The dogs below are straining at the ends of their chains. They’re howling, their fangs gleaming, their muzzles pointed toward the opposite end of the lake where the path leads to the road. I scan the shore but it’s too far. I can’t see anything.

Little by little the animals calm down, sniff and whimper one last time. Then they fold their tails between their paws and go back to their dens, their heads drooping in disappointment.

The lead dog leaps onto the flat roof of her den that she uses as a lookout. She stays on watch, her ears pricked. She’s slender, a purebred. The long fur on her neck bristles.

Mush steps on my feet with his warm paws. The floor is cold. I build up the fire and go back to bed with Mush in my arms. Pinamen is sitting up waiting.

“Do you know what it was?”

“No. I couldn’t see anything. Maybe a wolf on the prowl or a moose that swam across the lake. One thing’s for sure, our dogs are good watchdogs. Too bad for anyone who tries to get too close to the cabin.”

In the morning I get up early. On my way back from fetching water from the lake, I take time to watch Sam’s dogs from a distance. I know they’re wondering who I am and what I’m doing here. I act casual. I want them to get used to me. When I approach, they all come out and pull at the ends of their chains. They snarl, baring their long white pointed teeth, their necks straining. They are still wild animals.

I throw each one a big piece of fish and they snap it right out of the air, trap it between their paws and devour it in three bites. Then they lift their heads and lick their lips, hoping for more.

I go to the lead dog first. She jumps onto her roof, sits down, eyes me carefully. I talk to her softly so that she gets used to the sound of my voice.

“Hello, pretty girl. How are you this morning?”

I hold out my bare hand slowly. She smells me, butts my hand with her cold nose, growls.

“No, no…gently…that’s it…gently. I just want to pat you.”

The others are watching us out of the corners of their eyes. They’re nervous.

The lead dog is as white as gunpowder. I sink my hand into her ruff, feeling its rough texture, the warmth of her muscled body. I rub her back.

“You have a nice coat. Must keep you good and warm, eh?”

Her big tail thumps hard against the roof of her den, then sweeps back and forth.

I don’t look at the other dogs, who are all standing on their roofs now, except for the big black male who’s lying inside his den. He just watches me from a distance.

• • •

It’s getting colder, and at night the ground freezes. One day I start the dogs’ training.