I just got back from Alaska. While in Anchorage, I went to see an expo of sled dogs, a show done by the Seavey family. The Seaveys have won a slew of Iditarod races so you have to go assuming you’ll hear the upside of racing vs any of the adverse publicity. You can find proponents for both sides online.

I actually thought sled dogs looked like this Siberian husky. While they can pull, these big guys are not particularly fast. So sled dogs have been bred for speed and desire to run.

They are a scruffy looking lot, much smaller than huskies, weighing in at around 55 pounds each. Here a musher is trying to get them harnessed but they are so eager to run the chore is slowing her down. The sled has a “brake” that is not unlike a ship anchor, digging into the dirt or ice.

These dogs would make the world’s worst pets for anyone but long distance runners. They are not trained to sit, stay, beg or roll over. All they do is run. As with teams of horses, the leaders get the rest of the group to follow … dogs in the center may not even know the commands. The ones in the back are in wheel position. They are bigger and stronger, handling most of the positioning of the sled.

However, even if they are not great pets, the pups are as cute and cuddly as any. It takes great discipline to not find yourself owning a whole pack of them.

This is my friend Claudia having difficulty saying good-bye to a furball whom we left behind. I’ve had relationships with humans that were a whole lot easier to end.

A true story courtesy of another cruise passenger:

Her client was very old. She was still sweet-natured and in touch with her surroundings, but she had begun the long decline.

On this particular visit, the old woman looked worried, maybe even frightened. The counselor, concerned, asked, “What’s wrong, Francis?”

The woman shook her head and mumbled in syllables the counselor had difficulty understanding. “Something’s not right.”

“Do you hurt?”

Another head shake. And now Francis began a slow rocking back and forth as a mourner might do. “Something’s not right. Something’s not right.”

“Has your check not arrived? Do you feel ill? Is everything okay at home?”

“Something’s not right.”

The counselor could get no more information, but her concern had blossomed into a full blown fret. She took Francis to the lobby and asked the old woman’s husband to come in. He always brought his wife to these appointments or she would surely miss them.

Before the counselor could tell him her concern, the old man, usually so mild, blurted out, “Something’s not right.”

Eventually the counselor figured it out. The couple had mistakenly inserted each other’s dentures.