Running Wild (Wild 3)

I shift my attention to our nervous passenger in the back, offering her a gloveless hand to sniff. Though skittish, she’s beginning to warm to me already. I would have preferred leaving her at the clinic, if we’re coming out here to accuse this guy of cruelty, we need the victim with us. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up, good as new,” I promise.

A white lie. The dog’s in rough shape. How rough, I can’t say yet. Cory’s running a few preliminary blood tests while the more complex ones will have to go to a lab. I did what I could for the oozing sores, cleaning and applying ointment, and dosing her with a round of antibiotics. She’ll need a special feeding plan to put some meat on her bones, and the abscess on her gums will require close attention.

In moments, Howie has cut the chain and pushed the gate open, fastening it to a nearby tree to keep it that way. Tossing the cutters back into his toolbox, he climbs in and throws the truck into gear, and we’re heading down the gravel driveway toward a plume of smoke. The snowy Talkeetna Mountains cut into the cold, crisp blue sky.

The spectacular view does little for the knots in my stomach, as I wish whatever situation we’re walking into could be over already. I’m not made for confrontation. Not like Jonah, who strolls headfirst into a tense situation and bucks around like a bronco with a cowboy spurring its haunches. But I can dig up courage when I’m protecting a helpless animal, and one look at this dog draws searing anger to my tongue.

In the clearing ahead is a ranch-style house with a wraparound deck, designed to enjoy the view. Several outbuildings are scattered throughout, their open doors revealing the various storage purposes—wood, ATVs, tools. It’s typical of any rural Alaskan property I’ve ever stepped foot on.

What’s not typical is the looming barn to our left, freshly clad in vivid red siding that reminds me of the barns in Sweden I saw many years ago as a college student backpacking across Europe for the summer between first and second year.

“He’s got a nice piece of land here.” Howie parks behind a side-by-side utility vehicle. “How many acres you thinkin’? A hundred? Two?”

“The Dansons had horses, so a fair amount, I’m guessing.” And this Tyler guy is clearly using those stalls. Someone—I doubt the Dansons—has spent a considerable amount of money, and not just on the barn. Closed-panel fence boards that easily reach seven feet high begin at the side of the barn and extend far beyond my view.

“He’s got money to burn.” Howie sizes up the new construction as well. “With the range and Little Su in his backyard, this guy must have paid a pretty penny to set up shop here.” With a glance at the dog in his back seat, Howie cranks the heat and leaves the truck running as he exits. The slamming door earns a nervous jump from her.

“You stay here.” I scratch her head and then climb out. The frigid air claws at me as I round the hood of the rumbling truck. My breath billows in a frost-coated cloud. “How do you want to do this?”

He scratches his stubbled chin in thought. “Here’s how it’s gonna go: We got a report of abuse that we’re investigating. Even though this is a registered kennel, we’re walking in here on the assumption that she’s a pet and protected by those laws and not livestock laws, which don’t always work in our favor.”

Because sled dogs are considered “livestock” in the Mat-Su region—a classification that infuriates me to no end.

“As far as I’m concerned, this animal isn’t getting adequate care, no matter what. From there, I’ll see what kind of fines and whatnot I can ding him with.” The look on Howie’s face says he’s not overly confident.

I grit my jaw with grim determination. “Get me proof that this guy is neglecting these dogs, and I’ll take it to the ITC.” We might not be able to shut down his kennel, but I can have him disqualified and banned from all future races.

“First, we need to see if he’s home.” Howie’s head swivels, stalling on the olive-green pickup truck that sits nearby, wearing the eight inches of snow that fell overnight. The owner clearly hasn’t taken it out, and I don’t see any tracks to suggest there’s a second vehicle.

But there are fresh tracks.

He drags his boot across the snowmachine trail that leads out into the woods beyond. “Someone’s out and about today.”

Everyone’s out and about today, I want to say. It’s a sunny albeit frigid day for playing in the snow, and with the days as short as they are right now, people are taking advantage. We must have passed a dozen sledders on our drive up here, speeding along paths and coasting over frozen lakes.