A minimum of five hundred dogs of the same breed is a sufficient gene pool to support their own population. I ran fifteen purebred Canadian Eskimo Dogs before an accident in March 2006. At the time only three hundred existed. They’d been struggling on the endangered list for thirty years.

Greenland is different. Here there are over 20,000 working dogs. Unlike Arctic Canada, by law Greenlandic hunters use their dog teams not snowmobiles, trucks or planes. In Arctic Canada working dog-teams were prolific. The memory is now relegated to dead cultural history and rightly or wrongly that’s due to the fact that during the 1960s and 1970s the Canadian police (RCMP) were accused of slaughtering 21,000 dogs to immobilise the Canadian Inuit. Even now the controversy continues to the reason why.

For years I’d been told I should have moved to Greenland from Canada. I was still hospitalised when research findings were publicised clarifying that the Greenland Dog and Canadian Eskimo Dog populations are of exactly the same dog breed. From hospital I began my move to Greenland. Oh, by the way, if you don’t like the word ‘Eskimo’ and consider it a derogatory slur on the Canadian Inuit take it out on the Canadian Kennel Club. It’s their choice of breed title, not mine.

The Greenland Dog was brought into the country with the last major migration from Canada, the Thule Culture, around 1100 AD. In all that time Greenland’s dog population is believed to have been totally isolated from the rest of the world.

It’s illegal to import dogs above the Arctic Circle in Greenland. If a dog is flown below Greenland’s Arctic Circle it will never ever be allowed back. Why? To keep the Greenland Dog breed pure.

I own eighteen Greenland Dogs and run twelve to fourteen in a team. They despise physical and mental cowardice. Everything about them is vast and strong. They have boundless positive confidence in themselves and everything they do. They 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 centimetres thick they are the Panzer tanks of the dog world, stop at nothing and I love them dearly.

Vital
 

Loads
 

Pirate
 

Mettle
 

Girly
 

Knuckle
 

Spitz
 

 

Yogi
 

Bigness
 

Spank
 

Mikkey Dee
 

Plet
 

Cracker
 

Gibson
 
 

Frank
 

Hot Dog
 

Panzer
 

Rocker
 

Backbone
Backbone was an even sized sibling to his brother Know-How.
 

Know How
Know-How was an even sized sibling to his brother Backbone. Both were tough dogs.
 

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

Saxon
Saxon was anvil-hard, my boss dog and led in tandem with Thule. His father was eaten alive by a wolf pack. Specific aspects of his character I loved, others I did not. To other dogs he could be thug like. There was no fuss with Saxon, he would never tolerate less than maximum effort. He was a champion feeder and I never knew him to leave food or anything resembling it. His winter coat was magnificent, over twenty-two centimetres deep at it’s thickest he reminded me of a proud lion. With me Saxon loved to play and be groomed. I loved this dog as if he was human.
 

Thule
Thule was physically and mentally very strong and held down a position very few dogs thrive on. As the only pup of a litter she was used to plenty of attention and relished responsibility. That said she had her bad days. These were moments when Thule loved to push her luck and had me eating my fists.
 

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

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

Twizzle
Twizzle would get himself into an awful mess and reminded me of a little boy being where he shouldn’t be with a catapult hanging out of his pocket. As a puppy Twizzle was attacked by wolves while still on his mother’s milk, he never forgot this and always became anxious crossing wolf trails. He had the blackest of faces that made it difficult to distinguish his eyes. He reminded 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. His serious panda like face markings didn’t reflect his affectionate little ways. He would happily sit close next to me watching the world pass by.
 

Bomber (neutered)
I named Bomber 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 was very affectionate, loved to play and be close. He had a wise kind fatherly quality and I talked to him a lot.
 

Cream
Cream was my only dog to survive the March 2006 accident. He’s a sibling to Piston and Marshall. He’s an emotionally very distant dog but has a beautiful dense creamy plume like tail that pendulum bobs when he runs. I never felt sure about his mood. He just wants to be left alone to pull. I re-located Cream since no dogs born below the Greenland’s Arctic Circle are allowed in.
 

Beef
Beef came back from a 2005 North Pole journey with a torn ear that left it folded. Breed purists not especially interested in keeping the breed’s working talents alive would have pointed fingers. Ears in the breed should point erect like horns of the devil. Beef didn’t care less his didn’t. Nor did I. He was a lovely big dog with a heart of gold.