The First Times Are Always the Hardest.

For Magsy, to counteract her Senseless day.

Summary: Bob Fraser teaches young Ben to drive a dog team.

Rating: G

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, you know who does.

Author's note: This is set the winter before Ben meets Quinn.  I say this because the Ben here is a little like the one shown in "Easy Money", as in, knowing what is good for himself as if no one else does.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated at atikkane@online.emich.edu and uberpest@hotmail.com

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"Okay, son, all you have to do is hold on. Push when you go up a hill, brake on the way down," Bob Fraser lectured to his son, though he knew Ben wasn't listening

Bob pet the leader of the team, Trader, one of the oldest dogs around. The Frasers kept only the hardest working dogs, but Trader, though fifteen and nearly blind, had the luxury of full retirement benefits. A warm house, full bowl and all the time a dog could want to laze.

"Dad," Ben started, "Why do I have to run the old dogs? They don't give me any speed to work with."

"You'll take Trader. He'll do the job."

Little did Ben know. If it hadn't been for Trader, Ben wouldn't be around either. Bob had been tracking a criminal through a densely wooded area that opened onto a lake.

He'd pulled up the team to look at a small speck on the ice's surface. He stepped out on the ice without first checking the thickness. A rookie mistake, but one that nearly cost him his life.

He sunk, the clothes soaking water like a sponge. Trader saved him. As Bob fell through the ice, he yelled. Somehow Trader *knew* something was wrong. Luck had it that Bob always tied a rope on his wrist, so while sleeping on the sled he wouldn't be left behind should he fall. Trader jerked the team to their feet, pulling Bob out.

He snapped back to the lesson on hand.

"So now what I want you to do is take them around the trapping loop. Don't worry about getting lost. Trader knows the way home. Now, what do you do going up a hill?"

"Push," Ben answered in an insolent tone.

"And down?"

"Drag your heels."

"And?"

"Hold on."

"Remember, the trail goes up that hill, west about three miles, then it'll curve right back here."

"I know, Dad, I've walked this trail at least a hundred times."

"Okay, okay. Just tell them to go."

The glee was evident in Ben's face. He was *finally* being treated like a man. "Okay guys, let's go!"

Immediately the dogs jerked forward, nearly ripping the handle bar from Ben's grip.

Bob shook his head at the cloud of fine power rising behind the team. The boy would be learning the hard way on lots of things. This was just the first but, he'd be a better man for it in the end.

Ben started up the slope, pushing gently with one leg. As the dogs curved around a bend in the trail, they floundered in a drift.

<They're too old to get away. I'll just let go for a bit, then they'll get through this more easily.>

As soon as Ben's hands left the sled, the dogs bolted ahead. Realizing what was happening, he leaped for the sled, missing by a hair's width. He fell, cracking his chin on the board for the brake.

"Whoa! Whoa, guys! Please!"

Instantly the dogs slowed, turning to see what they had done. Each one wearing a giant doggie grin.

Ben stood up, shook off the snow and stepped on the runners to the sled. "Okay, Trader, take us home."

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The team came loping up to the cabin as they had gone out- at a dead run. Ben stopped, expertly set the snow hook and walked to his father.

Bob looked at his son's face, noting the blood streak. "So, do you still think the guys are too old for a good run?"

"No, Dad," Ben beamed, "They were great. They ran well, did everything I asked, and knew just what to do!"

"That's great," he put his hand on his son's shoulder and together they moved to unhook the dogs. "Next time we'll try it with more than three dogs."