‘Pale Pony Express’ by Lulu Keating

The little girl asks me for the story. Her blonde ringlets hang to her shoulders. She’s old enough to hear the truth. I reel myself back, return to the woman I was before she took root.

It had been twenty days since we’d talked about it. Time was running out. 
I suggested, “Let’s take a run down to the Pale Pony.”
That’s what we called Whitehorse.
Rory said, “We only got two days off. You wanna spend six hours each day drivin’?”
“Five,” I told him, “if you let me behind the wheel.” He won’t. 

Even when you live offgrid, word gets around. The law of the north is that you can’t refuse to help others. They came to us with their lists. Sandy needed a fan for his stove and a hard drive. Rebecca needed pasties for her burlesque. Sarah needed roofing nails. Really, Sarah? Your roof is under three feet of snow. 

We were ready to go when Katrina pulled in, blocking us. The bed of her pickup truck had a custom-built dog carrier. Three dogs stuck their heads out of round cubbyholes.
Katrina won’t get to it right away. She introduced the dogs. 
“Nobody will adopt them until they’re fixed.” 
She’d go herself but she’s too busy at the shelter. 
“It’s all lined up at the vet clinic.”
She held out the truck keys.