Togo Dog Quotes

He made a good salary but he did not flaunt it. He’d been raised in Chicago proper by a Lithuanian Jewish mother who had grown up in poverty, telling stories, often, of extending a chicken to its fullest capacity, so as soon as a restaurant served his dish, he would promptly cut it in half and ask for a to-go container. Portions are too big anyway, he’d grumble, patting his waistline. He’d only give away his food if the corners were cleanly cut, as he believed a homeless person would just feel worse eating food with ragged bitemarks at the edges – as if, he said, they are dogs, or bacteria. Dignity, he said, lifting his half-lasagna into its box, is no detail.

Everywhere I went, it was Balto this and Balto that. Truth to tell, I knew Balto well enough. He was in my kennel. He was owned, bred, raised, and trained by Sepp, same as I was. Sepp called Balto nothing but a scrub freight dog. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice-enough fellow. But he was no racer. And he didn't have a whole lot going on upstairs. What he had was luck. It was luck, pure and simple, that he happened to be leading the team that made the last leg of the Serum Run.

I put my nose down and sniffed the ice thoughtfully. Sepp knew I had good ice sense. Having ice sense meant I could smell the water beneath the ice. If the smell was too strong, I knew that the ice was thin and probably not strong enough to hold us. Quite ice was solid and steady. but if it groaned or hissed, that meant it was breaking apart and dangerous. It was talking to me. It was saying, Watch out, little dog! Stay away! I could also feel the ice beneath my paw pads. I knew that if it was damp, it was probably not frozen through.

diphtheria.