We lost Qarth eight months ago; in February of this year. As Jeff’s heart dog, the loss has been exceptionally difficult. While eulogizing a loved one can be cathartic, it can also be really painful. So we’ve put it off. We’ve processed the loss of our buddy in stages. We fitfully awaited the results from his necropsy. We anguished over how to tell his sponsors about his passing. We finally buried him in late summer. Now we’re sharing a remembrance of his life, and his loss, with all of you, in this eulogy that has taken us months to compose.
If you took a tour with us between 2015 and 2024, you no doubt noticed Qarth among our 40+ other dogs. During his racing years, he was the particularly gorgeous dog in the corner of the yard, who “looked like a real husky.” He was notably shy at his dog house though, and hated attention from anyone other than his mushers and handlers. Yet nearly everyone insisted on trying to photograph and/or pet him, much to his utter dismay. Qarth was our self-appointed guard dog, barking at all who dared to step foot on our property, and he was supremely skeptical of anyone who wanted to get up close to him. He was a bit more outgoing while on the line, though, and he’d often let tour visitors get close enough for a quick pet or pic.
While racing, Qarth shone brightly as an all-star leader. In his first Iditarod, at just two-years-old, Qarth single-led the team through multiple storms in the Interior of Alaska. His ability to find a trail, where none appeared to exist, became his key trademark at the front of the team. He never gained public credit for his ability though, because anytime crowds were near, he desperately wanted out of the spotlight. The idea of crossing a race finish line in front of a cheering crowd of people was Qarth’s nightmare. Consequently, after single-leading the majority of Jeff’s 2018 and 2019 Iditarods, he got swapped out with his brother, Braavos, who led the team for the final mile to the finish line, down Front Street in Nome. Jeff finally got Qarth to a finish line in lead at the end of the 2021 Iditarod. Thanks to the COVID-friendly, out-and-back race format, the Iditarod started and finished in Willow, and crowds were discouraged from gathering. The end of that race came as a surprise for Qarth, and he begrudgingly took the team past a few cameramen, reporters and race officials, across the finish line. He was never a showman, but when it came to toughness, he was second to none.
Qarth officially retired in the summer of 2023 at eight-years-old. And to our utter amazement, he became friendlier and more outgoing than we ever thought possible. Once away from his dog house, he felt free to approach or dodge our visitors at will. Eventually he gave up the barking, and was all tail-wags for anyone who came down the driveway. He came to love soaking up attention from anyone and everyone, and made up for all of those years of being so camera shy.
He did become a pain in the ass at feeding time though. Despite being one of our largest dogs, Qarth could leap several feet into the air, and loved to harass us from our house to the food tent, barking and snapping his jaws just inches away from our faces. It might have been scary if we hadn’t raised him from birth, and knew he was simply an athletic marshmallow with teeth and a loud voice.
On the day he died, Jeff was on the Yukon Quest trail, and I was home alone. Our handlers were meeting Jeff at a race checkpoint, and we were closed for tours. That morning was one of the most beautiful I had ever experienced in all my years of living in a cold climate. The weather had been warm, wet, and cloudy, but temps were starting to drop, and the day dawned pink and foggy. Golden rays of the rising sun shot up behind our out-buildings, defined perfectly through a thick veil of mist. I reveled in the peace of having the kennel all to myself. I had slept in, and had nothing pressing to do that day but routine dog chores, follow Jeff’s race on the tracker, and run the adult dogs who remained in the kennel. I remember feeling happy and lucky to have such a life in such a place.
I finished scooping poop and doled out a few morning medications. Then it was time to feed breakfast, and everyone knew it. The yard erupted as I began to make my way towards the feed shed. And as per usual, Qarth gave me some ferocious barks-in-the-face, accompanied by several high jumps. Then he took off on an epic set of zoomies – up past the tour building, down the driveway and through the dog yard. He finally set his sights on me again, grinning madly, and barreled towards me at full speed, when suddenly he fell, and slid past me in the snow. My initial impression was that he had tripped, but when he didn’t immediately get up, I rushed to him and pulled his head and chest onto my lap. His eyes were looking somewhere far into the distance as he let out a few cries. Then he was gone.
Eventually, tissue samples of Qarth’s heart were sent to scientists at Cornell University. He likely died of a cardiac electrical malfunction, that would have been nearly impossible to predict while he was still alive. Qarth did have a persistent cough, and had been to the veterinarian multiple times in the months leading up to his death. But his chest x-rays, lung and heart sounds were all considered normal. Instead, we tried treating him for things like allergies, gastric reflux and infection. Qarth had also had many EKG/ECG tests through the Iditarod’s pre-race vet checks from 2018 – 2022, but nothing abnormal was ever detected. Even if we had known that Qarth had a heart condition, the treatment probably would have been something like “Don’t let him exercise or get excited.” And for Qarth, that wouldn’t have been a way to live. Eventually I did find a way to make peace with Qarth’s short life, and our inability to make it any longer. Despite other things we did or didn’t do, we loved him intensely and with our whole hearts, for all of the days he was with us.
With Jeff still on the race trail, I kept Qarth’s death to myself. I didn’t want Jeff to find out – from me or anyone else – for fear of ruining what was turning out to be a great race for him. He would have plenty of time to mourn later. So, for me, those first days were lonely and torturous. I only found peace on the runners, with the other dogs. I didn’t have to miss Qarth there, because it felt like he was still with me. Qarth and his siblings were some of the first pups Jeff and I raised together, and were foundational to the fabric of our kennel. Qarth was a phenomenal leader, and trained up many of the young dogs who came after him, who have since trained up more youngsters, and so on. Qarth set a tone and a standard for what it meant to be a leader, and a team member at Black Spruce. He showed us what was possible, in our sled dogs, and in ourselves as mushers.
Some last words from Jeff about Qarth:
From the day he was born, I felt an indescribable attachment to him. As he grew and matured, he tested my patience and forced me to grow as a musher. In adulthood, he took me through countless storms and conditions I would have not thought possible for travel. He held a true gift as a leader, and a friend. I have had many dogs in my life, and will have many more in my future- there will never be another Qarth. Thank you for all you gave me, you are missed more than words can describe.
