He hiked out to the barn and fought his way inside. The smells of oil, gasoline, and the faintest hint of hay from the days when his grandfather used it as a cattle barn filtered into his nose as he fumbled for the light.

He found it, flicked it on. The place was unchanged—still a collection of his father’s machinery. A tractor, a disc mower, a small collection of minibikes, including Dodge’s old motorcycle, just waiting for the summer months. A slew of old snow machines sat near the entrance, some of them recently used. He spotted the plow attached to the old Dodge truck sitting near the big double door entrance. It was his father’s favorite truck—a blue and white 1972 Dodge D100—and most importantly, Dodge’s namesake.

At least it still ran. His father’s ’78 Ford Ranger sat on wheel jacks in a dusty corner of the barn. And the little ’82 Dodge Colt his mother used was covered with a dirty tarp.

Clearly his parents had been under duress for names when the triplets were born. He couldn’t imagine having to fly his wife to Anchorage while she was in labor, but then again, his father had lived a wild life here with his true love, Cee.

He opened the doors, got in the truck, and plowed his way out. Then around to the runway. He scraped away the snow in great swathes, then cleared a path down to the cabins by the lake.

The daylight was hanging on, turning a waxy gold along the horizon by the time he put the truck away. He was stamping out the snow and closing the door when he heard it—the sound of whining lifting from behind the row of cars, near one of the old haymows.

He crept back, squeezing past the Colt until he came to the empty stall in the back of the barn, still cluttered with hay.

The doors of the stall sagged at an angle big enough for an animal to get through.

In the dim light, he made out a dog. It sat in the corner of the mow, curled up, licking an open wound.

“Hey there, buddy. You okay?” He made a few noises, and the animal stuck his nose out to smell his outstretched glove. He took off his glove, offered that, and the dog licked it.

He took a step inside and crouched in front of the dog. Touched his fur.

The dog wore a harness. Dodge reached under it. “I’m going to pick you up, pal,” he said and grunted as he moved the animal into his arms.

The dog moaned. “It’s okay, buddy. Just going to get you into the house to see what’s going on.” He picked his way out of the barn, past the cars and machinery, and then into the sunlight.

And headed straight for the lodge.