal.
“This is Tarak Amorak,” said Ike, introducing to Piji a big, handsome, wolf-like creature, whose name meant Shadow of the Wolf. “He is so like Chiefdog and he is most certainly a dog. His head is maybe a bit too big but look how he behaves!”
Tarak was leaping up and putting his paws on Piji’s shoulders.
“You won’t see a wolf do that!” said Ike, folding his arms over his chest triumphantly.
Chiefdog would do that, thought Piji, if he were here. But she didn’t want to say anything to spoil the joy of Ike’s safe return.
Ike told Piji all about his exchange with his ideal traders.
“The couple is old but strong,” said Ike. “Their dogs keep them fit, they said. Like us, they have no children. They started with stolen wolf pups then mated the first generation with two different families’ third-generation tamed wolves. So we’re doing the right thing, Piji, just like I thought. With our two new males and our five females, we can make many dogs. Smart, friendly working dogs, like Tarak. The couple said it took six generations to produce such a broad-chested heavy-weight puller.
“They observed me and our wolves for several days before they would even consider doing business with me. Mushers will hide their whips and lie to get one of their dogs, they said. They won’t take a man’s word for it when he promises not to beat or tie up a dog.” Ike looked away from Piji as he said this, thinking of what might have happened to Comrad.
“That couple was smart as wolves.” Ike continued. “They saw that Chiefdog had lost his place in the pack and needed a new pack. That’s what they said to me. ‘You better trade him, quick, before the mating season, or he and Snowface will fight to the death.’”
In the end, they rescued Chiefdog. And they’ll mate him with one of their best females. They understand him and they like his temperament. Chiefdog will create another strong line for them.” Ike coughed to disguise the lump in his throat. He missed Chiefdog so much he had to surreptitiously rub his eyes.
“How many pelts?” said Piji. “How many pelts did they take, along with Chiefdog, for this wonder dog, Tarak Amorak?”
“Five.”
“Hmmm,” said Piji. “Hmmm.” She looked into the flaming oil. “And for this cowering, bad-tempered Snowface, who is always trying to hump Icebarb?”
“Comrad,” said Ike. He did not mention the promise, for since conversing with the couple, he realized how unlikely it was to be kept. He bowed his head, dared not look up with watery eyes.
Piji moved closer to Ike. She was silent as she tried not to picture the handing over of Comrad and Chiefdog.
“You’re a strong man,” she said to Ike. “I couldn’t have done what you did, all on your own.” She put her hand on his hand and then on his vitals. “Now we can get on with the best part of this dog vision … raising more pups.”
THIRTY WINTERS PASSED. Ike and Piji had become elders in the village grown famous for its dog population. Through careful but basically experimental breeding, and diligent training, they had produced their dream line of dogs. Big dogs, with broad chests and brown eyes like Tarak, dark coats, white underbelly, chest, legs, and white around the eyes and snout like Yuki and Yukitu They were well-fed and treated with respect and affection so their tempers were generally even, their nature friendly and their tails often raised and held plume like over their rump. They pulled sleds to and from hunting grounds. They transported people and possessions from winter to summer campgrounds, grounds even better and further than the village had been able to reach before the invention of these malamute dogs.
The fame of Ike’s dogs spread up and down the great river trade routes of the Yukon and Klondike. Through lucrative barter for their coveted dogs, Ike and Piji obtained good meat and fish supplies, the warmest bear skins for their bed, tools, weapons, pots, even a fine collection of carvings. When they obtained more than they needed or could easily transport, they passed it on to others in the village.
“Our dogs have no use for this,” Piji would say in handing over the item.
Piji was regarded as somewhat mad after the death of Yuki and Yukitu, though no one doubted her continued competence with dogs. She could train and drive them as well as Ike. Ike always had been regarded as a bit mad because of his obsession with wolves, but it had paid off. Ike and Piji achieved worldly success in their own life time. They enjoyed the admiration of villagers and traders from distant places. The envy, jealousy, rivalry and pirating of their vision and invention was another matter. It was their dogs that gave them deep satisfaction.
And Ike would never forget the good feeling he had, the sense of approval and blessing he felt, when he and Piji encountered again the couple who had traded Tarak for Chiefdog. Chiefdog recognized him and Piji, leapt up and licked their faces, as Tarak did with the couple. Chiefdog had sired many healthy litters, as had Tarak. Both dogs were well-treated, well-trained and well-fed, never beaten or overworked. Ike received a broad smile of approval from the couple that meant more to him than the congratulations of the chief and all the lucrative trades put together; for the rest of the business too often depressed or infuriated him, worried or wracked him with guilt.
It began with what he learned had happened to Comrad. He heard the story from other traders. Comrad’s musher had genuinely admired Comrad enough to use him to sire all his females in one season. But Comrad reacted to being tied up and kicked by attacking the musher’s leg, for which Comrad was bludgeoned to death.
It was a long time before that story found its way back to Ike. It gave him nightmares and nagging fears about the fate of other dogs he had traded in good faith. He tried his best to vet his traders. But who knew what a man would do once the deal was done and he was out of sight.
People like to entertain each other with stories, lonely traders all the more so. Ike practised listening and soliciting stories so that he might the better glean the character of others. He reported stories of cruelty to Piji.
“A musher went mad with snow blindness,” he told her. “He hacked a hole in the ice and tried to drive his dogs into it. They balked and pulled him around the hole but he tipped his sled and fell into the hole himself. He scrambled out by grabbing onto the sled which the dogs held for him and then pulled him to a village where he recovered.”
“That’s a good story,” said Piji. “I believe it. He’d be good to his dogs from then on.”
“How can you believe that?” Ike frowned and raised his voice. “If he could do that once, he would do it again.”
Piji sat in silence. She couldn’t bear to imagine terrible things happening to her pups, as Ike did.
“This story even I won’t believe,” Ike began another. “A musher was a poor hunter. He was without food for several days in a blizzard.” Ike looked at Piji forcing her to imagine the scene. “He killed and ate one of his dogs.”
Piji stood up. “I don’t want to hear any more stories.” She picked up the carefully preserved, whole fur-hide of Yuki. It included the head which she fitted onto her own head. Sitting down, cloaked in the hide of Yuki, she took up her sewing.
“I would never eat my dogs,” Ike spoke with solemn conviction. “It is like eating your own child. I would die with my dogs and hope that I go before them.”
“Put on Yukitu’s hide.” Piji nodded to where it lay flattened out on the floor but was never walked upon. “It will give you his strength and comfort.”
Ike looked at her in angry silence. Even his wife could not be trusted to act the way he wanted her to. He would go and talk with his friend Pakak.
“It is known,” said Piji with her new calm that so irritated Ike, “that by eating the heart of a wolf and wearing its clothing, you take on its spirit.”
Ike shook his head. It was better than shaking her, which he had done when he found her in the woods, lying with the corpses of Yuki and Yukitu.
Yuki and Yukitu were monogamous mates all their lives. They were always “the wolves” to Ike and Piji and everyone in the village. Their litters, from the generation of Icebarb onwards were called “the dogs” within the village, and eventually “the Malamutes’ dogs” in the world beyond.
Yuki and Yukitu continued to be the leads in Ike’s dog team for six years. Stronger dogs were bred but Ike and Piji would not demote their original wolves. Yuki and Yukitu were given special privileges. They were allowed to run off with each other during the mating season. They would return in a few days and a good sized litter would be produced two months later.
The others, beginning with Icebarb and Snowface, then Tarak and selected females, were penned for mating, according to the method recommended by Tarak’s first owners. A female in heat would be put in a high walled snow pen, then Tarak would be allowed in. He would romp and nuzzle, courting her for a long while, until he received her solicitation to mate. Afterwards, they wanted to stay with each other but Ike and Piji had to separate them and get on with the business of others mating in the pen. Ike was told by other breeders and traders that penning was a waste of time.
“Just tie the bitch up,” one said, “and let him ram her.”
But Ike and Piji would have none of that. They saw the devotion between Yuki and Yukitu and felt guilty about not letting Tarak mate for life. He was an affectionate dog whom Piji thought trusted each time that he would be allowed to stay with the female and help raise the pups.
“He’s not so stupid as to keep trusting, when it never happens,” said Ike. “He’s learned to enjoy just the mating well enough. He’s good at it. There’s not a female yet who has turned him away.”
Piji hated taking pups after they were weaned, to be given away in trade. She suffered most in taking pups from Yuki and Yukitu, imagining that Yuki would feel as she would in having to sell her babies.
Ike rationalized it. “It would happen wherever they were,” he said, “whether with us or in the wild. Pups grow up and leave their pack. Sometimes they’re forced out. Yuki and Yukitu couldn’t manage to keep six or seven pups every year.”
At the end of their sixth winter, Yuki and Yukitu ran off for only a day. Ike took this as a further sign of their voluntary dependence on him and Piji. Why scrounge in the wild when you have ready food and shelter at home.
“Look!” he said to Piji. “They are wagging their tails like dogs. They will always come back to us.”
Piji welcomed them with words and big chunks of meat. It will always feel like a knife twisting in my stomach while they’re gone, she thought.
Over the next two months, Piji kept stroking Yuki but could feel no sizable litter growing inside. Yuki was less energetic but that seemed natural at her age. She dug her usual den and stayed inside it for three days. No kind of enticing would draw her out. When she did crawl out, she carried a dead pup in her mouth. Yukitu sat in silence, watching her bury it. She would not look at him as she returned and crawled back into the den. She brought out another dead pup and buried it. Then she lay down flat, with her head between her two outstretched paws, looking at no one, particularly not at Yukitu, who lay down near to her.
When Icebarb who was about to produce her fifth litter nosed her way into the vicinity, Yuki roused herself and snarled, then lay back down while Ike led Icebarb away. At the end of the day, Yuki got up and accepted some food and water. But she remained listless and melancholy.
“She’s ill,” said Piji.
“She’ll recover,” said Ike. “She needs to get back to work with the team.”
He brought hers and Yukitu’s harness. Neither of them would arise to receive it.
“I’ll put other dogs in their place,” said Ike, “until Yuki recovers.”
While Ike and Piji were busy inside, Yuki got up, followed by Yukitu and headed towards the forest.
Villagers quickly informed Ike and Piji. They ran to the village edge where they could see Yuki, followed by Yukitu, proceeding slowly into the forest.
“Let them be,” said Ike. “They want to be alone. Give them a day or two.”
While Ike was sleeping, Piji stole out with a sack of food in pursuit of Yuki and Yukitu.
The next day, Piji was found lying in the snow with the bodies of Yuki and Yukitu. There was much blood in the snow, and the tracks of a battle with a large wolf pack.
“I saw them kill Yukitu,” Piji reported when she could speak. “He died protecting Yuki. The wolf pack left when they saw me coming at them, wielding my knife and spear.”