The day I saw the Yakutian laika working... for real.

If you already live with a Yakutian Laika — or at least follow me here — you already know that this is no ordinary breed. The Yakutian was born for work. In its origins, it did a little bit of everything: it helped with reindeer herding, gave the alert when something was wrong, assisted in hunting, provided companionship, and, of course, pulled sleds over long distances. A true "multi-tasking dog".

And then comes the question that everyone's asking (and that I, as a breeder here in Brazil, ask myself all the time): how do you offer work to a working dog in a tropical country, without snow, reindeer, or sleds? And with a major problem – the temperature, which isn't ideal for sports. We love the breed, we study it, we dedicate ourselves… but the challenge is always there, barking right in front of us.

Even when practicing canicross — more for fun than serious training, if I'm being honest — I always had the feeling that they could do more. After all, we're talking about dogs bred to pull sleds much heavier than themselves, for absurdly long distances… and now they have to settle for pulling a huge sled for a few kilometers (poor things 😅).

Over time and through living with them, we found interesting ways to challenge them: traction equipment, accessories to increase effort during running, treadmills, and other adaptations. But something still bothered me. I felt that we still needed to better understand what "work" really means for this breed.

It's no secret that, here, Yaks have ended up assuming an equally noble role: that of being our most loyal companions. They are by our side every day, they participate in our routine, they are part of the family, they change our lives. But, deep down, there's always that nagging doubt… what about all this incredible potential they carry? Where does it go? How can I stimulate it? How can I help each Yak express its best self, even living in Brazil, so far from the scenario for which the breed was actually created?

I still don't have 100% of those answers (in fact, not even 30%), but that's exactly why, when I learned I was going to France—a country with many kennels and, more than that, with a very vibrant work culture—something sparked inside me. I needed to seize this opportunity to get to know these kennels up close, see how they live the breed on a daily basis, and understand, in practice, how the Yakutian continues to be the functional Yakutian, even outside of Yakutia.

And that's how, in the city of Nevers, France, I met two simply incredible people, deeply dedicated to their work and sport with Yakutian Laikas: Victoire, from the Polar Souls kennel, and Pauline, from the Reborn Promises team. We spent two days together, and I was able not only to observe but to experience firsthand the routine of a team that actually pulls sleds through the French forests—yes, even as a tourist activity (I'll leave their contact information below for anyone who wants to experience this too!). More than just welcoming me with open arms, they were extremely generous, kind, and patient, talking to me with great transparency and explaining things that, until then, I simply couldn't understand about the true meaning of the work for this breed.

Vic, Pauline, me, and the dogs.

I spent a whole day with them. And what a day, my friends… so intense! So much so that EVEN I worked (to shut up everyone who thinks I don't work 😅).

We started early, taking some dogs for a walk through the woods. The idea was to get to know the terrain, understand the route and, of course, remove obstacles along the way. The important detail: it had rained for a whole week. The result? Trails completely muddy, slippery, in some places with huge puddles worthy of an Indiana Jones movie. But, with great pride, I report that I survived the walk without falling once. You can applaud, please, in the comments.

In the afternoon, we returned to the park, and that's when the part I was most eager to see up close began. The adapted cart came into play—pulled by the dogs exactly like a sled. Imagine how heavy it was! Just the cart itself, without anyone in it, is already incredibly heavy; thank goodness it has wheels! The brakes work the same way as a bicycle brake, and it also has a steering system that guides the front axle of the wheels to help the cart turn without tipping over.

We then started lining up the dogs to work. And let me tell you something: it takes a lot of work to organize a team of dogs to pull correctly. It all starts with warming up. To avoid any kind of injury, the dogs need to be well prepared before they start pulling. So it's chasing a ball, running to follow us, free running… basically, running for the sake of running, because they love it and their muscles get warmed up in the process. Only after that do we put on the harness , the specific chest harness for pulling, designed precisely to allow the effort without hurting the dog.

From there, each pair is connected to the line—always starting with the two dogs in front. This is essential to prevent the line from becoming a complete mess. As this process progresses, the dogs' excitement only increases. It's impossible not to notice how much they want to be there, how happy, motivated, and eager they are to begin. For them, work is pure joy. All this preparation takes between half an hour and forty minutes. Only after checking that everyone is okay, aligned, and truly ready to run and pull, does it get to us: sit in the cart, take a deep breath… and simply enjoy the view.

Here, more than talking about technique, equipment, or training, I need to talk about how I felt . Because nothing I experienced that day can be explained solely by rational explanations. In fact, even if there is a rational explanation, it wasn't a rational experience for me.

I've spent the last three years of my life living intensely with this breed. Those were years studying the Yakutian Laika, not just as a lover, but going deeper and deeper: biomechanics of movement, history, function, purpose. I read, watched videos, absorbed information… but even so, I had never experienced something so powerful, so real. I had never, in fact, witnessed the full potential of these dogs in action.

In the first minute of the ride, I was truly moved. Because there, everything that had previously been just text somewhere, or a video recorded by someone else, suddenly took on a body, sound, smell, and feeling. I felt it, and it was the wind on my face. I felt the power of those dogs pulling the cart. I saw with my own eyes the initial movement, the effort to overcome inertia, and then the more economical trot, designed to conserve energy. I noticed the pace slowing down on the uphills, speeding up on the downhills. Nothing was random. Everything made sense.

I saw dogs working as a team. Collaborating. Communicating without words. And there, finally, I truly understood the reason for the breed's friendly temperament. That's not by chance—it's necessity. It's survival in a group. It's the purest function.

And when the walk was about to end, it was already night, unable to see the path ahead and completely trusting the dogs to take us back, I understood something even deeper: the so-called "stubbornness" and intelligence of the Yakutian Laika. It's not stubbornness, it's autonomy. It's decision-making. It's responsibility.

Centuries and centuries of selective breeding have gone into making these dogs behave exactly like this today. And now I'm not just a student anymore: I'm a witness.

I can say, without any hesitation, that this was the most impressive experience I've ever had with the breed—both as an enthusiast and as a breeder. One of those days that will never be forgotten. One of those days that changes the way you see everything from then on. I can say that my breeding experience is divided into before the sled and after the sled. This was, without a doubt, a day that will never be forgotten.

I really want to talk about a simply amazing dog: Kitsune . She has already shone in shows, received excellent evaluations, and at the same time, is part of the sled dog team. But that's not all—she's not just "participating." Kitsune leads. She understands the commands, guides the other dogs, and keeps the team cohesive. And there was a moment that deeply affected me: at the end of the ride, already at night, in the total darkness of the forest, it was Kitsune who drove the sled back to the park's parking lot… completely without commands. There, it became impossible not to understand, in practice, what instinct, work, and a true connection with what she was born to do really mean.

Another dog that needs to be highlighted here is Hikko . My God… what a dog . Calling him a “dog” might even be an understatement. Hikko is an engine, a true traction machine. Everything about him seems to exist to favor the best execution of the work. As soon as the harness is put on, he transforms. His movements become powerful, firm, almost millimetrically precise. You can feel from afar the absurd motivation he carries. And, in fact, it's not just him—all the dogs seem to really want to do that.

And I know someone might be wondering, "But how do you know they want it?" The most honest answer I can give is: I can't explain it. I just know. Go there, live the experience, and you'll understand exactly what I'm talking about. They are highly motivated, they work in a coordinated way as if they had been rehearsed, and more than accepting the work, they ask for it. They ask to pull. They ask to run.

And for those who believe this type of practice is mistreatment, it's important to say: at the slightest sign of pain, discomfort, disability, or even if a dog seems "entangled" in the equipment, the walk simply stops. The humans check on the dogs. This happened several times. They stopped, observed, adjusted, and assessed. The dogs showed no sign of pain or suffering—and, modesty aside, I believe I understand dogs a little; I would know if they were suffering.

When they're not connected to the power line, they're simply dogs. They dig, chase balls, hunt birds, play. They live. And what a life they live. I dare say, without fear, that they have much more health, balance, and vitality than many "couch potato and Netflix" dogs out there (and if the shoe fits, blame yourself and don't blame me).

This trip completely changed the way I look at my dogs. And, without any exaggeration, it also changed the way I see the breed. Yakutian Laikas have immense potential: they are incredibly intelligent, strong, versatile—but, above all, functional . Nothing about them is by chance.

I want to express my immense gratitude to Victoire and Pauline for this incredibly generous, intense, and transformative experience. It was a privilege to live through all of this alongside you. I returned home with my head full of ideas and my heart restless, wanting to better organize myself here to do more for our Brazilian Yaks. I want to study, test, adapt, and find real ways to experience even more of what this breed has to offer. I will work hard for this… so, stay tuned for the next chapters.

And for those of you who have a Yakutian Laika as a companion dog at home, I leave you with a heartfelt reflection: it's very easy to neglect this breed. They adapt to us, to the routine we offer, to the space we give them. And this makes it all too easy to fall into a comfort zone and not offer enough exercise, enough challenges, enough purpose. But it's always worth remembering: these dogs were not bred to spend their lives on the couch. They were bred to work, run, pull. To carry more than twice their own weight. To endure, think, decide.

So, the next time you look at your Yak by your side—your companion, your friend—try to see him also through the story he carries. Maybe that will change a little how you play with him, how you exercise with him… or simply how you admire him. And sometimes, that's exactly what they need: to be seen in their entirety. 💙

If you go to France and want to have this experience, contact Victorie on Instagram at @polarsoul.yakutian.laika.