A B$tch is a B$tch but a Dog is a Man's Best Friend

I have been back in Ulaanbaatar for roughly a week and a half now, and let me tell you, getting off that plane after spending five of the most blissful weeks of my life in Southeast Asia, I could not help but wondering:

"What the Hell am I doing here?"

I left 30 degree weather, a private slice of the Indian Ocean, pad Thai that cost less than a dollar, and air fresher than any I had ever breathed for -30 degree weather, an apartment building that wasn't even nice when it was built during the Cold War, vegetables that cost an arm and a leg, and air that feels worse on my lungs than 100 cigarettes. Everyone had been telling me I was crazy for living in Mongolia and I was starting to believe it myself.

Then I was perusing a little thing called Facebook, maybe you've heard of it, and I came across an album entitled "Dog Sledding in Mongolia", and I remembered that I did not come to Mongolia because I had heard it was a blissful paradise; oh no! I came to Mongolia because it is simply and truly, the most badass place I could think of at the time. There's a long list of things I need to do before my nomadic stint is up, and dog sledding was sitting in the number one spot.

I made a few calls, wrote a few emails, and set up my date with destiny. The drive out of the smoggy UB haze and into the countryside was better than 100 monkeys typing on 100 typewriters and that was only the beginning. We arrived at the dog sled camp in roughly an hour. We decided it was time to change our wheels for something a little more environmentally friendly. When we exited the vehicle we were greeted by the sound of 40 excited and anxious dogs, ready to go for the run of their lives. The first thing I noticed was that these dogs were much smaller than I had expected. I felt a little bit like an American going to McDonald's in Canada and learning that the Canadian "Large" is the equivalent of an American "Medium". In summary, I felt shortchanged. I didn't think that these puny bone bags would be able to pull my 160 pound frame.

Well folks. I was wrong. Dead wrong. And after a 30 second tutorial on dog sledding from Joelle, our funky French guide, I was about to learn that big things come in small packages.



Meet Marvin. Marvin is 8 years old and lives in Terelj National Park. His likes include chewing on sheep bones, going on long walks in the park, defecating while running at 15 km/hour, and chasing animals nearly 30 times his size. Marvin, like his childhood hero, Balto, spends his days pulling humans around on a dog sled. Unlike Balto however, Marvin pulls a much more precious cargo than medicine for a bunch of whiny Alaskan kids. Marvin gets to pull me.

Here are me, Marvin and the rest of "Team Awesome". While Marvin is indeed a great friend and an inspired runner, his position as lead dog is questionable at best. I was informed that Marvin was a hunting dog, and that I would have to keep an eye on him from the get go. Well the get go came sooner than I could have imagined as not 100 meters from our starting point he was already chasing a cow, bringing me, 4 dogs, and the sled with him. When he realized he would not be able to catch this bovine in his current state, he resumed course.

This behavior continued anytime he noticed footprints, heard rustling, or saw anything in the woods. Luckily, he eventually responded to my cries of "Marvin, don't be an idiot!" It worked wonders for my dad with me, and apparently the effect crosses the boundaries of species as well. As our relationship grew stronger, we got into a groove. Unfortunately, Marvin couldn't stand not being the lead sled, so would often attempt ill advised short cuts over tree roots and gravel. I became airborne on three different occasions and had to dismount the sled through several different gravel patches. None of this deterred my canine companion.

We finally reached our resting point and we human beings ate meat while the dogs got to eat snow. I felt a little bad for Marvin and the rest of Team Awesome, but Joelle assured me that if I played favourites and fed one of the dogs, the others would kill him in his sleep. Not even Marvin deserved that, so I kept my meat to myself.

The ride home involved more shortcuts and a new trick that Marvin learned. I call it the "Poop and Run". Unfortunately he was not the best multitasker, and this move would cause the four dogs behind him to get tangled and frustrated. They would then begin to bark which made poor Marvin nervous and unable to release his bowels. It was a vicious cycle indeed, and one that is unresolved to this day.

By far the highlight of the trip was when we were about half a kilometer from our basecamp. I noticed the rest of the sleds had stopped and could only assume it was Marvin related. Sure enough, there was a family of Yaks standing by the trail. Joelle had stopped his sled because he knew Marvin would try something Marvinesque. Sure enough, Marvin instinctively went after the one Yak that he stood a chance against, the new born baby. His mother was none too pleased at this and charged in Marvin's (and my) direction. If you have never been chased by an angry yak, I highly recommend it. Make sure to do it in the cold as you can see the air being forced out of her nose. My life flashed before my eyes and Joelle could do nothing but sigh and let out an "Oh Marvin..."

We made it back and apparently none of the other riders had nearly the antics filled experience that I did. Their dogs were well behaved, hard working, and obedient. In other words, their dogs were boring. Marvin's irrational and exciting behavior was rewarded by giving him a bone while the other dogs were left to fight over pieces of cow dung.

Every word here is true. Even the cow dung thing. I may be living in a hellishly cold place and developing lung cancer from the smog, but at least I am privy to doing some crazy things that I would not be able to do in most other places. My list is still long, but at least I can cross of #1.

Next up: Ice Fishing! Stay tuned for the thrilling recap, because honestly, what is more exciting than a guy sitting over a hole, holding a string with a hook attached to it. Scuba diving in Thailand? Not bloody likely.