The Day When Ski Touring With Our Dog Went Disastrously Wrong

It was early in December, after an early epic snowfall to kick start the season, that our beautiful Husky/Collie cross had a catastrophic accident, while ski touring with us in Serre Chevalier.

We've ski toured with dogs for years, taking our two very hardy Jack Russells on many a backcountry trip. They may be small but they're mighty strong - and super smart - very quickly learning the crucial trick of always staying behind us, especially with their short legs, following in our ski tracks up the hill and down so we never had to worry about skiing into them. Read all about our ski tours with these incredible Rando Chiens, here.

But they are now over 10 years old and, these days, more sofa surfers than ski tourers.

Ullr (named after the Norse god of Snow), though, is totally different when it comes to touring. He's pretty bright and super sensitive - I'm just saying this to highlight the fact that he's easy to train. But he is a long-legged highly-energetic dog with a Husky heritage that makes snow his natural element. He likes to race all over the place not minding the deep snow, rather than follow the Jack Russell code of ski touring by staying behind in our tracks. In truth, you never knew if he was behind or going to leap ahead, but a quick command would always keep him in check.

He'd already been ski touring at a year old, nothing too strenuous, but enough to get him aware of our skis, with Beanie, the younger of our Jack Russells back then still able to show him the Jack Russell way, keeping in the tracks.

But dogs are not machines, which is why skiing with them, especially young dogs, means always being on high alert - and in control as in able to turn or stop to avoid contact.

By two years old he was a fully-fledged powder hound, loving being with us in the snow on ski tours. 

Our ski tour, that day in December, was actually up the resort pistes. But it was early season, before the lifts had opened so we had the ungroomed area to ourselves. We were joined by a friend who also had a young Collie, so the dogs were hooning around together in the fresh snow.

It was at the start of the descent from Cucumelle, that Ullr cut in front of our friend in a powder-filled dip - and the worst happened. Contact with the skis. It was an accident, an awful accident. But the tendons of Ullr's left hind leg were sliced open. He had to be carried down the mountain (no mean feat as he's 25 kilos), dripping blood from his hind leg. At Le Bez, we had a van waiting to whisk him to the vets.

Ullr was immediately sedated and operated on to sew his severed tendons together. Our friend was mortified by what had happened and insisted on paying for the operation, which was around €200.

There then followed six weeks of recovery for Ullr while his leg was made immobile in a splint with a Robert Jones bandage. I'm not sure if dogs get depressed but as I said he's a sensitive soul and for the first week, he would sit and stare miserably at the mountains from our apartment window.

But he was young and having the high energy of both his parents as in Collie and Husky, he soon became more animated, turning into a very frustrated but surprisingly mobile three-legged dog hopping around while confined to our apartment and terrace for exercise. - and then longer walks on the lead

In fact, it soon became obvious that he preferred three legs to using his damaged one, becoming very reluctant to put his leg down. After four weeks we feared it wasn't right. Our misgivings were confirmed when, after the six weeks recovery period, the vet took the bandaging off and, with a sad shake of his head, declared that the tendons had retracted rather than joining together. It was heart breaking news, to know that our lively snow-loving dog would never ski tour again. 

But there was a faint ray of hope. There is a vet in Gap, about an hour from us, who has worked with Noel Fitzpatrick, the Supervet, and has mastered many of his techniques including creating a carbon prosthetic to bionically connect bone and tendons.

It was a long shot but we would have tried anything whatever the price - and the price turned out to be remarkably reasonable. We took him in the morning for an afternoon operation and picked him up that evening. It was around €1500. It would have been twice that in the UK with 2-3 days staying at the vets and aftercare appointments.

And, no, we didn't have insurance - in France it's nearly always cheaper to just settle the really reasonable vet bills, should they arise rather than monthly insurance payments over many years.

The French Supervet didn't require any follow ups. He told us not to expect more than 70 percent recovery in the first year - and bid us goodbye armed with ketamine to get Ullr through the next couple of days. He, also, said that under no circumstances was Ulllr to lick his surgical wound as any infection would be a catastrophe.

So doped up the his eyeballs, wearing a blow-up collar to stop him reaching his hind leg, with a bald butt on his left side where he'd been shaved for the op, Ullr was a broken dog in spirit as well as body, staring blankly while grieving for his four legs and freedom. And, feeling his pain and sadness, we were pretty low, ourselves.

The operation was at the end of January. There followed four weeks of complete rest, ice packs, physiotherapy and, then, gentle exercise. Slowly, slowly he came back to us, his happy nature resurfacing. The day Ullr put his left foot down tentatively onto the snow, even though it was without bearing weight, it was like the best day. But we didn't dare celebrate. It was a small step for canine-kind.

Then day by day he used his left leg more until, amazingly over the next six months, he improved in leaps and bounds.

Literally. 

He didn't get to 70 percent recovery; he fully recovered. 

And so, the next winter after a decent snowfall, we headed to the Col du Lautaret for the first ski tour of the season with Ullr in the van. And I admit that I was a tad nervous about skiing with Ullr. Had he learnt his lesson?

Had we?

As we headed to the Col du Galibier we were the first up the hill, so Gav had to manfully break trail. By always getting in line behind Gav, our Jacks not only stayed safe but also reduced their energy expenditure (which, of course, is why I'm also happy for Gav to lead the way!). But not Ullr. He was running like a loon, breaking his own trail zigzagging across the mountain. 

His leg, though, was looking as good as new but after around 400m vertical, he finally remembered the Jack Russell rule and started following our track, obviously tiring in the deep powder so we decided to transition. And that's when we put our plan into action.

While Gav descended for a half a dozen powder turns I held Ullr by his harness. He wailed like a banshee until I let him go and then tore like a demon through the powder downhill after Gav. And repeat for around five times as we descended.

As you can see from the GoPro video, he caught up pretty quick but kept his distance until Gav stopped.

And now, at four years old, Ullr is a seasoned ski touring pro. We, also, ski in harmony with him, he watches out for our skis, we watch out for him. This is why we rarely go ski touring with others unless we can absolutely trust them to ski in complete control (not everyone we know does!) and awareness of Ullr, who's living, loving-life proof that, yes, you can teach a new dog old tricks... but sometimes accidents happen.