When you think of dogs, several things come to mind.
The family pet? Man's best friend? Lassie? Lunch? It all depends on where you're from.
The cultural context is key.
In this particular scenario, "Dogs" equals "the engine of the arctic". They are the machine that makes it all run.
We packed up our sleds and headed out from Frobisher Bay at sunrise. My wobbly morning legs no match for the sheer power of being drawn across a frozen lake by a team of vicious, rabid, meat-hungry wolves.
The first screaming left turn on the icy pass toppled over my sled as I grasped the handles for dear life. As I quickly learned... if you happen to let go of the sled, the dogs will keep on running towards freedom and you will be left in the cold barren wasteland alone waiting to die.
My Hebrew-high-school education never prepared me for this.
Polar bears. Knife fights. The Aurora Borealis.
Not a Starbucks in sight.
They say that the Inuit have fifteen words for snow. I have only one. "Snow". In short, the whole excursion can be summed up with this simple syllable. Snow.
A licky boom boom down, indeed.
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