Holly made a cup of coffee, pulled on her breakup boots and a jacket, and anxiously opened the door on the morning’s storm damage.

The view was disheartening. Standing water was everywhere. Esther’s house had lost part of its roof — hopefully she was ok! A sheet of plywood had pierced and shattered Ted’s window. Jannie’s home was missing its arctic entrance, it was torn clear off.

Garbage littered the streets and ponds. All the recycling, all the spare parts and pieces, were scattered across the landscape as far as she could see.

Suddenly, throat constricting with dread, she realized why it was still so quiet. The sled dogs were gone. Some of the dog runs were underwater, and other dogs had gotten tangled in their chains, choked & drowned. A few had obviously broken necks, or ribs. The lucky few had just been swept away.

A young, blue eyed mutt still moved, feebly, off to the side of her house. He whined, his breath coming fast and harsh with anxiety. He was trying to get under her house, he was looking for a place to die, she thought. And oh, she was afraid to help him, the splintered white of a broken leg drug behind the him as he tried to move.

She carefully jumped down from her front stoop. The ground squelched and stunk around her ankles, and she found a trail through the standing water to the dog. Her son could help with the dog, he was always able to calm them with a gesture, a whisper – but she didn’t want to wake him up to see this.

She talked, softly, coming close. “Hey, guy, it’s gonna be ok.”

Blue eyes rolled back, ears flattened, and the dog growled in fear.

“Hey, buddy, shhhh. I’m going to try to help.” She slowly took off her coat, squatted beside him. Maybe she could get the dog to creep onto her coat, and she could carry him to… where?

The dog collapsed sideways, in fear and exhaustion, landing on a corner of the coat.

She carefully wrapped it around him, trying not to touch the leg. “OK, buddy, I’m gonna try and pick you up now. It’ll hurt, but we’ll be ok.”

She carefully scooped the dog up in her arms. The leg twitched, and the dog snarled, snapped at air. “Shh, shhhh. Let’s get you some help.”

She set off toward the health clinic, picking her way carefully through the muddy water. Maybe Rebecca would be able to help.

She shouldered through the health clinic door, arms aching with the load. “Hey, Rebecca, you here?”

Carefully, she lay the dog down on a bench, making sure not to move his leg. The dog looked away, panting furiously.

Rebecca poked her head out of the back room. “I’m with someone hurt in the storm. What do you need?”

“We can wait.”

A few minutes later, Rebecca came out, looking exhausted. Her patient followed her, freshly bandaged.

She turned to Holly and her burden.

“Holly, I’m not a vet! And we have people here who need help more.”

Holly sagged. “Then who takes care of your dogs?”

“They either live, or they die. We don’t let them stay in pain if we can’t help them, they deserve to go on to their next life too.” Rebecca sighed. “This morning has been awful. And the dogs, my god! We need those sled dogs to hunt this winter.”

Rebecca knelt on the floor in front of the dog, touched his leg lightly. “Holly, his leg will never be whole again, it’s too damaged. You need to let him go.”

“But if you set it we’ll take care of him. Lots of dogs do fine with a bad leg!”

“Not in the village, Holly. These dogs are bred to run, to pull. They’re miserable if they can’t, and in hungry times we aren’t able to feed a dog who can’t work.”

Holly said, “It’s not our dog. It’s the Stewart’s, next door.”

“It’s the right thing to do, they wouldn’t dream of trying to keep him lame and in the house.” Rebecca walked back to her cabinet, got out a syringe and a vial. “I’ll try to give him a quiet goodbye. One of the men would just take him out and shoot him but I’m not up to that.”

Holly touched the dog’s head. It made sense. But it hurt. Her heart ached not just for Buddy, but all the dogs.