Dogging the Iditarod

Whitefish veterinarian cared for sled animals along Alaskan race course

Whitefish veterinarian Pam Barker refers to Iditarod sled dogs as the "Lance Armstrong and Tiger Woods" of their sport - elite athletes at the top of their game.

Barker was also part of an elite group at the famous sled-dog race in Alaska earlier this month. She was one of 43 veterinarians assembled from around the world to provide medical treatment for the dogs along the 1,150-mile rugged trail.

"These are athletes, not your average house pets," Barker said about the more than 1,200 race dogs assembled for the annual race. "They're extremely fit athletes, and they get the Lance Armstrong treatment."

Volunteer bush pilots, referred to as the Iditarod Air Force, fly teams of doctors and supplies to the checkpoints and pick up dropped dogs that are culled from teams for a variety of reasons.

"Each dog gets a physical at each checkpoint," she said. "Injuries are usually pretty minimal - sprains and strains, tired muscles much like those of marathon runners, shoulder strains."

Larger teams of veterinarians are positioned at the earlier checkpoints. As the race progresses and teams spread out, fewer doctors are needed to handle the exams.

As a "rookie" at the Iditarod, Barker said she was lucky to get posted at some of the most remote checkpoints, an honor generally reserved for the most experienced veterinarians.

But Barker may be modest in her self-assessment. Her credentials for the Iditarod job are far-reaching. A longtime musher, Barker has been a member of the International Sled Dog Veterinary Medical Association for many years and has provided medical care at a number of other sled-dog races, including the Copper Basin 300 in Alaska.

The Iditarod, called "the last great race on Earth," was Barker's ultimate goal. She applied in October, was accepted and finally was able to swing the three-week commitment to the race.

And it was worth every minute, she said.

For the first time ever, she kept a journal of her travails along the trail, even though the memories are vividly etched in her mind.

"There was no lighted, warm exam room," she said with a laugh. "We had head lamps, were bundled up in the cold."

At the Unalakleet checkpoint on the coast of the Bering Sea, the wind-chill was minus 85 degrees Fahrenheit.

"IT DEFINITELY improved my veterinary skills a huge amount," said Barker, who works at Alpine Animal Hospital near Whitefish. "We were looking for subtle things, and listening to their hearts and lungs, you get good at pickup of those subtleties. It's a good skill builder."

Sled dogs burn about 10,000 calories a day and maintain their stamina by eating several small meals of high-quality kibble. Their diet on the Iditarod trail is supplemented with meat such as fish, seal and beaver.

"Hydration is so important," Barker said. "They lose a tremendous amount [of water] through their mouths, and don't get the signals of thirst" in the cold climate.

Just as people tend to prefer different foods depending on the weather, dogs have their preferences, too, she explained. Mushers often have to "bait" the dogs with water-rich snacks to keep them fully hydrated.

"It's a science, really," she added.

Four sled dogs died during the Iditarod this year.

"The things we're really watching for are signs of pneumonia, heart arrhythmia or if a dog lays down in harness," Barker said.

If a dog "burps up food" and then aspirates it, pneumonia can set in rapidly and can be fatal within a few hours.

Cardiomyopathy in sled dogs is typical to the disease in humans, she said, adding that it's a heart problem undetectable beforehand.

Dogs get complete examinations prior to the race, including electrocardiograms, blood workups and thyroid checks. And just as Olympic athletes are subjected to drug-testing, Iditarod sled dogs take random drug tests along the trail.

"It [drug use] has never been a problem in the past and it wasn't this year, but they want the sport to be above reproach," she said. "It's very proactive."

Although antibiotics can be given to dogs during the race, pain relievers are forbidden.

"Mushers are so in tune with their dogs, they catch things very early and have us check them," she said. "I was amazed at how the dogs handle injury and heal."

Dogs treated with noninvasive procedures such as massage, heat and liniments usually recoup - "350 miles later, they look great," she said.

"If we cannot find a reason why a dog is not performing, they will drop them," Barker continued. "Mushers are much more willing to drop dogs and err on the side of caution."

Mushers coach the dogs to keep them "happy and healthy" and focused on the race, but as the grueling trek wears on and sleep deprivation sets in, mushers sometimes need a little encouragement, too.

Barker recalled the veteran female musher who arrived at Safety - the last checkpoint before the finish line 22 miles away in Nome - with concerns that her dog team could go no farther. She considered scrapping the final leg of the race, but the team of veterinarians worked with the dogs, then with the musher, assuring her "you can do this."

As the musher left Safety, two other teams instinctively sensed the overwhelming fatigue of both the distressed musher and her team, and "sandwiched" her between them.

"Dogs will often follow when they won't lead anymore," Barker said. "Our crew was listening to the radio … and when we heard them say three mushers had come in together, we raised the roof. We could see we made a little difference at the checkpoint. It was a great victory for that musher."

That sense of all-for-one and one-for-all was extremely gratifying for Barker. And this won't be her last Iditarod.

"I'll do it again. You make fantastic friends and you're immediately a family," she said. "You go from strangers to family in a matter of hours.

"And to know the dogs you cared for made it under the burled arch in Nome, well, that's a great feeling."

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by e-mail at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.