To Oha, whose art affected me so deeply, I felt compelled to write a story.
Reason
A Balto Story
It was midmorning, but in the Alaskan winter, there was no sunlight to be seen; not for several hours, and precious few at that. Outside, the air was so cold as to deaden even the most awesome of sounds. Balto and Jenna lay next to each other beside a warm hearth, lulled to sleep by the cracking and rumbling of a most welcome fire.
It had been a tremendously eventful night. After Balto had led the team bearing the diphtheria antitoxin back to town, he was swarmed by grateful humans who all wanted to see the dog that had saved them. Such proceedings dragged on for most of the night. It was only when Balto literally passed out from exhaustion that they recovered from their own excitement and came to their senses. Rosy's father took him home, and Jenna returned to the house after Rosy had fallen asleep once more.
Jenna slowly opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw Balto lying there. For the first time she could remember, she saw peace on his face. Gone was the outcast, even the hero. All sign of worry or pride seemed to be gone forever.
She noticed Balto's face begin to twitch, then his legs. He frowned in his sleep. "No... no!" he muttered. All at once, he gasped, stood up, and opened his eyes. He looked around, bewildered. He was breathing heavily, and shivering.
Jenna was concerned for him, and whispered "Balto?"
Balto spun to face her. In his eyes, she saw absolute terror.
"Balto, what's wrong?"
His breathing slowed, and he came back to his senses. He collapsed to the ground and huddled there, shivering uncontrollably, his eyes locked forward.
"Balto?" Jenna attempted once more.
Balto rolled his eyes to look at her.
Jenna did the only thing she could think of. She placed herself over his quivering form, just as she had done after Muk and Luk saved him from drowning under the ice of a cold lake. She stayed like that for a good half hour before Balto ceased convulsing.
"Thank you." He whispered. "I was dreaming. It was one I haven't had for a while."
"You looked terrified." Jenna returned.
Balto closed his eyes. "I was."
"Tell me."
"It's actually... more like a memory, but it comes back in my dreams every now and then. It was almost a year ago..."
It had been a hard day. Balto limped his way up the ramp to the abandoned troller he called home. Blood oozed from a cut on his left rear leg, a memento from a gang of dogs in town. As usual he had ventured into town to see if any humans would take notice of him. They always did, but not in the way he wished. Sometimes a crazed mother would chase him away with a broom or some other tool, but usually he received a face-full of snow kicked his way and a "git."
Boris was already there. He was usually on a sortie in the Bering Sea at this time of day, seeking a few herring or cod. He must have made out well that day, for he was chipper as a magpie in a raspberry bush. His spirits took a dive, however, when he noticed the blood trail following Balto home. "Oi," he grumbled to himself, "Not again." With all the cheer he could muster, he greeted his friend, "Hey, Boychick! Find yourself any good scraps today?" He immediately regretted using the word "scrap."
"Oh, yes," Balto replied sarcastically, "It was great! Five dogs all on top of me at once!" He paused to spit a glob of blood into the snow. A slight wheezing was audible as he inhaled. "And the best part was when the doctor took aim at me with a shotgun!"
Boris' eyes bulged, "He didn't hit you, did he?"
"He couldn't hit a bear if it was kissing him."
"Lucky for you."
Balto gave Boris a look that signaled it was time to be quiet.
The goose decided on one more attempt to improve the canine's mood, "Well, at least you found something to eat."
As if on cue, Balto's stomach emitted a long, painful growl. He rose with a sigh and departed, limp and all, heading for the thick, snow-blanketed woods to the north.
Boris watched his friend run off into the distance. As the wolf-dog mounted the crest of the hills overlooking the town, the goose looked to the sky and noticed dark, threatening clouds. "He knows about the storm. Doesn't he?" He hesitated a moment, and remembered the slogan he oft repeated; "I'm sticking with you until I'm sure you can stand on own four feet." Boris chewed at some of his shoulder feathers as he pondered his dilemma. He looked back to where Balto had now disappeared from view. "Ah! Crazy pup! Why do you do these things?" he shouted aloud.
Balto wandered the tundra mulling over his situation. Ever since the malamute had come to town, his life had been miserable. Quite often, the malamute and his gang of dogs made sport of chasing him down and beating him within an inch of his life. Balto had learned valuable fighting lessons from the attacks, but there was simply no hope fighting alone against at least three other dogs.
“How long has it been?” he wondered to himself. As best Balto could remember, he had seen four winters. For two, maybe three years, he could not remember, he had been wandering the streets of Nome, looking for someone who might see something in him. All had rejected him, except Rosy, a small, six-year-old girl who seemed to take interest in him from the start. But Rosy was only a child. He could never hope for a home with her while her parents still saw him as a wild animal like all the others.
Balto's ears pricked up as a new thought entered his mind. What about the wolf packs? The only reason he had pursued the humans so long was because his father was a sled dog, and he had hoped maybe he could honor his father’s memory by becoming a sled dog himself. That had proved futile. Maybe it was time to tread a different path.
Balto thought back over the countless nights he had spent looking at the stars and watching the northern lights dance silently in the sky, and remembered the pack he heard howling every night. Perhaps they would welcome him. He turned around to get his bearing, taking note where the town was in relation to his path, then set off to find them.
Large, white flakes of snow began to fall from the sky as the temperature dropped and a great storm quietly approached.
Boris trudged through the snow, searching for the wayward Balto. Occasionally, he would take to the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of his brown figure through the pine trees. He was thankful that the snow was quite wet; else it would have been a great challenge to follow his trail, but he feared the storm would arrive too soon, and obscure the tracks before he could catch up. He pressed on, worried for his friend.
Balto could smell the strong scent of the wolf pack's marks. He was sure eyes were already watching him. He lifted his head, and to the best of his ability howled a message of greeting. He was answered presently. The message betrayed a hint of hostility. He shook it off. Why wouldn’t they be hostile at first? He reasoned that they treated all strangers thus. Presently, a group of eight wolves crested a hill. Something deep inside Balto, he felt it must be his wolf side, urged him to lower his tail completely in their presence. He did so. The wolf pack approached silently, keeping keen eyes on him all the while.
Out of earshot, two wolves exchanged brief words. Balto assumed the larger of them was the alpha of the pack. The other, a chocolate brown male, with blue eyes and a ring of white on the left side of his chest, approached him. “What brings you here?” he inquired in a harsh tone.
Balto took a few seconds to formulate his answer. With his eyes to the ground, he replied, “I am alone. I am without a home, without a family, I wish to find my place among you.” He raised his eyes to those of the wolf who addressed him.
As he uttered those words, Balto felt a deep humility come over him, and he realized that if the wolves rejected his plea, he would truly exist in the bottom rung of the world. His heart began to pound in apprehension, and hoped they would not turn him down.
The brown wolf glared at him. “You have a very ugly howl. No wolf sounds like that. Are you a half-breed?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have no use for you. We have known your kind before, and we do not wish to do so again. Do not enter our territory, or you will be killed.” The pack turned and walked away, leaving him alone again.
Balto didn’t understand. “Why?” he asked.
The alpha, a large male with a thick black coat, turned to face him. His voice was very strong as he said, “Because halfbreeds are useless. They cannot hunt, they cannot fight, they eat more than their share, and we have nothing to spare for such as that.”
“I won’t be like that!” Balto protested.
The alpha sighed. “That is what the others said. They didn’t last three weeks.”
The wolf turned, and with him the whole pack left silently.
Balto stood there, stunned. His last shred of hope had flitted away like a dry leaf in an autumn breeze.
The snowfall increased, and the wind picked up. Balto shivered. Now where could he go? Nome had rejected him; the wolves had rejected him. Where would he
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