WINTER WONDERLAND by Belinda Jones

the snow, taking chomps of the flavourless Slurpee, lying down to cool off their bellies and, in the case of one fidgety fellow, maintaining the starting block position. I take a breath and head towards the frontrunners.
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘To introduce myself to the dogs.’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘I can’t expect them to run for me if we haven’t even met.’
    Sebastien rolls his eyes. ‘You could be Michael Vick and they’d still run for you.’
    ‘Michael Vick?’
    ‘If you don’t already know then you don’t want to.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘American football player,’ Sebastien sounds testy. ‘Went to prison for his part in a dog-fighting ring. And it wasn’t just dog-on-dog action,’ Sebastien continues. ‘They were found guilty of hanging, drowning, electrocuting and shooting dogs.’
    I feel faint with anger. ‘Please tell me he’s still there. In prison.’
    ‘Nope. He served less than two years.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘And when he came out, the Philadelphia Eagles signed him up and then the NFL named him Comeback Player of the Year.’
    ‘That’s sick,’ I spit, not quite knowing what to do with this information.
    ‘Wouldn’t you like to set the dogs on him?’ Sebastien looks equally disgusted.
    ‘I’d tear him apart with my own bare hands.’
    Sebastien nods. ‘Me too.’
    We talk for a while about the ridiculous amount of money American footballers get paid and how we’d like to take Vick’s entire salary and donate it to pitbull charities while having him spend his free time tied to a chain in a rainy backyard where he’d be fed a diet of canned dog food.
    ‘The really nasty, smelly stuff,’ I decide.
    For a second or two we bristle in silence and then Sebastien walks to the front of the team.
    ‘This is Jupiter. He’s the lead dog.’ He scratches his brow and then raises the chin of the one next to him. ‘This is his brother, Orion.’
    It takes me a moment to realise he is indulging my whim. Then I hurry forward and greet them, first with a gently proffered mitten and then a full head rumple, finding them surprisingly affectionate. While Sebastien tells me that the middle dogs are also referred to as ‘in swing’ and the rear ‘at wheel’, I form a crush on the dog Jacques traded, name of Maddy.
    ‘Do you have a favourite?’ I ask Sebastien.
    He looks at me as if to say, ‘If you’re testing to see if I’m human, I’m not going to bite.’
    ‘Come on, it’s time for you to drive.’
    He walks me back to the sled and gives me the basics:
    ‘So you hold here,’ he taps the wooden handlebar. ‘Feet here on the rubber grips and this is the brake.’ He sets a toe where I have my feet on a metal bar with ragged teeth. ‘If one foot is not enough, use two.’
    ‘So jump on it?’
    He looks mildly concerned. ‘One foot will be enough. And try and keep the line taut at all times. That’s important.’ He claps his hands. ‘Okay?’
    ‘That’s it?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    ‘Wow. Well that’s the quickest driving lesson I ever had.’ I look at the dogs and then back at him. ‘Are they just going to take off?’
    ‘As soon as you release the brake.’
    ‘And if I get whiplash, fall back and you leave without me?’
    ‘I will stop the sled.’
    I’m about to ask how he could possibly do that when I remember he is part-contortionist. Like right now, he is using the tree to perform a particularly extensive leg stretch.
    ‘Are you even aware that your foot is up by your ear?’ I marvel.
    ‘Old habit,’ he coughs, quickly bringing it back down to earth.
    ‘I don’t know why you don’t just go back to Cirque du Soleil where you belong!’ I tease.
    ‘Who told you?’ he snaps.
    ‘Told me what?’
    ‘About Cirque?’
    I study his face. ‘You were in Cirque du Soleil?’
    He goes to storm off but realises he is in no position to do so.
    ‘Are you serious?’ I ask, fascinated.
    (Personally I think Cirque du Soleil should be categorised as one of the