Nome, Alaska - 1928

As we neared the mail office in Nome, the team barked, tired but eager. The air was warmer, spring pushing through the last traces of winter. The sled skidded to a stop, the wood creaking under the weight of the load. Snow clung to our fur, but it was softening into slush. I shook the snow off my fur, my breath misting in the cool morning air.

Another delivery done but…

"We’re late again!" I snapped, frowning deeply, frustration clear in my tone.

Kirby, standing right next to me, scratched behind his ear, lazy as ever, like he hadn’t heard the bite in my voice.

"Yeah, well, what’s the big deal? We’re just running the mail, not saving the town."

Ralph, stepping in from the back of the team, let out a snort, his jowly grin widening.

"Like your old man."

That did it. I shot Ralph a glare, but Kirby beat me to it—he whipped around, ears twitching, eyes flashing with that familiar spark. He was annoyed now, and not hiding it.

"Zip it, Ralph! We would’ve been on time if you hadn’t been dragging your butt!"

Ralph gasped, lifting a paw dramatically to his chest.

"Me?! I’ve got a broken toenail and it’s driving me crazy!" he huffed, holding out his paw like it proved everything, eyes darting toward Kirby in accusation. "Besides, Kirby, you kept yanking to the right."

"I had a lousy breakfast this morning. I got no energy—" Kirby shoot back, like that explained everything.

I groaned inwardly. This again. Every trip, someone had a new excuse. Summer wasn't even fully here, and already everyone was acting like their paws were melting.

Dusty stepped between them with a sharp scoff, her tail flicking in clear irritation.

"Alright, alright—cool it! It wasn’t our fault. Hello? The ice was slippery. Everybody knows spring snow’s treacherous."

Ralph perked up, puffing out his chest like he’d just solved the whole thing.

"Yeah, that’s it. The snow’s getting soft. Warmer weather, mushier snow."

To prove his point, he punched the snow beside him. A wet squelch echoed, and the whole team burst into laughter—even Kirby, despite himself. My tail stayed stiff. They didn’t get it. This wasn’t just some joyride—people were counting on us. I straightened up, my voice cutting through the chuckles.

"That’s no excuse for being late. Everyone counts on us! Neither snow nor rain nor sleet nor hail will stop the U.S. Mail."

Dusty smirked, head tilted like she was waiting for a punchline.

"Yeah? What are they gonna do? Fire us?"

Laughter erupted again, louder, carried by spring wind and sore muscles. I didn’t laugh. I just stared at them, jaw tight. This wasn’t funny—not to me.

"Rookies. They're all the same," Kirby chuckled, then looked at me with something close to sincerity.
"Look, Kodi. Bottom line—we got the mail to Nome. Enough said."

"Mail's here, Mr. Conner!" Mr. Simpson, our musher, hauled the last of the bags inside, his voice cheerful as he called out to the postmaster.

"Hey there, Mr. Simpson!"

Then—thud. We all winced as Mr. Conner tripped backward with the weight of the sack, vanishing behind the counter in a flurry of mail and clumsy limbs.

"I'm okay!" he muttered, throwing a thumbs-up into the air from the floor.

I cracked a small smile, then chuckled—genuine, this time. That helped. A little.

The musher returned, undoing our harnesses and patting each of us in turn. His hand paused at my head, giving it a firm rub. I leaned into it without thinking. Even with everything, I was glad to be here.

As the musher moved on to the rest, I stood still, my thoughts on Dad. I still had a lot to prove—not just to the team, but to him. I wanted to make him proud, to show I was ready, even if I hadn’t fully earned the lead dog spot yet.

I wasn’t about to let a little delay or some bickering change that. Today, maybe I’d practice at the beach with him, work on the things that mattered. Or I’d rest up at the meetinghouse with the rest, get my bearings for the next run.

The trail ahead might be long, but with my team, I knew I’d make it through.