MASON TOWNSHIP — Released from the pen she shares with other Alaskan huskies, Snowy Owl raced across the snow, gleefully bounding over drifts and covering the yard in long strides.

“Here comes Snowy. Come on, Snowy!” called Steve Crone, owner of New England Dogsledding. “Look at her go.”

With a long line of champions behind her — 34 Iditarod winners in all — and with sleds and sled dogs all around her, it’s not hard to see what the 6-month-old is going to be when she grows up.

A sled dog.

“We have high hopes for this one,” Crone said, petting Snowy Owl before she’s off again.

For about 17 years, Crone and his partner, Leonarda Joost, have run New England Dogsledding, a Bethel-area family business that takes people out on hours-long, miles-long dog-sled trips over groomed wilderness trails.

They care for 74 Alaskan huskies.

“They’re sweet, they’re loving, and they’ll run 80 mph,” Crone said.

Crone started working with dogs 27 years ago and began skiing with his dogs, a Labrador retriever and German shepherd, several years later. When he took in a pair of Siberian huskies, he tried dog sledding.      

It stuck.

Soon he and Joost had established whole teams of Alaskan huskies, sleek dogs that loved to run in the snow and came from race-winning bloodlines. The couple still has dogs from those early teams.

“They’re now 16 years old and living in our mudroom in front of the wood stove,” Joost said. “All the dogs have a retirement package built in.”

Of their 74 dogs, 25 are officially retired. The dogs are never sent to new homes, whether they run or not.

“Every puppy born into our hands is a great responsibility and a lifetime commitment,”  Crone said. “Certainly a great amount of joy, but at the same time, (there is) a depthful understanding that they will break our heart at one point in the future upon their passing.” One of his oldest dogs, Maze, died recently.

As Alaskan huskies — a breed developed to pull sleds — the dogs tend to have a natural athleticism. But there’s training involved, too. Some of the training, particularly when it comes to socialization, is done by humans.

“We’re the first voice they hear and they listen to us like God, which is kind of beautiful,”  Crone said. “They want to please us more than anything. They want to run second. They’d rather run and pull a sled around the bend … than they would eat.”

And some of the training is done by other dogs.

“Once you get a highly trained squadron of dogs, which most people don’t have, we add puppies to that, one at a time, and it’s self-sustaining,” Crone said.

But knowing how to pull a 600-pound sled 120 miles is different from having the stamina and strength to do it, so the dogs also go through conditioning. Their season starts in August, when they pull an ATV a mile and a half down the road and a mile and a half back. 

“It’s like training for a marathon for human beings,” Crone said. “Most people start by running a mile. Our dogs are up to 10 miles in about three weeks. Then we pop it up to 20 miles in October, and by November, we’re 30 miles on ATVs.”   

Crone and Joost, with help from workers Sean Pfau and A.J. Norton, carefully watch the dogs through their training and as they pull throughout the winter. They keep an eye out for injuries, for dogs who aren’t happy, for dogs who might be better off on a different team or up front as lead. They know the dogs’ quirks and personalities.

They also know their names. 

Visitors tend to ask about that — a lot. It leaves Crone incredulous.

“Of course we know their names,” he said. “We know a lot more than their names about these individuals.” 

When they’re not pulling visitors, the dogs sleep inside the couple’s 100-year-old lodge or outside in pens equipped with doghouses. In some pens, the dogs roam free; in others, they’re tied.

Some dogs, Crone said, feel more secure on a tether, with limited area to roam.

“We give some dogs freedom; they hate it because they no longer have their  doghouse,” Crone said. “They’ve got to protect everything they do. When Night Bear was up here wandering around, he wouldn’t eat for two, three, four, five days. Put him down in his box, hooked him up, and he started eating instantly. Goes, ‘Thank you, appreciate that.'”

Crone and Joost spend $40,000 a year on food for the dogs. That doesn’t include medical care, upkeep or equipment for the dogs or the couple’s other animals — nine horses and two cats.

“Dog sledding is a pricey endeavor because you feed them and tend them year round and they have three months to make money,” Crone said. “Dog sledding in Maine, if you can make it pay for itself, you’re doing pretty good. It’s a labor of love.”

They most often do day trips, with the occasional overnight. They’ve taken out families with infants, Boy Scouts, school groups, at-risk kids, tourists and veterans, among others.

Visitors come all winter, though Crone happens to prefer sledding in March. It’s warmer then, and sunnier.

Dog sledding feels like “a magic carpet ride that responds to you,” Crone said. “You’re in the moment. And the moment is, like, euphoric.” 

Have an idea for Animal Tales? Call Lindsay Tice at 689-2854 or email her at ltice@sunjournal.com.

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