Boy Stormy liked to run. Stormy was my husky. Dan the mailman said if he were his he'd take him to Alaska to run the Iditarod. This was at least half true because Dan ran husky's in Alaska. The Iditarod might have been an embellishment. I don't know.
Dad and I took the black handle off the red wagon. We saved it. Later we put it back on. We replaced it with a wooden square 'U' shaped frame. The frame had two eye bolts up front. We bought an Iditarod approved harness and strapped Stormy into it.
For two seasons he would pull me wizzing down the sidewalk, my load of Grand Haven Tribune newspapers in tow. He was good a "Hike," "Gee," and "Haw." He was not good at "Whoa." I wore through the soles of several size 5 Converse All-stars that summer. They made excellent brakes.
At the cabin stormy liked to run and run and run. The cabin was over the bridge, one hour north west near Curtis, Michigan on the little round lake. It was the last hour of the road trip that took us to the cabin. It was actually, very easily, 3 hours. I was 12.
I think it was six hours from the bridge for a husky who liked to run. When we finally passed the Luce County State Park, the sun setting ahead of us, he'd had it with the road trip. We pulled off the road and headed down the two track. Rounding the final bend we jumped out of the car, me and Stormy.
The next time I saw him he was on the back of a pickup truck. He wasn't moving. His tongue was hanging out and his head was upside down. Out front of the cabin I'm sure you can still find the 2x4 cross with the inscription, "Died Runnin'" on it. Stormy loved to run.