The meat had passed its sell-by date, she said, but still was safe for dogs. That accounted for the smell, which was ripe and just this side of unpleasant. Raking her hands through the chunky, glistening gruel, Redington described the kind of stool - color and consistency - that a well-nourished dog produces.

Now: Any volunteers to carry the stuff out, bucket by bucket?

Joshua LaVine, 16, did not raise his hand. "I can't even stand the smell from here," he said softly. Besides, he'd already scooped poop and put straw into doghouses at Raymie Redington's dog lot.

On the other hand, he got school credit for it.

Joshua and 30 other students from Rio Linda, Calif., spent most of last week in Anchorage for the start of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. The trip is an extension of teacher Suzi Owen's unusual curriculum.

Owen, a teacher at Westside Charter School, has used the Iditarod to teach everything from literature to math to physics. Last year, her class even staged its own mini-Iditarod. Teams of students, hitched to homemade sleds, raced over a 1.5-mile course.

They pulled across asphalt, struggled through sand and splashed through a "lead" simulated by a local fire truck. Part of the course even had snow, trucked in from Lake Tahoe.

But Owen wanted to see the real thing. So she worked with a tour company to set up the ambitious six-day trip. She invited her former students - now high-schoolers - to come along.

"I thought, 'There's no way I'll fill up this trip.' But I filled it in two days and created a waiting list," Owen said.

Her students raised $50,000 to pay for the trip, through candy sales, corporate sponsorships and donations from friends and family. At least one parent took out a loan, and one student's father worked a couple of extra part-time jobs to send his child north.

Many of Owen's students had never experienced cold weather. Even those who had gone skiing once or twice said they'd never had the chance to walk in fresh, untrammeled snow.

Their delight was obvious as they romped like, well, puppies: running and sliding, flinging themselves into snowbanks, throwing handfuls of it at one another. Because the snow was dry, it was like tossing sand. The students didn't care.

"You've got to love this weather," 14-year-old Glenn Chadaris said.

Everyone was anxious to tell about the moose and the bald eagles spotted between Anchorage and Knik. They boasted about being "hot" in one day's mid-20s weather - expecting the worst, they'd worn ALL their layers.

Owen was as ebullient as her students: "We finally believe we're here. It's starting to sink in."

Turning to the others, she called, "Ready to sing?" and then launched into "Oh, give me a team with a good lead dog and a sled that's built so fine, then I can run those miles to Nome, one thousand forty-nine. ..."

Owen made everyone sing again while standing in front of an Iditarod Trail sign. As souvenir videotape rolled, she led a rousing chorus: "I did, I did, I did the Iditarod Trail!"

They've done more than the Iditarod Trail since they arrived on Tuesday. Stops include the Knik Museum and Sled Dog Mushers Hall of Fame, Iditarod Headquarters, the Reindeer Farm, Wolf Country USA and the Anchorage Museum, where they paid homage to Balto.

They attended the mushers' banquet Thursday evening and, naturally, went to Saturday's ceremonial start in downtown Anchorage. After that, they took their chartered bus out to Eagle River to watch mushers pack up their teams. Today - their last day in Alaska - they'll be at the Iditarod restart in Wasilla.

On Wednesday, though, they were getting a scratch-and-sniff Iditarod lesson at Raymie Redington's. They fanned out through the lot, spreading straw in barrel-shaped houses, cooing over frisky white puppies and lining up for dog sled rides.

From Redington, they learned about what goes into the north end of a dog. But from handler Natalie Cashman, they learned about what comes out of the south end. Pop quiz, kids: What does a musher do with 100 dogs' worth of droppings?

Cashman led a group of startled teens over to where about 70 dogs were leaping, barking and, yes, eliminating.

"This is one of the more fun parts of caring for dogs," she said, brandishing a shovel and a 10-gallon bucket.

No one said anything about scooping poop back when they were selling candy bars and dunning car dealerships for money. A couple of girls at the back of the pack tiptoed away. But most of the students stayed and gamely did the gamy job.

Brook Linder, 16, scraped the shovel into the packed-down snow, removing a dark blotch and some pieces of straw. Nitro, who'd produced the dark blotch, watched with interest. Brook, who hopes to be a veterinarian, is intrigued by the Iditarod and the dogs that run it.

"Knowing that these little dogs have the power to give their all and to win a race has made a big impression on me," Brook said.

Meanwhile, eighth-grader Denise Almarez was scooping dog food into a square, shallow pan. "It's SMELLY," she said cheerfully, putting the pan in front of a canine named Moose. The dog pounced on the food, and Denise examined her hands.

"It's a little slimy, but that's OK. if the dog's happy, I'm happy."

With that kind of attitude, Denise could be a handler in no time.

"I'll have to look into that," she mused. And later, she did: Walked up to Barb Redington and asked if she could work there when she got older.

"I told her to keep in touch with us," Redington said. "You could tell she had a real love for the dogs."

Some of the students said their experience will help them deal with animal-

rights activists. After Owen's unusual curriculum made national news, the school got letters about the miserable lives of Iditarod dogs.

"But they're perfectly fine," said Arti Narain, 14. "They're healthy, they've got lots of friends and they jump for joy when they run."

And run they did: two sleds, no waiting. Driving the teams were Ryan Redington, the 16-year-old winner of this year's Junior Iditarod, and 14-year-old John Schultheis. Everyone, even the adult chaperones, got a ride.

Joshua LaVine thought the quarter-mile run was a little slow, except for the downhills. But he praised the scenery.

"When the sun hits the snow," he said, "it sparkles."

That doesn't make him a musher, though. "It would be fun for about 25 miles, maybe. But not 1,100."

David Vela, on the other hand, might just be a convert.

"You'd have to be really strong, both mentally and physically," the 15-year-old said. "But it might be fun to do once. Just to finish the race would be really cool."

And by all means count in Owen. When she alighted from the dog sled, she was ready to write a check for the Iditarod entry fee.

"I'm doing it," the teacher vowed. "Give me five years."

"You're out there, the sun's out - it's spiritual," Owen added. "All I'd ever seen was pictures, so to do it was MAGICAL."

But Krista Lemnah, 13, knew what really mattered. "Our musher was CUTER," she told Owen.

Then she led two pals in a song to that effect: "Hey, Johnny, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind!" Clap clap. "Hey Johnny!" Clap clap. "Hey Johnny!" Clap clap.

Meanwhile, John Schultheis couldn't seem to mush away quickly enough.

Speaking of love: Owen's ride had taken longer than expected, because one of the females turned out to be in heat, and one of her teammates decided to, uh, woo her instead of run.

"Eighth-grade teacher: No matter where I go, the hormones are ragin'," Owen said philosophically.

A number of the students swore they'd return to Alaska one day, either as tourists or on the school's next trip, tentatively scheduled for 2001.

"I'll be back. That's a guarantee," 13-year-old Jennifer Rapozo said.

"I'm taking a lot away with me besides the souvenirs hiding in my pocket. I'm taking back lots of memories."

And a very important lesson, according to the teacher.

"They learn that they can go for what they want if they make plans and believe in themselves," Owen said.

Published: 3/7/99