A strong north wind slams into Aki’s face when we walk out of our front door. In the past the little dog threw on the brakes when pressed like this by the wind. Today she charges ahead, barking. The little dog continues to power down the street and into the wind, growling.

She goes silent when we turn up Basin Road and cross over the wooden trestle bridge that leads to the Gold Creek valley. The constant wind doesn’t slow down Aki as we climb up the old Perseverance Mine access road. It speeds her up when we swing back toward town. She charges down the old mining road, too fast for me to safely keep up. Just when I start to worry, the little guy, now just a dot down on the road, runs back to me at full speed.

            We are about to reach a portion of the road that is open to automobile traffic so I place her back on the lead. Aki pulls me all the way home with the help of the wind.

Not matter how hard she scowls or glares, Aki makes people laugh. This morning, a woman pulling into a state-workers’ parking lot looks at her, lets a smile spreads across her face and enjoys a belly laugh. My little dog just trots on across the parking lot, pulled by scents on the air. Nothing is going to slow her—not the three inches of new snow, traffic, or derisive laughter. Aki is on a mission.

At the 12^th Street intersection of the Egan Expressway, Aki waits patiently for the light to change. It’s 8 A.M and still dark. We have just dropped the car off for an oil change. The snowy outline of the Douglas Island ridge forms a soft border against light blue sky. It’s the tail end of the morning rush hour so the little dog has a large audience. But few notice the little poodle-mix even though she is wearing her “Elvis in Edinburgh” fleece wrap.

The light changes. Aki pulls me across the intersection and over toward the new sea walk. When we reach the life sized humpback whale statute that marks the north end of the sea walk, Aki throws on the brakes. In the low light the whale is little more than a silhouette. Down channel an arc of sun crests Salisbury Point. I take a picture or two and then carry Aki down the portion of the sea walk that forms a bridge over tidelands. She hates to walk over water. Below, mallards, gulls, and ravens stir from their nighttime resting places. One raven waits for us on a walkway railing. It flits over the other railing when we are within five feet and then flies off. Brave, stupid, or bored, you never know about ravens little dog.

The sun is full up by the time we reach the downtown bus terminal. Low angle light manages to make even that blocky building look like a place you might want to live.

The little dog trots ahead on a faint meadow trail. Snow from this morning’s shower makes it easy to make out the path. I’d be able to spot animal tracks if anyone has passed since the snow fell. But only Aki’s little paws dimple the meadow.

She looks back often and sometimes stops, as if our roles have been reversed and I am now the feckless pet, likely to dash off into danger without a second thought. Maybe she knows that I am distracted. We are surrounded by a low-contrast landscape worthy of an Ansel Adams black and white print and I can’t figure out a way to capture it with my camera.

To take my mind off of my shortcomings, I think of the wolf recently spotted by dog walkers in the Treadwell ruins. Our local paper ran a photograph of the big canine half-hidden by the tree line, looking out with cautious curiosity. We have seen wolf tracks on this meadow, which is located only a few miles from Treadwell. How many times has the Treadwell wolf or another of his kind watched Aki and I cross this meadow? Could he be there, where the meadow gives was to a thick spruce forest, wondering why his cousin would wear an argyle-patterned wrap rendered from pink and gray colored fleece.