That would have been Hoser, the wonder dog. Had him for 17 years and one week. A little Australian Cattle Dog, a Red Heeler. At last estimate we figured he had over 10,000 flight hours in the right seat of an airplane flying with me. As a buddy of mine said of him, "a well traveled dog who's book ought to be called, 'The Steinbeckian Adventures of Hoser." And it will be.
The natives in the Arctic loved him. Called him the Yute Air dog, and would listen on their scanners for when I flew mail into their villages. They'd all come roaring out on their four-wheelers yelling, "Hoser, Hoser" and crowd around the airplane as I shut down the engine so I could chuck Hose out with his frisbee in mouth, ready to run.
In Buckland, a native village about 100 miles southeast of Kotzebue, his favorite fan was an old Eskimo woman named Beulah Ballot. I'm guessing mid 80's last time I saw her. Every flight in, and there were probably 1000 trips into there, she came riding out to the airstrip on her Honda, and the kids would stand back, and she'd take the frisbee and give it a short throw. Hoser was off like a rocket, would catch it mid-bounce and bring it right back and drop it at her feet and back up two steps, and hunker down all quivery waiting for her hand to move so he could react. She would just cackle with glee each throw, eyes alive with joy.
My last day with Yute Air I flew into each of my twelve Arctic villages to say goodbye. Took all day because they all had become family, and we had gifts and stories, and lots of hugs and tears to share. At Buckland, Beulah rode up, sad as could be, and she sat down cross-legged on the dirt by the wheel of my airplane. Old Hoser was curled up in her lap, and she rocked and rocked, singing a song to him in Inuktitut, her native language.
Of course I'm standing there blubbering like a baby, when she takes Hoser by the sides of his face with her hands, looks directly at him , then up at me, and says...
"He make good hat."
I just kinda stood there, not sure I heard her right as her English was sometimes hard to understand, and dumbly said, "What?"
She looked back down at Hose's face, turned him side to side, then back to me.
"Him got good fur, he make good hat. When he die you send him to me and I make you good hat."
You know... At that moment I looked at Hoser too. Perky ears, bright eyes, that beautiful merle coat, and I could see that hat. And by God I'd a worn it too. Proudly.
Sadly, Beulah passed shortly before Hoser, so it never came to be. But at night now, when I talk to Hoser, we laugh about how close he came to becoming my head-warmer.
Damn, it's hard to type. My eyes are full of water.
Gump




