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/ Archived Race Coverage / Dog Drop 101

Dog Drop 101

The logistics and human side of working dog drop

by June Price

03/13/2005

There’s a cartoon hanging inside the Iditarod Room of the Seward Museum. In it, two dogs are standing outside a cabin with a person visible inside. One of the dogs says, "You know what really burns me? Year after year there’s a big hullabaloo about whether a man or woman will be the first into Nome, and year after year, it’s a dog."

Although meant to be humorous, it’s a reminder no Iditarod fan or volunteer takes lightly. For all involved, the dogs come first, including those no longer able to continue on the journey to Nome. Let’s take a look at the process of returning a dog from the trail to the designated dropped dog area.

Once a musher decides to drop, or leave behind a dog, various procedures kick into action. The dog is checked by trail vets and taken to a holding area. There, it’s carefully watched until it can be put on a plane back to Anchorage or Nome, depending upon the location it is dropped. For our purposes, we’ll largely look at the Anchorage end via a series of photos showing the procedures followed, although not necessarily in the order shown. I might note, the dogs are in close proximity to the Millennium Hotel and everything you’ll see in the photos that follow is done in clear view of anyone who cares to watch. Click on the photos below to view the procedures and some of the wonderful dogs involved.

Click on images for a larger picture:

Planes are the key to transporting dogs as well as mushers, supplies and a host of volunteers along the trail. This one, which probably only a week earlier carried supplies out the trial, landed behind the Millennium Hotel in Anchorage with a load of dogs.
Volunteers and dog handlers or even owners quickly unload the dogs from the plane and lead them to the dropped dog area. You’ll note that the dog’s front feet are being held off the ground. This is no accident. It’s for safety’s sake and a practice to which sled dogs are accustomed. I’ve even had to resort to it a few times with my own retired sled dog, one whose power continues to amaze me.
Unlike pet dogs used to being walked, sled dogs are powerful and trained to pull. The footing on the lake and walkways can be treacherous. Combine that with a powerful, eager to run sled dog and you could quickly find yourself flat on your face with a dog running free. The practice of moving dogs thusly causes no harm or trauma to the dog and, in fact, helps keep them (and the handler) safe.
By the time the dogs arrive at the drop area, volunteer vets and vet techs are waiting for them. Each dog comes in with paperwork indicating the problem causing them to be dropped and what has already been done. Nevertheless, the vets here will examine the dogs once again. Information is shared and discussed. Here, vet tech Peg Moore, a volunteer from Missouri, compares notes with veterinarian Jim Brick.
One of the first orders of business is to match the dog to the reports being sent with them. To ease that problem, a clipboard with musher bib numbers and names is kept handy.
Each dog is initially identified by the Iditarod identification attached to its collar. Bib number 27 was John Barron, thus this is one of his dogs.
Despite visual identification by matching tag number to bib number, a more accurate identification is also made via microchip. Each dog that runs in the Iditarod is injected with a tiny microchip no bigger than a grain of rice. By passing this portable chip reader over the area of the dog containing the chip, identification is verified.
After checking the records sent in with the dogs, the examination begins. Every effort is made to take a moment to simply pat or scratch the dog and call it by name, recognizing it as an individual, not simply one more dog. I’ve even overheard vets who’ve remembered dogs from one year to the next, so the care is there. Nor is this simply a “when we have time” procedure. The procedure remains the same no matter what the weather.
If allowed based on the diagnosis, the dogs are given what can best be described as a canine version of soup. It’s both to nourish and hydrate. Here you see volunteers moving along the row of dogs dipping and distributing the doggie soup. And, yes, the bowls are washed between every use. Somewhere, just out of sight, another volunteer made repeated trips up and down the row of dogs, scooping up the remains of that nourishment.
Observations are recorded on a record chart.
The color of the collars is significant. In this case, the blue collar indicates this dog has received some sort of medication along the trail.
Listening and checking the lungs for signs of fluid.
This particular dog came in with possible lameness. It belongs to musher Ramey Smyth and is being gently checked over to determine the source/site of the lameness, ie shoulder, leg, paw, etc. Even though observations from the checkpoint are sent with the dogs, it holds true that two sets of eyes and examinations are better than one. Results will be shared with the musher and their private veterinarian, too.
I’m making the exam sound far more simplistic than it is but basically what is being done here is a test for flexibility and movement. This helps the vets pin point the location of the problem.
As you’ll notice, they’re beginning to focus their attention on a more specific area.
One of the things that amazes those of us connected to the race year after year, of course, is how wonderfully well Iditarod sled dogs adapt to any given situation, even this one where they’ve suddenly been separated from their human, taken a plane ride with strange dogs and are now being handled by strangers. This dog came from the team of Sonny Lindner, who had to scratch early because of possible heart problems.
Much like our postal workers, those working dog drop work through all kinds of weather. Two years ago they checked dogs in temperatures that quickly fell to minus 50 when a freak storm moved through and only days ago some were outside in shirt sleeves. Now, it’s raining but that doesn’t slow or halt the procedure. The dogs come first, not the comfort of those caring for the dogs. Here, a volunteer comforts a dog as it awaits its human after being examined.
Oh, come on, you know they have to check the dogs’ temperatures somehow, don’t you?
As another dog is being examined, its neighbor, left, seems to be offering to help.
Again, results of the exam are recorded on a form to be saved and passed on to all involved.
Looking back up toward the hotel from the end of the line of dropped dogs. Some of these dogs, I should probably note, were there because their musher had scratched, not for medical reasons. Vets will check them all, however.
Once examinations are complete, most of the dogs will be transported to “prison” where prisoners who’ve been specially trained will care for them until they can be picked up by their owner or a handler. A veterinarian is on call at all times, by the way. Dogs requiring further attention are transported to either a private veterinarian or one on call as needed. Martin Buser’s Freedom, who flew home on the lap of Sonny Lindner, who’d just scratched, went straight to Buser’s private veterinarian, for instance.
Although not medically related, this photo clearly illustrates that cameras are everywhere, hence nothing is hidden.
One whimsical touch in the dog drop area this year is this sign, provided by Anchorage Parks and Recreation.
“Hey, you humans,” barks this dropped dog, having obviously read the sign. “Get over here! You’re not on leash!”

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