Hamish set the foot brake and walked past the wagging team to the front of the truck. He said, “I am not questioning your sage wisdom sansei Spot, but as this is the first day you’ve been a mush master and I’ve only been doing this since before your great great great great grandmother was weaned I just want to make sure I understand. You want me to tell this team, the ones who two short days ago went swimming with a bloody marten, to run like the wind?”
Spot and Smudge both nodded at the same time, and so did Ben.
Christa said, “Just to clarify what Hamish is saying, that’s how sleds break, and how dogs can come up lame. We’ve seen more than a few idiots do that when panicked, or caught up in the heat of a race.”
Spot walked down the hood and put his front paws on the brush guard so he face to face with Hamish. He raised a paw and signed as Ben translated, “Hamish, they want to run, and they need to run. They want to show you what they can do and they want to take your directions while doing it. Their confidence problem was as much your issue as it was theirs. They could feel it.”
“Was?” Hamish asked.
“Yes, was.” Ben said, “And it was also an ill-fitting equipment problem. They’re as ready as they will ever be to trust you. Are you ready to trust them?” Spot finished signing and met Hamish’s stare.
Christa was leaning back against the windshield. She looked like she was going to protest but just shook her head, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and laughed. “Fuck it Hamish,” she said, “As messed up as this sounds I trust the fifty pound genius wagging at you.”
Two hours later Spot, Ben, and Christa were down at the mill watching Vuur and Rook cooperate in the maze. The police dog trainees were calling out dead ends and coordinating like they had done the day before, but they had shaved another two minutes off their maze time and were shooting for five.
“That’s amazing,” Christa said, “It’s not just the cooperation, I mean that’s cool, but look at their focus, and their confidence. Half of the concern when working in a stress environment with a dog is that they’ll lose concentration, stop listening to commands or get spooked and do the wrong thing. Frankly that’s the same worry you have with people but a poor dog can’t tell you what’s bothering them. Well, until now I guess. Oh my head hurts.”
Ben laughed and said, “My dad complains about that same thing when he sees the pups doing a new trick or whatever. He calls it mental whiplash. The rest of the family has kinda gotten used to it. I’ve seen them doing it since they were pups so I just think it’s normal.”
“And you’re eleven,” Christa said, “You aren’t a jaded skeptic, yet.”
Spot looked up at her and nodded, and wagged.
“Oh shut up,” Christa said, and smacked the dog’s rump.
Vuur and Rook blast through the exit doorway of the maze five minutes and six seconds faster than their old record.
Spot leapt down and congratulated them, and it quickly turned to rough housing. Ben joined in and they took turns attacking him.
The police dogs had started to show the pups ways to intimidate and take down perps, and Smudge had figured out a way for the lanky police dogs to apply a choke hold after taking down said perp by using their powerful hind legs and locking them over their front feet.
‘Cause sometimes you don’t want to draw any blood, Smudge had said.
The way Ben casually translated that had chilled Christa, and when they tried out the choke hold on her for the first time it scared the hell out of her. Something deep down inside her freaked when Vuur started to squeeze.
Rubbing her neck afterwards she said, “That’d put the poor scum bag in the looney bin, after they get out of the hospital.”
All of a sudden the dogs stopped playing and looked up river.
Spot signed and followed Rook and Vuur as they bounded off towards the bridge.
As Ben and Christa joined them they faintly heard Hamish yelling commands to the dogs from up on the ridge.
Through binoculars they watched the sled weaving through the thick trees as it sped down the valley slope. The team was flashing through the gaps in the trees so fast it was hard to keep them in view.
Christa said, “Whoa, they’re moving.” She counted seconds on her fingers and then said, “That’s an open field triple pace, just shy of a flat out run but they’re in the woods and coming down a steep. Crazy, absolutely crazy to be going that fast in there.”
The sled blast from the thick trees half a kilometer up from the bridge. T’nuc and K’cuf dove together over a small rise with the six other Elkies chugging hard behind them. They turned parallel to the river bank and Ben watched the dogs closely through the binoculars as each pair ran in perfect sync. The sled launched over a few more large drifts, catching air as Hamish sunk down below the handlebar. Smudge’s head popped up with each lurch of the sled and then dropped back down into the fur blankets when they hit the next dip. She had the side rails of the sled in a death grip.
The river bank smoothed out and Hamish stood up straight. “Ga Rask!” he yelled, “Lope vind, you little fuckers!”
The sled sped up. The dogs were at full extension, rear feet deftly passing their front feet as they propelled the sled faster in perfect harmony. They looked like the cylinders of a finely tuned engine, heads bobbing slightly in unison. Even Christa could see the pride and elation on their little furry snow covered faces.
After they crossed the river bridge Hamish yelled, “Joss stoppe!”
He jammed down on the foot brake and leaned hard as the team pulled in a tight circle and the sled slid out from behind them sideways. The sleds runners carved up a huge plume of snow that crest like a wave over the spectators, covering them as the team came to a skidding stop.
Hamish removed his snow packed goggles, and with a huge smile poking through his frosted white beard said, “Bloody brilliant!”
Smudge got out of the sled, took a few wobbly steps, held a paw to her mouth and then barfed heartily.
Chapter 49
Ben sat on top of the workbench with his legs crossed. He was braiding long pieces of Kevlar strapping and wrapping them in leather strips to the lengths Christa and Spot wanted. Smudge sat opposite him at the far end of the bench holding the roll and feeding it out whenever Ben nodded for more.
Christa was sitting up on her mechanic’s roller at the front end of the sled, tapping a wrench against her lips and shaking her head. The gangline that connects the Elkies to the front bridle of the sled was spread out along the barn floor. Spot had its middle component, the shockline, in his teeth and he was tugging on it. He was pointing at the mounting point and wanted Christa to attach a specific Heim connector to limit the lines’ movements, instead of the standard clip carabiner she had in her hand. They had been arguing quietly for half an hour about the changes to the sled and harnesses. Ben was pretty sure Christa was arguing mostly with herself. She’d been building cutting edge sleds for fifteen years and now that she understood the sled dogs’ points of view she saw that her standard rigging had some basic flaws. Spot had noticed her getting testy and was trying to take it easy on her feelings, which seemed to just annoy her more.
Ben had been translating for Spot, and adding the inflections and rude gestures from the dog where appropriate. He stopped paying much attention to what was being said when the argument turned overly technical. He was interpreting Spot’s paw signs and body language, and them speaking them almost automatically.
Hamish came through the back door of the barn. He was whistling, imitating a tin whistle from an old highland tune about a lass in a lake. He tossed a stack of empty plastic pails into the sink and stomped the snow off his boots before walking through the barn to join the group.
His whistling tapered off and he said, “Coming down like the blazes out there, gonna be enough snow to drown the Wigtown martyrs by morning.” He stretched with his fingers locked over his head and said, “Those are some hungry wee Elkhounds. They’ll sleep well tonight, and so
will I, come to think of it.”
Hamish walked over to a snoring Sholto. She was laying on the pile of moving blankets under the heater next to the police dogs.
“Sholto’s dead,” Hamish said, “Oh, wait, no, I see her breathing.”
From the front of the sled Christa said, “Stop that, it’s not funny.”
Hamish watched the boerboels for a minute. They were on their backs and it looked like they were each trying to eat a tennis ball. He scratched under his tam and asked, “What the Christ are those two numpties doing?”
Ben raised a finger to Hamish and said to Christa, “No, he said if you use a Hiem’s connection you can use half the shockline binding length and reduce the slapping problem, and yes he knows that will only work if E’sra stops kicking the line.” He turned back to Hamish and said, “It’s an agility game and focusing exercise. The super cops are supposed to hold the tennis ball in their mouth, grab it between their front paws, pass it to their rear paws, and pass it back again.”
Hamish watched his hundred and fifty pound police dog trainee mastiffs delicately balancing the balls between their paws. He thought they looked ridiculous, but damn if they weren’t completely focused on that bloody tennis ball. The balls hit the floor as often as they were held in paws, but Hamish knew the completion of the task was only half the goal.
Sholto had woken up and he could swear the old dog was encouraging them.
Hamish wasn’t much for parlor pet training tricks but he couldn’t argue with the concentration and dexterity it required.
Hamish was feeling some of the same sensory drunkenness Christa was suffering with. The past twenty four hours had been a blur. Ben’s special pups were unbelievably sharp and had the Elkies heading in the right direction in just a few hours. Something Hamish felt he really hadn’t been able to do effectively in almost a year. Hamish stopped short of admitting the pups had him moving in a new direction as well, but he also knew he was a bit thick-skulled at times.
Hamish also couldn’t overlook Ben. His sister Jean was right, the kid was brilliant and Hamish wondered if he just hadn’t been listening to half of the things the annoying wee boy had been saying.
He unzipped his jacket, rolled a stool over to the workbench and sat down with a heavy groan. “What are those two carrying on about?” He asked, nodding to the front of the dog sled.
“They made a side deal. Spot helps Christa with the changes to the sled, and she agreed to do some modifications that Spot wanted to their snow boots and vests.”
“Aye,” Hamish said as he picked up one of the vests, “you know she uses stingray leather for her high performance boots? Grips better when wet then leather, and lasts ten times longer.” Hamish noticed the zippered pockets Jean had sewn into the vests, and the small black pen light, red pocket lock blade with a Swiss flag on it, and paper clips inside one of them.
At the front of the sled Christa and Spot reach some agreement and high-five each other.
“Look at the poor thing,” Hamish said, “that lass knows more about shaving ounces and seconds from a sled team than just about anyone alive and she’s being shown an entirely new direction by a creature with four more legs than she has.” Hamish ran his fingers through his beard and added, “It’s fucking pure radge.”
“It’s been good for the pups, too,” Ben said, “Spot’s in his element. Smudge calls it his professor mode.”
Hamish nodded as he leaned back in the stool and watched his exceptional team of misfits work.
As Ben twisted the loops of leather he rocked back and forth a little and quietly sang a nursery rhyme his Mimi must have taught him when he was still a wee grandwean bouncing on her lap. Hamish hadn’t heard it in almost forty years but by the second verse every word came flooding back and he started to sing along under his breath;
“Yeh cannae shove yer granny auf the bus,
Yeh cannae shove yer granny auf the bus,
Yeh cannae shove yer granny,
Cause she's yer mammy’s mammy,
No, yeh cannae shove yer granny auf the bus.”
Hamish noticed Smudge rocking in time with Ben’s cadence as she fed out more Kevlar strapping. He could just picture his loving sister-in-law singing softly to this dog when she was a poor sick puppy…probably just about the same time something was running around inside her furry little head, cooking her brain into a neural network that was likely far more efficient than his own. He thought the really crazy part was this dog probably remembered every word and was now singing along with Ben in her head.
Hamish watched as Smudge put down the roll of strapping and picked up a small jar. She carefully twisted off the lid, dipped in one toe and came away with a small dollop of Christa’s foot wax. As her dexterous paws smoothed it around and between her pads she sighed, and caught Hamish staring at her.
She held his stare while giving her paws a long sniff, and then signed as Ben translated, “I’m addicted to this stuff. It’s better than being licked by a dozen coyotes.”
Hamish stared at both of them for a long minute before he scratched his beard and said, “We’re going to get two feet by morning and it looks like this storm will last a few days. Perfect for the dogs’ final test. I also want to check on our wee wolves. Figure I’ll put on a few hundred kilometers and be back in time for the conference calls.”
“Oh,” Ben said, “Okay, well we’ll help Christa get Vuur and Rook ready for their call.”
“You aren’t coming?” Hamish said with a smile.
“Really?” Ben said, “We can come?”
“I need my team with me,” Hamish said as he put his hand on Ben’s knee, “Who knows what kind of idgit things those glaikit bastards will do without you and the pups around. Vuur and Rook are solid, and Christa can polish them up just fine for the call.”
“Thanks, Unc,” Ben said with a big smile.
Hamish smiled at him, and nodded. He got up from the stool with a long exhale. He put his hands in the small of his back and pushed as his bones gave up a loud crack that echoed through the barn, causing Vuur to drop his tennis ball.
Hamish put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes like a magician about to guess a card. He said, “I see a warm beach and a drink with a brelly in my not too distant future.”
He pointed to the sled and said, “That going to be ready by morning?”
Christa and Spot looked at each other and then shrugged together. “Yeah, should be,” she said.
Hamish gave Smudge a pat and said to her, “Get some sleep tonight, and eat some ginger. I don’t want you bloody boking in my sled tomorrow.” As he headed for the front barn door he said over his shoulder, “And pack your sat phone lad, mine’s soaking at the bottom of the raging burn somewhere.”
Chapter 50
Spot and Smudge hid behind a large snow covered piece of equipment at the mine. Spot had his ear pressed to the side of the metal garage as his sister paced nervously behind him. Spot could hear the mine boss Vic and his thug Ty talking inside. The blowing snow peppered the metal building and the wind rattled loose corrugated panels somewhere above them, making it hard to hear what their faint voices were saying. Spot assumed they were in the upper office with the door closed.
Smudge said, We can’t just leave them, we can’t. I won’t let them fight again. You promised—
Easy sister, we won’t, Spot said, I want to hear what they’re saying in there, Come on.
Smudge nodded and they stuck to the shadows as they wove through snow covered pallets stacked with equipment. They moved around to the rear of the building and came to the sliding garage door. The latch was already undone and the door was slid halfway open. A pair of big white work pickup trucks similar to Hamish’s, only older and beat up, were parked side by side in the garage. One truck was parked next to the metal stairs that led up to the office, and the other was parked next to the wolf cages. Dirty slush pooled on the concrete floor under the trucks as snow melted from them.
The pups s
lipped out of their vests and hid them as they changed their fur back to black. As part of the changes to their vests Christa had swapped out the red body panels with winter camo. They worked perfectly with their white fur in the snowy dark of the woods, but would be no help inside the garage.
The pups moved into the gap between the far truck and the wolf cages. As the wolves stirred Smudge signaled to them before they started yapping. The wild dogs settled and paced quietly behind the bars as she touched each of their snouts. The pups moved away from the cages and slipped under the far truck where they paused, and listened.
Smudge strained to hear, rotating her ears around and agreeing with her brother with a quick nod that they still couldn’t hear well enough. They moved to the rear of the truck where they could see the Rotty-wolf snoring on his cardboard bed under the stairs. His thick leather collar was clipped to a rope that was tied to the stair’s handrail.
You keep him quiet, Spot said, I’m going up the stairs.
They split up. Smudge made sure no one was watching from the office windows before she walked through the pool of light to the sleeping wolf-dog. Her brother looped around the truck and waited at the bottom step of the metal office stairs.
Smudge tapped the Rotty-wolf on the snout.
The dog farted.
She tapped him again on the nose, harder.
The huge dog opened one eye.
Shhh, Smudge said patting him gently on the head, It’s only me.
The massive half-wolf half-Rottweiler looked at her for a moment and then shot to his feet and started barking his fool head off, He was standing with his paws spread wide, spraying spittle into Smudge’s face.
Smudge grabbed his muzzle and held his mouth shut, stifling the last few barks. The big dog looked down his nose at Smudge, and started wagging. Smudge let go, and the half breed turned once in a small circle and lay back down with his head hanging off the pallet. He started to lazily lick his big paws.
The Glasgow Gray: Spot and Smudge - Book 2 Page 25
