From the fighting ring to the Brooks Range for a pit bull

PHILIP SMITH MOUNTAINS — We were loading gear into the Cessna 185 that would take us to a lodge on the Ivishak River north of Alaska's Brooks Range. Our pilot, a friend who shares our love for dogs, warned us, "We have another dog in camp," (his black Lab, Oscar, is always there). "I just want to let you know before you see him that in spite of his breed (pit bull) and his appearance, he is a sweet dog."

At the lodge, Steve had rescued Mouse in Dallas in 2008. Back then, the dog was 30 pounds lighter, hairless, and being mistreated by an owner who had cut off his ears and starved him for the fighting ring. Steve had coaxed the dog to him with a sandwich, and they formed an instant friendship. With the help of veterinarians, he cured Mouse's heartworm and nurtured him back to health over the next few months.

Mouse took to Steve's outdoor lifestyle and made a full recovery from his years in the dog-fighting ring. The pair shared an adventurous spirit and gonzo travel lifestyle that included watching trout rise on the Missouri River and negotiating rapids on the Clark Fork River near their home in Montana. Seven years to the day after Steve rescued Mouse, the pair set out for the Brooks Range, where Steve had seasonal work at the lodge.

While high-octane dogs like retrievers, sighthounds and working dogs often get picked as adventure companions, breeds don't tell the whole story. Steve built loyalty and trust with Mouse over the years they spent together in the outdoors. Mouse was now as quick to befriend two-legged friends as four. In that first season, he even forged a friendship with an Arctic ground squirrel (otherwise known as a parka squirrel). According to Steve, the squirrel walked right up to the former Oak Cliff fighter without fear.

We drank coffee and ate fresh cookies Steve made while we waited in the kitchen for the weather to break. Our plan was to fly out in the Super Cub to camp and hunt for caribou. I missed my dogs at home, and even though Mouse wasn't a hunting dog, it comforted me to have dogs in camp. Most of my hunting was for small game behind a bird dog, something that taught me to rely on various canine abilities. They could smell, hear, and see what I often could not. They didn't just find birds but partnered with me in a way that brought magic to the hunt.

No doubt this pit bull, who touched noses with a ground squirrel and dressed for the elements in a complete wardrobe of vests, hats, gaiters, and sunglasses brought the same magic to his partner's life as my dogs did mine. But, of course, I didn't know how my hunt would turn out as we all looked out the fogged window of a cook shack that sat on the edge of the 19-million-acre Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Mouse may well have been the only representative of his breed for hundreds of square miles.

There is no breed standard for a dog in hunting camp. Over the years, there have been a variety of species whose only job is to meet and greet. My days afield have been brightened by retired sled dogs, a three-legged Jack Russell, and a little mutt named Snoopy who crawled into bed with my partner at the end of a hunt.

Meeting Mouse was one of those unexpected experiences that speak to the healing power of friendship, no matter the species.

Because I'm a dog lover, I'm comforted by dogs in camp. Maybe because I hunt with dogs I believe they act as an auspicious medium between the human and the animal world. Maybe it's because the integrity of those who make up a camp is more important to me than the trophies it produces. One thing I knew for sure, I was grateful to meet this pit bull and his owner. Even if I went home empty-handed, my heart was already full.  

Christine Cunningham of Soldotna is a lifetime Alaskan and avid hunter. On alternate weeks she'll write about Alaska hunting. Contact Christine at cunningham@yogaforduckhunters.com