Most of the major sports in the U.S. have been shut down, but the Iditarod is still in progress. The "Last Great Race" has me thinking about dogs. Here's a story, from one of my short-story collections, inspired by an experience I had while living in the Alaska interior.

                                                    DOG STORY

Boomer walked through the snow thinking about Suzy. He had been thinking about Suzy all day: those blue eyes with the long, soft lashes and, of course, the tail. Mostly it was the tail--fat and fluffy, just the way Boomer liked them. Suzy had come into heat two days ago and broken the chain that kept her in the dog yard with the other sled dogs. Now she was alone and free up in the hills above the frozen river. She was a wily old bitch and her owner had failed in all his attempts to lure her back. Boomer would have no trouble finding her--just follow the furrow left in the snow by the trailing length of chain and inhale that delicious scent.
    Boomer headed up the hill with his nose down in the furrow. So intent was Boomer in following the trail up to Suzy that he didn't notice the two wolves approaching across the side of the hill. Suddenly there was a new but familiar scent--Boomer looked up at the wolves standing in front of him. One was a large animal and the other young or stunted. They were mangy, sneaky-looking brutes with grinning fangs and tails that arched down between their legs.
    Shit! thought Boomer, just my luck. Boomer was a good-sized, healthy Labrador, and he knew that he had a chance against one wolf in the middle of winter when they were weak from lack of food. These guys looked pretty bad off, but with two, even that small one, there wasn't much hope.
    "Hey, wimp, where you think you're  going?" said the bigger wolf.
    "Wimp," said the smaller one.
    "If you're thinking of visiting that sweet little husky up there you can just forget it--we'll be handling that."
    "Yeah, we'll handle it," repeated the small wolf. He was drooling terribly.
    What a disgusting runt, thought Boomer. If his big friend gives him a turn at all, that fool will probably lock up inside Suzy, and they'll both freeze to death before I can get a little myself.
    "Besides," continued the big wolf, "she's not your type. She's a working girl--from the other side of the tracks, just like us guys." The wolves looked at each other and snickered.
    Boomer hated that old line of crap. He flushed grouse for his master in the fall, he barked when strangers came around. That was work. Boomer growled.
    "Ooh, tough guy! Listen, you better just trot your little housebroken ass home and be thankful we're in a hurry. If you're still around when we finish with the bitch, we're going to kick your butt good. Dipshit!"
    "Dipshit!" said the runt.
    Boomer growled again and took a step toward the little wolf who jumped back. That felt good. But the bigger wolf started coming at him, and there was nothing to do but retreat down the hill. It was humiliating. Boomer gave a last half-hearted growl over his shoulder and headed home.
    Working his way down the hill, Boomer listened to the taunts of the wolves as they swaggered off. "Maybe if you sit up and beg like a good little doggie, your master will give you a biscuit."  "Curl up by your smelly stove and lick yourself!" "Yeah, lick yourself!" "Go fetch a stick, sucker!"
    It was hard to take, but soon Boomer would be back at the cabin, and his rug by the stove was starting to sound pretty good. The boss had shot a moose a few days ago, and if he didn't fuck up for a while, maybe there'd be a bone in it for him.