A sled dog in the summer is something most people don’t think about. The movies, the posters, the photographs in magazines all depict keen, shiny, winter dogs pulling sleds. They’re usually racing with tongues out, eyes on fire, white teeth flashing from their frosted mouths.

But in summer, sled dogs make lousy photography models. Their coats are coming out in thick mats like half-shorn sheep. They roll in the mud like pigs. They need to be covered in bug repellent. Most photographers would run the other way. But we mushers adore them even when they’re in the caterpillar phase of their life cycle.

I’m sitting cross-legged in the yard on a wooden platform above a pool of mud. I’ve moved the dog yard to fresh green grass, but they always end up digging lakes that fill up in it rains. ‘Blaze’ is lying in my lap, legs splayed out in a way only dogs get away with. Her dog smell is all over me. She pokes her nose at my hand when I stop brushing. A wet pay slaps me on the chest. Yes, Blaze, you’re itchy, I know.

Her shedding fur can be pulled at like cotton candy. I smear the backs of her pointed ears with a thick, tar-like paste to keep the biting flies from chewing her raw.
We’ve just come back from a swim in Lake Superior. I took ‘Doppler,’ ‘Jade,’ Blaze and ‘Ula.’ They ran full tilt up and down the beach for half an hour. Paws just touching the water’s edge, tongues lolling, pounding past me with gleeful smiles.

Huskies generally dislike the water, but these guys have grown up here beside the lake and some have learned that the cool water on their bellies is a relief. I swam across a wide river mouth and the dogs followed, though Jade, who still distrusts the water, jumped on her buddy Doppler’s back for a ride, Doppler just grinned.

In a few months the early mornings will be cool enough to start the training all over again. Pulling the ATV, getting the miles. Figuring out new positions on the gangline, who runs best together for the upcoming season. ‘Minden,’ I think you should come up to point position this year. She seems interested in what’s going on in the lead.

You want to learn how to be a leader, girl? ‘Tarzan,’ we still need your muscle in the wheel here big guys, right in front of me.

They are constantly growing, evolving, learning. After a few hundred miles on bare ground, the snow will finally come and we’ll thankfully switch to the sled. We’ll run miles of silent trails together. Mid-morning sun hitting the hoarfrost that covers bare branches and the world is a sparkling diamond. We’ll stop at some perfect spot and the dogs will have enthusiastic snow baths, grunting with pleasure. I’ll lie on the sled bag and eat a jam sandwich and listen to the personal space around me.

By the time we go to a dog race they will have their sleek winter coats. People will want to pet them, take their pictures, ride in the sled.

But until then, the dogs sleep, they swim, they get brushed and loved. They lay on their platforms with coated ears and itchy skin and watch the butterflies flit by.