A minimum of five hundred dogs of the same breed would be a sufficient gene pool to support their own population. I own twelve purebred Canadian Eskimo dogs. Only three hundred exist. They’ve been struggling on the endangered list for thirty years.

These dogs are aggressive in their appetite to do what they've been bred to do and that's pull massive payloads in brutal cold. For over two thousand years the selection process was, if you pulled hard, you lived. What remains are incredible canine athletes with unique traits; powerful dominant dogs that are incredibly strong-willed. With huge chests and fur over twenty centremetres thick they are the Panzer tanks of the dog world, stop at nothing and I love them dearly.

If you don’t like the word ‘Eskimo’ and consider it a derogatory slur on the Inuit take it out on the Canadian Kennel Club. It’s their choice of breed title, not mine.

Backbone
 

Know How
 

Piston
Piston is the dog God. Quiet and gentle out of his harness, at work he’s a ferocious puller. Magnificent looking Piston takes up the wheel position directly in front of my sled. Paired alongside Bomber they make a formidably powerful pair. Piston is one of three siblings I have from Pond Inlet, originally bought from an Inuit gentleman by the name of Panuele Okango.
 

Saxon
Saxon is the boss dog. There’s no fuss with Saxon, he won’t tolerate less than maximum effort. He’s a champion feeder and I’ve never known him to leave food or anything resembling it. His winter coat is magnificent, over twenty-two centremetres deep at it’s thickest he reminds me of a proud lion. With me Saxon loves to play and be groomed. Specific aspects of his character I love, others I don’t. To other dogs he can be thug like. His father was eaten alive by a wolf pack.
 

Thule
My top leader Thule is physically and mentally strong and holds down a position very few dogs thrive on. As the only pup of a litter she’s used to plenty of attention and relishes responsibility. That said she has her bad days. These are moments when Thule loves to push her luck and have me eating my fists.
 

Nettle
Nettle is a dominant bitch. Between them, Nettle and Thule clash once in a while for top bitch supremacy. Nettle is Saxon’s girl. Bred by eastern Arctic Igloolik hunter Natalino Piugatuq.
 

Marshall
Piston’s brother, Marshall is another dog with a huge appetite for work. At forty below zero his slathering dribble freezes like icicle fangs.
 

Twizzle
Twizzle gets himself into awful mess, he reminds me of a little boy being where he shouldn’t with a catapult hanging out of his pocket. As a puppy Twizzle was attacked by wolves while still on his mother’s milk, he’s never forgotten and will become anxious crossing wolf trails. He has the blackest of faces making it difficult to distinguish his eyes and reminds me of Guy the Gorilla, a famous attraction at London Zoo when I was a kid.
 

Blitz
2004 whelp, I named him after the World War Two Panzer tank strategy Blitzkrieg, devised by German Field Marshall Erwin Rommel. There’s also a track I love by The Ramones called Blitzkrieg Bop. His serious panda like face markings don’t reflect his affectionate little ways. He’ll happily sit close next to me watching the world pass by.
 

Bomber (neutered)
Born in 2001 Bomber is the oldest dog in my kennel. I named him after my father’s six successful books about World War Two RAF fighter pilots and bomber crews. These brave men saved the world from swastika domination and I’m proud Dad recorded their stories. More information about my Dad’s books at www.grubstreet.co.uk.

Bomber is very affectionate, loves to play and be close. He has a wise kind fatherly quality and I talk to him a lot.
 

Cream
Another Piston sibling. An emotionally very distant dog Cream has a beautiful dense creamy plume like tail that pendulum bobs when he runs. I never feel sure about his mood. He just wants to be left alone to pull.
 

Beef
Beef came back from 2005 North Pole journey with a torn ear. It now folds. Breed purists not especially interested in keeping the breed’s working talents alive would point fingers. Ears should point erect like horns of the devil. Beef couldn’t care less. Nor could I.