Oxygen Hoarder

Update: No baby. Janna is just a little impatient, but doing well. I'm much more impatient than she is. I assured her that she will not be pregnant forever and this baby HAS to come eventually....but I'm not 100% sure about that at this point :) I'm thinking of keeping the blanket for myself. :)

Ok. Close your eyes and picture this:

We are 60 feet below the surface in the warm, tropical waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Magnificent coral formations in pinks, purples, and oranges climb upwards toward the surface like skyscrapers. Schools of brightly colored tropical fish dart left, then right, creating swirls of vibrant color. A sea turtle gracefully soars through the waters unbeknownst to the divers gazing in awe.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, creating swarms of bubbles above my head.
There is no doubt that I am in my "happy" place.

The Divemaster signals a question to our group, "How much air left?"
Lawyer checks her gauge and indicates with her fingers on her forearm that she has 1500 PSI remaining. Lawyer's husband glances down and indicates 1800 PSI. Ev, breather extraordinaire, indicates that he still has over 2000 PSI left in his tank. I reach around for my gauge and carefully examine the numbers. Shit. I tap the gauge, for fear that it has malfunctioned. Shit. I sheepishly indicate that I have 800 PSI remaining in my tank. The Divemaster reaches for my gauge to confirm my scant O2 levels. Scoldingly, he shakes his finger at me, indicates that I and my dive buddy (poor Ev) must ascend, perform our safety stop, and surface immediately. Shit.

Once Ev and I safely reach the surface, (100 PSI to spare!) I can sense Ev's disappointment with our dive being cut about 15 minutes shorter than that of our friends. I assure him that they're not seeing anything more down there anyway. We were pretty much at the end of the reef. Once lawyer and Lawyer's husband surface, it is apparent that we've missed miraculous things: dancing dolphins, mermaids, and shark attacks. Shit. I'm ruining Ev's dive experience because I am...

A O2 hoarder. I am a hoarder of the Oxygen.

haha. I'm about to consume a ridiculous amount of oxygen!

I had no idea until I started diving just how much Oxygen I hoard. Ever been in a small room with me and felt claustrophobic? Yep, likely because I'm stealing your oxygen. I love oxygen. It's free. It's good for my brain. Must have more.

But seriously, I am fully aware that I'm consuming excessive amounts of oxygen on dives and I have 3 theories as to why this is occurring:

1) Excitability: I get really really excited underwater. Lawyer's husband will swim by and show me that we are at 100 ft and my heart races, my pulse quickens, and I consume more oxygen, "Holy shit! I can't believe I'm at 100 ft!!!"
2) Spontaneous talking: I am completely aware that no one can understand what I'm saying beneath the surface. Doesn't stop me from talking though. I talk to turtles, "Hey Turtle, how's it going?" I  talk to Ev, "This is awesome!" I've even talked to angelfish whilst showing them my angelfish tattoo on my ankle, "Look, it's you!" I'm sure that doesn't affect my O2 consumption? haha
3) Flipper: My dive buddies call me flipper because I'm constantly flapping my arms while I'm diving. Imagining little fins, I rapidly move my hands up and down in the water. Does it help me swim? No. Does it help my buoyancy? Not really. Does it result in more oxygen consumption? Probably.

We can do this!

This is how my hands look.

So, as we depart for a fabulous dive holiday on a little island just off the coast of Honduras called Roatan, my "mini" goal will be to consume a respectable amount of oxygen during dives so that my dive buddy (Ev) doesn't feel the need to turn my 02 off and send me on my way. I will return in a week with a new goal for the month of February, which is a pretty flippin' cool goal if you ask me.

As I pack our scuba gear for our vacation, I am overwhelmed with thoughts of Ryan. Ryan loved diving. In fact, he may have played a part in the invention of scuba diving ;) Ryan once told us a hilarious tale of his younger days. Apparently when Ryan was a kid (about 9 or 10, I think), he observed the scuba divers at Candle Lake and figured that he didn't require all the fancy equipment to scuba dive. He made a plan. He filled a backpack with rocks, cut off a piece of garden hose, grabbed a snorkel mask and headed out on his paddleboat to 10-15 feet of water. He thought his plan was foolproof! Placing the backpack of rocks on his back, he jumped in the water with the garden hose in his mouth. The pressure was too great and he (surprisingly) was unable to breath through the hose. He told us that he couldn't get the backpack off, so he grabbed his knife (what 9 year old carries a knife?) and cut the backpack free and surfaced just in time to begin breathing again. Only Holowaty!

This beats the garden hose, hey Holowaty?

One of my best most recent memories of Ryan is on the May long weekend, about 3 months before he died. It was a perfect day - we all met at the islands via boat, which is unprecedented for Candle Lake this early in the season (typically there's still ice on the water!) I don't think Ryan had his new boat yet (anyone who knows Ryan knew that this was the summer of his new boat! It even had it's own facebook photo album devoted to it!) Sipping on beers in the hot May sun, we talked to Ryan about our winter adventures. Ryan had been scuba diving in Bali and, in typical Holowaty style, had animated tales to tell of his adventures. Ryan eloquently explained to us, in detail, how to puke most effectively (if necessary) underwater whilst diving. Lawyer and I listened intently, as this is one of our greatest fears. I mean, who wants to puke underwater? I won't do this story justice, but it goes something like this (picture high pitched squeals, more "f bombs" and big hair):

"I'm at 60 feet and I know I gotta puke. So I just puke in my f'n reg (regulator). But I'm hittin' the purge button the whole time. F'n puke everywhere! (voice is now that high pitch that only dogs can hear) the fish f'n loved it! Ate it all up! Cleared it out of my reg and it was all cool. No big deal."

Lawyer, of course, took mental notes, (she gets seasick a lot) and asked lots of questions ("So, how did you inhale as you were barfing?") as I laughed my ass off. Only Holowaty. One of a kind.

There are thousands of theories as to what happens once one dies. Heaven? reincarnation? Nothing? I don't know exactly what I believe, but it certainly is comforting to picture our friend, Ryan, continuing to "live," doing the things he loves. Maybe he's surfin' some gnarly waves or chillin' on his boat on a perfectly calm lake or diving with some amazing sea life. I don't know. I picture him checking in on his buddies from time to time (He had a LOT of buddies), and seeing what we're all up to. Perhaps he'll see Ev and I diving and remember all of his dives, the laughs, and that perfect day in May. Although life carries on for all of us, I hope he can sense how much we all miss him and think about him. He is very much alive through all of his stories and experiences that he shared with us. He truly was one of a kind.

epic hair, buddy. Epic.

It's NOT over until I say it is

Although the month of January is winding down, I'm am nowhere near ready to be done with the dog sledding. In fact, I feel like I'm just finally getting the hang of things! The temperature warmed up for the and light flurries fell throughout the weekend. Nancy and the dogs were ready to hit the trail. Unfortunately, the snowfall was not sufficient to run the dogs with the sled. Not yet. Nancy's hoping that with a few more dumps of snow, she should be able to get the sled out in February - and I will be there! Screw this one challenge per month. It's my experiment - so I can (and will) bend the rules...

Ev was working so I brought along a blast from my blog past: sexy hair tossing flutist, Heidi! She actually owns a coat with a fur-trimmed collar and little stitchings of Eskimos and sled dogs on the back. It was a no-brainer. She was the perfect dog sledding buddy! We met Nancy out on the trail and it was apparent from the yelps and barks that the dogs were raring to go (they've been cooped up in the cold for almost 2 weeks!) I actually felt like I was semi-helpful as I strapped each harness around the dogs, gave Cooper (nervous nellie) his pre-run pep-talk, cleaned up after Coooper's pre-game ritual, and led each dog to the gangline. Nancy was concerned the dogs would go "kamikaze," running wildly after having not run in 2 weeks, but they were stars! Perfect left turns to "Haw" and sharp right turns to "Chee," they listened intently, concentrated on the path, and ran in perfect sync for 9 miles. At one point, Nancy couldn't see the track with the fresh snowfall on the ground, but the team did not skip a beat - whether they remembered or were able to sense the path, they made a perfect left turn without a command from Nancy. Nancy instructed the team to stop about 3/4 of the way through the run, "Look at how Loki is running funny. He must have an ice ball in his foot." Ice ball? Apparently, some dogs have "hot feet" and fresh snow will melt between the pads, creating a snow/ice ball in their foot. It would be comparable to running with a rock in your shoe. Nancy always watches her dogs very carefully throughout the run, picking up on any changes in their stride or behavior. She removed the chunk of ice, and we carried on to the "finish line."

"Stop dudes! I got an iceball!"

Other than experiencing stinging toes and fingers,  (-15 is still cold, people!) it was a great day out on the trail. I refuse to conclude this month's challenge at this point in time because there is still so much to learn and experience. I barely got a taste of it. As soon as there's enough snow, I'm on that sled! I can only imagine how awesome that experience will be! I can close my eyes and hear the sounds of the dog's breathing and the swish swish of the sled on the snow. I can't wait! Also, I'm looking forward to partaking in pet therapy with Nancy and her dogs. There's been a ban on visitors at many of the longterm care homes this month due to illness, so we've been unable to bring the dogs in to visit with the residents. But I'm really interested to see how the resident's and the dogs will react to each other. I'm really enjoying working with these dogs and I just feel like I'm starting to see each of their unique personalities shine through. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm kinda getting attached to Cooper and his anxious little personality. Perhaps I can share Biloxi's little blue pill with the poor dude? (BTW, Biloxi is now refusing the little blue pill, foaming at the mouth when I shove it down his throat. Super calming experience for both of us).

Check out all the pics:

Hey, is that a musher from the Arctic? NO, it's flutist, Heidi!

Snotsicles!

The dogs love Heidi with treats

Crochet Update: No baby...yet. Janna is concerned that the baby will "arrive in a suit and tie, ready for work." Yikes. The baby is now 3 days overdue; however, I stopped by Grandma's and she's putting the finishing touches on the final attachment of the crochet squares. Perhaps this genius baby was concerned that it might arrive cold, with no blanket. Smart kid. Ok, baby, we are now ready for you...NOW!!!!

My cat's on valium and I'm crushing on my vet

Well THAT got your attention, didn't it?

It's been a rough week in the Lindsay house. First, as documented in my last blog post, there was "furnacegate 2012." What wussy 2 month old furnace can't cope with January in Saskatchewan? Seriously. Then I began to notice that Biloxi, the cat, was acting strangely. Like any cat, he prides himself on maintaining his lovely orange coat with regular grooming. His grooming; however, has deviated from the norm to a violent plucking of his fur, resulting in a very pronounced bald spot on his left leg. Yikes. Ev thought that perhaps it was "sympathy" plucking - you know, so he could share in Ev's despair with the inevitable male patterned baldness. I knew better. Like any educated woman in the 21st century, I immediately diagnosed my cat online. Looks like "Psychogenic Alopecia." Apparently cats will engage in excessive grooming when they are overly anxious or have lived through a traumatic event. Poor Biloxi, the cat, has lived through numerous traumatic events. Could it have been the 48 hours of quarantine at London Heathrow? The 4 day drive to Pensacola, Florida in a tiny kitty carrier? The arrival of the giant fuzzy-headed dog, Dundee? Nope. I believe it was a traumatic incident that occurred 2 weeks ago in his very own house.

Remain calm? Are you kidding me?

Biloxi's bathroom is located in a storage room in the basement. The storage room also houses the equipment for our home sound system and satellite TV. A repairman was in that room a few weeks ago working on the system and shut the door behind him on his way out. Poor Biloxi was locked out of his bathroom for almost 2 days! That would stress me out! My poor orange buddy finally peed right smack in the middle of our carpet, "Guys! seriously! Look! I have nowhere to pee!" I quickly determined the problem, apologized profusely to Biloxi, and swore that it would never happen again. It was too late. The damage was done. I managed to completely stress out my poor cat to the point of OCD-like behavior. Shit. Time to visit Dr. T. The most amazing vet in the universe. That's right. The universe.

Dr. T is the kindest, most compassionate man I have ever met. He's probably in his early 30's, soft spoken, extremely thorough, and I believe, loves my animals as much as I do. Many animal owners in Prince Albert rave about Dr. T. In fact, Dr. T sees 3 generations of cats in my family: Grandma's cat, Miss Kitty, and my mom's little white cat, Maggie. Dr. T compassionately helped my mom through the horrible experience of putting our wonderful family cat, Holly, down when she was suffering in her old age. Dr. T sees Nancy's dogs and is willing to make special trips out to the yard when one is ill. Dr. T is known to answer the phone in the wee hours of the morning and talk animal owners through difficult experiences. Dr. T rocks.

Initially when I met Dr. T, a giddiness overcame me and I mistook my feelings for "vet crush." As I've spent more time with Dr. T (Dundee, was that a cough? Let's go see Dr. T! haha), I wouldn't define my feelings for him as a typical "crush." It's more of a "I wish we could hold hands and watch "Free Willy" together" kind of feeling. He makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Biloxi, on the other hand, did not share my sentiments. Ears flattened to head, heart racing with fear, Biloxi yelped as the thermometer slid into his....well, you know. Looking up at me with black eyes, I imagined him saying, "Are you shitting me?" Dr. T thoroughly examined my buddy, letting me listen to Biloxi's heart murmur (he may have been born with it). For a split second, I imagined Dr. T wrapping his arms around me, helping me hold the stethoscope in a giant warm hug, as 'Unchained Melody' played in the background. It didn't happen. In fact, Dr. T informed me that he and "his wife" (right, yes) had a similiar problem with their cat and decided to prescribe a low dosage "kitty valium" to help the cat settle and terminate the OCD behavior. So that's what we've decided to do. Biloxi, the cat, after years and years of living an unsettled lifestyle, is now on kitty valium.

Kitty valium is soooo good.

I thanked Dr. T for his advice (shall we hug it out, Dr. T? ;) and took the little blue "happy" pills home for my buddy. I am pleased to report that Biloxi has already terminated the plucking behavior, yet does not appear "snowed," staggering drunkenly like that dude I saw on Central yesterday. It appears as though the little blue "happy" pill is leveling the cat out - stabilizing his mood. He's calm. He's happy. He's constantly purring. Hmmmm.....I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling a clump of blonde strands out and contemplated a phonecall to Dr. T.

1 for me. 1 for you. Life is good.

Update: Crochet done! Grandma is helping me put the blanket together as we speak! Janna's due date is Monday but she feels like the baby could be here any minute! Hurry Grandma!
I am hoping to get out with Nancy and her dogs for a run tomorrow. It's now warmed to a balmy -15 degrees - Hooray!

Mother Nature (and karma) is a bitch

I'm pretty sure that I pissed off Mother Nature. On January 10, I commended Mother Nature on her breathtaking scenery, stating, "I didn't know that winter could be this beautiful." I had Mother Nature on my side. One false move (Cold snap hits priaries), and I instantly turned on her, trashing her like that skank that steals your highschool boyfriend (FYI: no skank every stole my highschool boyfriend. I just liked the way that sounded). I thrashed Mother Nature in my video, wailing over the arctic winds, "Why do I live here?" She heard. She heard loud and clear and she sought...revenge.

It all began yesterday morning as I opened the door to let Dundee, the little white dog, out for a pee. Tail wagging, completely content in his little world of happiness, he bounded out the door for his morning pee. As he did his business, one cold paw lifted up from the ground and began to shake, followed by two cold paws. He continued to alternate paws, although at one point I swear he was only standing on one little white paw. Poor little bugger was freezing. Instead of channeling his inner Huskie, he completely gave up and laid (on his side) in the snow and began to shake. No survival instinct whatsoever, Dundee, the little white dog, completely gave up on life. I cheered from the patio, "C'mon buddy! You can do it. Get up and walk to the door. Just get up! Do it for the Coton de Tulears of Madagascar!" (his breed). Nope. Pleading with me with his little black eyes, he laid shaking and defeated in the cold snow. Running to his rescue in sock feet, I saved my pup from imminent death. Once inside, he gazed up at me with those sad puppy eyes, "How could you do this to me?"

Mother Nature: 1 Dundee, the little white dog: 0

As I pulled into the dark, dismal hospital parking lot at 8am, I was reminded by Power 99 FM that it was -30 degrees in Prince Albert (but Oh Thank God it's still +30 in Jamaica. Incredibly helpful). I popped my hood to release the cord in anticipation of plugging in the Grand Am for the day. Now the Grand Am is a pretty sweet car. It's the special 2002 edition. You may have heard of it. But seriously, other than being trashed by an incredibly arrogant Calgarian ("I thought you made good money? Why are you driving this?") the Grand Am has pulled through, despite being neglected in all areas (do you really need an oil change THAT often?) As I searched for the plug under the hood (in complete darkness), snotsicles began to form on my upper lip (isn't it amazing that we've actually created our own winter vocabulary, unique to our horrific experience of -30??) With giant fuzzy mitts, I attempted to lift the hood and seek the much needed cord. Hands shaking, ears stinging, and visions of Dundee falling helplessly to the snow, I  muttered, "can't see the f'n cord!" and gave up. Fully aware that the Grand Am would likely not start, I ran outside at 2 hour intervals throughout the day to let it run. This worked just fine until it was time to call it a day. At 4:30, the Grand Am, like the little white dog, did not even try. Didn't even roll over. Click. Dead.

Mother Nature: 1, Grand Am: 0

The final straw occurred as I returned home for the day. Snuggled happily on the couch, and Evan on nightshift, I watched The Bachelor without guilt. As the drama heated up, my house cooled down. Right down. It became uncomfortably cold. Checking the thermostat, I could see that it was currently 15 degrees in my house. The thermostat was set for 21. Something was wrong. By 10pm, I had Guy, our trusty builder frantically calling Furnace Fixers (let's call them FF's) and the temperature had fallen to 13 degrees inside the house. Did I mention that this house is 2 months old? The furnace is a whopping 2 months old! Like, what - you didn't think you'd have to work this hard, furnace? You never stood a chance against Mother Nature! C'mon!

Mother Nature: 1, Furnace: 0. 

I was now shaking in front of the fireplace. Guy assured me that FF#1 would be at my door by midnight. Perfect. Because what lady doesn't want to open the door to a complete stranger at midnight? He would assess the situation, realize that I was cold, alone, at his mercy and I would be ladynapped..or worse. I've seen Criminal Minds. I quickly updated my facebook status:

"midnight. -30 degrees outside. Broken furnace. Brand new house. If tomorrow I am MIA, I have: a)frozen to death (current indoor temp=13), b)been smothered by one of the 80 blankets that I'm currently wrapped in (why don't I own a snuggie?) and/or c) furnace repairman sketch and ladynapped me. Just sayin'"


I saw this on Dateline once. I was leaving a trail. FF#1 arrived at midnight. As he entered the house, I examined him closely. Guard dog, Dundee, bounded on him, ferociously licking his hand. He petted Dundee. FF #1 seemed OK. Well, he seemed pissed, to be honest. I mean, who wouldn't be pissed after being woken up at midnight on the coldest night of winter (wait, wait, spoke too soon. This just in: TONIGHT will be even colder! Hurrah!) Although I exuded sexiness in my touque, scarf, and 8 layers of clothing, FF #1 did not try to ladynap me. In fact, he went straight out to the side of the house to investigate the vents. I explained that I had already done this (via telephone instruction by Evan), but he proceeded to head outside. Suddenly, I heard a bang. I looked out the window to find FF#1 flat on his back, having become a victim to the slippery slope. FF #1 bellowed, "F*(^!!!!!" Poor dude. I pondered. Reminiscent of Dundee, the little white dog, I wondered If I should run out in sock feet and rescue him?  FF #1 slowly stood up, kicked the fence, the side of the house, uttered more threats, and limped back inside. 

Mother Nature: 1, Furnace Fixer: 0. 

The night continued with FF #1 and additional FF #2, #3, and #4. They banged away on the furnace as Dundee, the little white dog, and Biloxi, the cat, and I sat shivering in front of the fireplace like a scene from Little House on the F'n Prairie. I was starting to wonder if I should head out to Nancy's yard and steal some straw from the dogs.  I became angry. Very very angry. Why, again, did I choose to live in such a horrendous climate? Finally, at 4am I made a pact to myself, "As blog as my witness, I am going to leave. I am going to divorce the Saskatchewan winter." I needed a plan. I searched speech pathology jobs in the Caribbean. So, what, no one has strokes in the Caribbean? Obviously not, their bodies aren't being subjected to this! By 5am, I gave up on finding a speech job and decided to sell it all and peddle bracelets on the beach in Mexico. By 6am, I channeled Dundee, the little white dog, rolled over on my side, whimpered in the cold (Can I seriously see my breath?), and gave up. 

The heat was restored at noon the next day. Noon. That's 17 hours with no heat. 

Mother Nature: 1, Kirstie: 0. 

You win. 

Huskies get cold too

Winter officially hit Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. It was bound to happen sooner or later. With temperatures wavering between -10 and +8 for the past 3 weeks, there was a part of me that was slightly hopeful that this was the new "global warming winter." I even considered switching to aerosol cans, replacing my gas efficient car with a Hummer, and changing out all my our energy efficient lightbulbs with regular ones. Alas, it's much too late. We were scheduled to hit up a trail with the dogs at Christopher Lake today and I took one look out the window this morning, checked out the weather forecast ("Warning: Arctic chill brings coldest temperatures this winter") and was assured with a phonecall from Nancy that the dog sledding was a "no go." Disappointing; however, I do not want to be out there. At all. Brutal. But thank you, Power 99FM, for continuing to report forecast highs of +30 in Jamaica. Again, super helpful when I am NOT in Jamaica.

Check it out. I actually choose to live here. I know. I am confused as well.

I know Nancy worries about her dogs when the temperature dips this low. Although equipped with thick fur coats and bred to withstand arctic temperatures, with a forecast high projected right around the -30 mark all week, the dogs (especially the older dogs) will certainly feel the cold. I helped Nancy fill each dog's house with straw and it was apparent that he dogs loved it! They snuggle into the straw and take shelter from the elements. Nancy also prepares by giving the dogs extra helpings of food - kibble high in fat and protein. As the temperature dives, the dogs will burn more calories to keep themselves warm. A few of Nancy's older dogs also receive capsules of glucosamine in their food to help protect their joints. The frigid temperatures can cause these old guys to become stiff and sore. So not even Huskies are immune to the cold. On the other hand, I doubt they share my desire to escape to a tropical island right about...now.

Since the forecast is not promising over the next 10 days, I'm making plans to spend some time with Nancy and her "Carlton Pet Therapy" group. Nancy, along with students from Carlton High school, regularly take a few dogs to a long term care facility to participate in pet therapy with residents of the home. Nancy also takes her dog to an annual camp to help grieving children. What a fantastic idea! There is no doubt in my mind that animals can improve our social, emotional, and cognitive functioning. Animals don't judge. They don't interrupt. They love unconditionally. They make you feel young (wait a minute, that sounds like a recipe for the perfect husband!) Grandma Ivy (crochet instructor, extraordinaire) has a cat, aptly named, "Miss Kitty." When Grandpa was sick, Miss Kitty patiently laid by his side, purring away. She took her job very seriously. Now that Grandma's on her own, Miss Kitty has become her ever faithful companion and even humors Grandma by rolling from side to side when Grandma sings, "There were 10 in the bed and the little one said...roll over...roll over." (True story).  I'm very interested to see Nancy's dogs in action and the response from the residents.

In the meantime, I'm cranky, stuck indoors, and wondering why the hell I'm living in such an inhumane climate. Time to schedule some therapy sessions with my pets:

Hungry like a wolf

Wow. Ev and I had our first dog sledding/fall training experience with Nancy and her dogs on Sunday. It was unreal! First, the weather was about as perfect as a winter day in Saskatchewan gets - sunny and 2 above. We met Nancy just north of town and she immediately provided me with some authentic mushing gear. I must say, I rocked the "mushing look." Nancy gave us the rundown of the prep involved prior to running the dogs. I can't believe that Nancy does this regularly on her own. Kudos to her because it's not easy - it's a lot of work and needs to be done in a timely matter so that the dogs don't get too restless. And trust me, they let you know that they are ready to go! Initially, the dogs calmly waited in Nancy's trailer, peeking out of their "windows" to see what was going on. Every now and then, a few peeps were heard and I could just picture them saying (here I go giving the dogs human-like qualities...again), "Damn, it's the dumb blonde. This is going to take forever. C'mon, Nancy, push her out of the way and hook us up. Let's go!"

First, the quad was unloaded out of the back of Nancy's truck. Nancy showed me a snow hook. A snow hook is used as a break when you're using a dog sled. It's like an anchor that is "thrown overboard" when you need the team to stop, by hooking firmly in the snow. Nancy showed me how the snow hook is presently useless, given the light dusting of snow we currently have. This is the main reason why it's not safe, at this time, to use the sled behind the team. The quad is a safe alternative. Nancy then hauled out all the "rigging," which includes all the gear needed to attach the dogs to the quad. The gangline is the main line that keeps all the dogs together. Off of the gangline are the tugline and the neckline. The tugline attaches the dog's harness to the gangline and the neckline attaches to the dog's collar and keeps the dog in line. Still with me? Once we harnessed the dogs (each dog has a specific harness size), one at a time, we attached each dog to the gangline in the appropriate spot. Nancy has certain dogs that she puts in different positions along the gangline depending on their strengths and weaknesses. For example, she decided to put "General" and "Garlic" in the lead. They listen well to commands and are well behaved (for the most part). The next two dogs are placed behind the leads in the "post" position, followed by the "team", and then the "wheel" dogs, which are the two dogs directly in front of the sleigh/quad. I wondered if General and Garlic felt a sense of pride when they were lead to the front of the pack, "Looks like you'll be gettin' another view of our arses, boys! haha" Remember poor anxious "Cooper," the stressed-out dog who did circles around his house, food bowl in mouth? He was placed alone on the gangline. Apparently, a running buddy creates anxiety. Poor Cooper. Funny enough, he had a little performance anxiety prior to the run (resulting in a quick clean-up on aisle 4, if you catch my drift). It was interesting to see how each dog "prepared" for their run. Evan immediately hit it off with Cooper and assured Cooper that he had similar "issues" prior to big games.

The process of leading the dogs to their spots on the gangline was pure chaos. These dogs were raring to go and weren't in to dilly-dallying around. Nancy hooked the line to a tree and the tree actually began swaying as the dogs pulled, pleading with us to let them run. Check out this video - my eyes say it all. Chaos. What a rush!

Once we got going, the goal was to keep the quad around 12-15 km and ensure the gangline was tight at all times. The dogs instantly took over, doing what they love best and ran their hearts out. I was totally impressed by their focus and consistency. When I run (I HATE running), I slow down, speed up, contemplate throwing myself to the pavement in hopes that I might sustain an injury that would prevent me from continuing. Not these dogs. It's apparent that they are in their element. It's innate. Nose to the snow, ears perked for commands, legs entering a steady pace. Ev noticed immediately that, like people, each dog had a unique gait. Some dogs almost trotted, others galloped, and a few almost looked human-like barrelling down the trail.

Nancy showed us 3 commands that the dogs responded to: "Gee" - turn right, "Haw" - turn left, and "Hike!" or "Mush!" which means "Go!" Believe me, the dogs do not need to be told when to go! General and Garlic glanced back at Nancy a few times, anticipating her next command. It absolutely amazed me when we came to a fork in the path and Nancy hollered, "Haw!" resulting in a seamless left turn. Frick, I've been trying to teach Dundee, the little white dog, how to shake a paw (unsuccessfully) for a year now.

Nancy entrusted me with the quad for the last half of the run. I'm not gonna lie to you, I was nervous. Although Nancy was directly behind me in the "passenger" seat, the following thoughts ran through my mind, "What if I run over the dogs?" "What if I panic and gun it?" "What if the dogs sense my trepidation and refuse to run?" "What if I freak out and throw myself off the quad?" Everything was cool. I maintained an appropriate speed and the dogs even responded to my nervous, shaky command, "Gee!" I even relaxed enough to take in the unbelievable scenery. Words can't describe how beautiful it was on that trail. Winter scenery can be beautiful? I was under the impression that palm trees were necessary to constitute breathtaking scenery. I was wrong.

We did; however, run into a snag at about the 6 mile mark. Nancy instructed me to yell "Haw," indicating a left turn. It was a sharp left turn. I needed to take the quad wide and I hesitated. Poor General looked back and me, "What the hell?" The dog team stopped - a few ran right. A few ran left. Shit. Nancy immediately shut down the quad and attempted to straighten out the dogs. "Seika," one of the wheel dogs instantly became tangled in the gangline. While Nancy attempted to untangle Seika, Evan held General and Garlic steady in the front to keep the gangline from tangling further. Super helpful as I was, I sat on the quad and fretted, "oh shit. oh shit." Within minutes, all was fine and we were off. The dogs, including Seika, whose oxygen may have been depleted for a few seconds whilst tangled, weren't rattled. Off they went. No biggie. I couldn't help but imagine how stressful that would be if you were alone on the trail. Nancy did, in fact, sustain a significant injury 10 years ago in this exact situation. As she attempted to untangle the dogs, the gangline became wrapped around her knee and the dogs bolted, resulting in a dislocated knee. Those dogs are extremely powerful. You really need to know your stuff - it's not like skiing where you "give it a whirl" on the bunny slope. It's easy to see how you could endanger yourself and the dogs if you're not educated about the sport.

One of my favorite moments of the day (and there were many), was when we passed another team of dogs on the narrow, wooded trail. I gasped, held my breath, and hoped for the best. The fur on the dogs back did not even rustle. The team was "in the zone." Like top athletes, nothing was going to distract them from their run. The head-on pass was seamless. Amazing. I was impressed.

Overall, the day was fabulous. I learned so much and truly enjoyed seeing the dogs in action. Once we completed about 10 miles, we headed to the trailer and the dogs recovered with dog treats and slurps of snow. I swear they were grinning from ear to ear as they panted proudly, "What do you think, blondie. Bet you can't run like that. "

January Challenge!

This January challenge couldn't come at a better time. I loathe the first week of January. If I didn't have to work, I would lock myself in my room and sleep the entire week away. Although the temperature has been unseasonably warm in Saskatchewan (16 in Maple Creek??!!), which I find...confusing, it's still dark. Dark. Gloomy. Dark. I arrive at work in the dark. I leave work in the dark. Every now and then, I gaze out of a hospital window to prove that natural light does really exist. I hate it. And as an aside, power 99 FM, our local radio station, does not help the cause by reporting the temperature high in Jamaica on an hourly basis. Power 99 FM why are you doing this to us? I am NOT in Jamaica!! Torture. To add to the misery, I typically buck up and completely change my diet, cutting out the crap that I carelessly consumed during December. The "food" that has caused me to become malnourished and irritable. The fact is, the "cutting" of the crappy food causes excessive irritability for at least the first week. My very wise mother asked, "why are making yourself more irritable during what is always the most difficult time of the year for you?" Good point, mom. I guess I'm a sucker for punishment. I have to admit, this week I was not practicing what I've been preaching on this blog. I actually walked into the coffee room on Tuesday and proclaimed (speech pathologist's cover your eyes!), "I don't think speech therapy ACTUALLY works. My profession is a farce. I am an epic failure." Wow. Good day, Kirst? Not very "seize the day" of me, is it? Now speech therapists, don't get all riled up on me, I take it back completely. The lack of light, sugar, and laughter temporarily turned me into a hopeless, frustrated biatch. But by Thursday, the cloud of despair began to lift, my withdrawal from sugar shakes began to subside, and I received confirmation that my January goal was "a go."

I am just so excited about this month's challenge for a few reasons. First, it reunites me with someone who was a very important part of my and Ev's lives as we entered adulthood (wait...are we there yet?) Second, it involves animals and I love animals. Finally, it's something that, I believe, will provide an adrenalin rush out in the winter elements which is exactly what my sad, sorry, tired ass needs right now.

For the month of January, I will be....

DOG SLEDDING!!

Cool, I know. I can't wait. Technically, it won't be "dog sledding" this month. The lack of snow this year makes it difficult and dangerous to actually ride the sled behind the team, so we will be partaking in "fall training," in which the team of dogs pull a quad. To be honest, the day I decided to embark on this experiment (back in August), I knew that this activity HAD to be on my list and I knew of just the person who could make it work.

Anyone who attended Carlton High School knew teacher/basketball coach extraordinaire, Nancy Dragan, AKA "Drags."Nancy was that one teacher that even the most horrible, defiant little bastards couldn't help but love. Although extremely level-headed, calm, and rationale, her passion and exuberance for the sport of basketball was apparent as she ran up and down the court shouting plays and encouragement to her team. I didn't have the opportunity to play for "Drags," as I was never in to basketball (I was a volleyball girl); however, my sister, Lori, played for Drags throughout high school and frequently comments (15+ years later) about the dedication that Drags always provided to that team, including completing stats late at night after a weekend tournament so that the girls had them for morning practice.

Nancy was much more than just a teacher to Evan and I. Nancy was Evan's billet for his last 3 years with the Prince Albert Raiders. The billet situation was always so difficult for Ev and I. There were very strict rules about curfew time, visitors, etc and although Evan I had been dating for over 2 years, previous billets did not respect that Evan and I were actually involved in a serious relationship. Many in the hockey world encouraged Evan to "ditch the girlfriend and focus on hockey." In addition, I was attending my first 2 years of university and I was receiving similiar advice, "There's lots of guys in University." "He'll move away and forget about you." "Move on." That was hard to swallow. Although we were very young, and looking back, had no idea what barriers lay ahead, we were in love. We had made plans to get married. We spent hours talking to each other about our hopes, dreams and fears with hockey, university, our future. We needed each other and it was so distressing that so many people around us couldn't see that. I remember begging one of Evan's billets to let me be with Evan after 10pm curfew, as Evan had just found out his Grandpa had died. That was hard. Thank god for Nancy Dragan.

Nancy was exactly what Evan needed. She provided a warm, comfy home full of lovable dogs and that extra bit of freedom to be an adult. Evan was 20. He did not need his meals cooked for him. He did not need to report his every move. He needed a friend. A responsible adult who could support him and point him in the right direction when needed. Nancy understood the mind of an athlete and Evan truly appreciated her response to the hockey. While other billets badgered players for play-by-play description of why a loss had occurred, Nancy provided quiet support and just let Evan "be."And I always felt like Nancy respected that Evan and I had a "real" relationship. She never downplayed it, mocked it, or attempted to break it up. She was a very important part of our lives at a critical time when we were learning who were were as adults, and as a couple. This is why I am presently over the moon about spending some time with her doing what has become her greatest passion.

When Ev was living with Nancy during the late nineties, she was just starting to become involved with the world of dog sledding/mushing. She always had a keen interest in Huskies, and Ev and I have fond memories of one of her pets, "Dakota." Dakota was a beautiful dog - the poster dog for the Siberian Huskie, with a shiny thick coat and haunting two-toned eyes. But Dakota was a shithead. He owned the joint and would slam his giant head into Evan's door, rifle through his closet and steal bags of Peg's homemade gingersnaps. Dakota would sneak out the door when I arrived, running recklessly down the streets of PA with Ev and I hot on his heels. Dakota was a character. Dakota's no longer with us, but Nancy now has a yard full of "Dakotas" (well these dogs are likely trimmer, faster and probably don't eat gingerbread cookies!)

Nancy is right in the middle of intensive training with her dogs, as she is preparing for the Torch River Run, an 80km race in March. She invited me out of town to her dog yard to meet and help feed her dogs on Friday evening. Initially as I walked into the yard to loud howls, barks, and shrieks, I was a little intimidated, but it soon became apparent that these guys are friendly and quite comfortable with humans, especially those that might help feed them ;) Nancy is obviously so proud of her dogs and cares for them dearly, but she explains that it's important not to anthropomorphisize these animals (give them human-like qualities). They are still dogs and if you were to examine their family trees, you would find the word "Wolf"; however, after only a few minutes, it's easy to see that each dog has its own distinct personality. I immediately notice Cooper, an anxious-looking dog with a dog dish in his mouth, repeatedly circling his house - round...and round....and round. Nancy explains that he's the most nervous of all the dogs and appears to have some OCD-like behavior (interesting!) She's tried everything to help him to relax, but the only time that he tends to calm down is when he's running (interestingly enough, he also gets performance anxiety prior to run!). Garlic, (what a name for a dog!) on the other hand, sits stoically and calmly in front of his house. Nancy explains that he is a leader. He works hard and motivates the other dogs to follow suit. Garlic actually looks like a yellow lab. I'm surprised to recognize a few dogs from our days with Nancy years ago. Obviously these dogs are now 13-16 years old. They no longer race, and although they show their age as they walk stiffly around their house in anticipation of food, I can see that spark in their glaucoma-ridden eyes and can just picture them hoarsely shouting, "I can still race, pick me. I can do it." (and there I go anthropomorphizing the dogs).

Dundee resolves to become a member of a sled team in 2012

Nancy and I spent a few hours catching up and feeding the dogs. Once the dogs were fed, the yard grew eerily silent, as the dogs settled in for the night. Nancy pointed out the spectacular sunset. Wow. I've never actually paid attention to sunsets during the winter. I just kind of wrote them off. Ask anyone who's holidayed with me in tropical locations or boated with me on a summer's night and you'll know that I'm a sunset addict ("Hurry, guzzle your beer and meet me at the pier. Sunset!") How have I missed winter sunsets for all these years? What I love most about sunsets is that it forces you to momentarily "be" in the present. I know that I live my life in constant anticipation for the future, but with a sunset, I am present in that moment. When Ryan died, his friends gathered around his laptop to search for pictures that would be appropriate for his memorial. Ryan's computer contained folder after folder filled with pictures of sunsets. A random sunset over a field. A sunset over Candle Lake. A sunset in Bali. A close-up of Ryan's giant head right in front of a sunset :) Ryan, apparently, shared my love of sunsets. I had no idea. I wonder if sunsets helped Ryan live in the present?

What a great experience. I can't wait to get to know the dogs, learn more about the sport of dogsledding, and catch up on lost time with Nancy. And don't fret, I'm still finishing the crochet - only 3 squares left and 16 days until the baby's estimated arrival!

Check out the video. Nancy had just pulled out the dog food and it's chaos! Every time I play this video, Dundee, the little white dog, runs barking from window to window. He's ready to become a sled dog's meal.

Happy New Year!

Another year in the books. I learned a lot about myself in 2011. Who knew that you could still discover things about yourself well into adulthood? Most of all, as you've heard me utter repeatedly, I have learned (as cliche as it sounds), that each and every day is a gift. Prior to this year, I have said it, thought it, etc, but honestly, I didn't LIVE it. Ryan's death has taught me that I need to LIVE it. There's still so much in life to discover - even at age 32. That's what I'm trying to do, and what I will continue to strive for in 2012. So far, it's been such a rewarding experience. I have learned how to longboard, play the flute (terribly), correspond en espanol, and crochet! I have had the opportunity to meet new people (how cool is Randy??), learn from my fabulous friends and coworkers, and spend some A+ time with my fantastic Grandma. In addition, I've been reacquainted with an old love of mine - writing. My love of writing dates back to my elementary school days (anyone read, "The Adventures of Misty the Wondercat"? It was a page turner, let me tell you!) I'm just so excited in anticipation of what 2012 has in store and I intend to savour every moment of it.

Ok, on to some news:
1) I've decided to stop eating shit. Not literally. I mean crappy food with no nutritional value. Like most, I got on a roll and consumed an excessive amount of sugar over the holidays. It happens every year. Last January, I embarked on an experiment. I completely cut out sugar for the month of January. Like NO sugar. That doesn't just mean eliminating the obvious sugars like cookies and cake from my diet, but also included things like ketchup and salad dressing. It was horrible. Like a coke addict suffering from withdrawal, I obsessed about sugar and even "cheated" 3 weeks in, sneakily inhaling a donut in my vehicle in the Safeway parking lot. As I shamelessly licked the honey glaze from my forearm, I realized that I had reached a low point in my life. I vowed that I would never get myself to that point of addiction again. And, like clockwork, here I am January 2, in the same predicament. I don't think that I will completely disallow sugar from my diet this month; however, I will do my best to increase my consumption of "healthy" foods.

2) I have an exciting new goal in the works for the month of January. Once it is confirmed, I will be announcing it on my blog. I can tell you that it's very "Canadian" and will force me to embrace the winter elements. It's a gooder.

3) Randy, my inspiring longboard instructor, has closed the doors of "Ten Foot Touque," the most unique and adventure-filled store that has ever graced the streets of Prince Albert. Anyone who had the opportunity to get to know Randy will miss him immensely; however, he will be reuniting with his wife, Sharon, after years of long distance, and embarking on the next chapter of their adventure together in Edmonton. I really feel like some things happen for a reason. Randy came into my life at a time when I needed help grieving the loss of my friend. I needed some time with another "Ryan" of the world - someone who shared his exhilaration for life to help me understand why. Although Ryan's death is still a mystery to me, my experience with Randy helped me deal with those intense feelings of sadness, anger, and guilt. As my board rolled down the riverbank during those warm September evenings, I really felt like Ryan was there with me, which, looking back, is exactly what I needed to feel. As time passes, the horrible memory of that fateful day on the Torch fade slowly, revealing all the wonderful memories of our spirited friend, Ryan Holowaty. Thank you, Randy, for helping me through such a challenging time. I wish you and Sharon the best of luck - can't wait to get you up wakesurfing this summer at Candle lake!
Happy 2012 everyone.