Forget the freezing wastelands of Siberia and Alaska, howling huskies have become a familiar sound in a York suburb. MATTHEW WOODCOCK faces his fear of dogs and meets York's husky racers in the wilds of Dalby Forest

I WAS 13 and helping my school friend Nick with a paper-round. We were on our last street in Bootham when I walked up another driveway.

Before reaching the letterbox a large, black mongrel burst out of the back door and attacked me. I was knocked on to my back and the dog proceeded to bite and scratch at my chest. All I could do was scream and fight to keep it from my face.

Before long the owner ran out and kicked the dog off me. Luckily, I escaped with a few small scars. The real pain was having to drop my trousers in front of Nick's mum at the hospital for a tetanus jab.

Understandably, I've been terrified of dogs ever since, so the thought of racing a pack of slavering huskies in Dalby Forest filled me with dread. Somehow I found it difficult to believe that they "wouldn't hurt a fly" as these dogs are basically wolves with a collar on. But husky fanatic Brian House, who has a family-run gym in York, was a calming presence.

The 64-year-old former body-building champion needs every bit of strength to hang on to his three beautiful Kovalska Siberian huskies, Ice, Lenka and Varna.

He is a familiar sight in the streets around his Dringhouses home as he walks the dogs five times a day to keep them fit for the racing season.

"Huskies have got reliability, speed and endurance - racing is what they're bred to do," says Brian, a member of the Siberian Husky Club of Great Britain.

Dozens of teams from across North Yorkshire, including those based at Kirk Hammerton and Moor Monkton, descend on Dalby Forest during the winter to compete in races.

A three-wheeled sled - known as a rigg - is pulled by two, four, six or eight huskies around courses of between four and eight miles.

The three husky race breeds are: Alaskan Malamutes, which are slow but have great stamina; Samoyeds, which are fast and steady, and Siberian Huskies - the Ferrari Testarossa of the sport. They can reach speeds of up to 34mph.

Husky racing is being introduced to the Winter Olympics for the first time in 2006 and has gained a strong following in Yorkshire.

"Steady, girls, you're pulling my arms off," sais Brian as he and fellow racer Phil Stephenson walked along a forest path to warm up the dogs and get them used to me. I hung back and smiled nervously at Phil's 19-month-old Siberian husky, Timba, every time he turned to look at me - which was often.

Phil and his wife Tania are still in mourning after being forced to put down their beloved Siberian, Nanook. Husky owners forge a tight bond with their dogs because of the amount of time and dedication needed to keep them. It seems they take over your life.

"We're putting Nanook's ashes on the mantelpiece so he is with us all the time," Phil says. "He was our first baby - a massive part of the family."

Both Brian and Phil have amassed huge collections of husky memorabilia, including car stickers - "On the eighth day God created Huskies" - plates and paintings.

The pair are regular husky T-shirt wearers and Tania has just had a tattoo of the breed put on her lower back. Husky mad is an understatement.

Watching Brian race was a thrilling sight, if slightly sickening at the thought of trying it myself. The howls were deafening before he set off as the four pulling dogs went wild at the prospect.

"They want to be away," he tells me. "Huskies will run themselves until they drop."

And then they were gone in a chaotic blur, Brian shouting "hike!" - meaning "go" - repeatedly at the top of his voice.

The lead dog acts as the rudder to calls of "haw" (left) "gee" (right); worryingly, there was no word for "stop".

I had heard of the call "mush", but Phil says this is only used in films and is actually the name of the team driver.

After running a three-mile course flat out the dogs were tired enough for me to try it.

"Hang on for dear life and don't fall off," Brian advised as two Malamutes, Sky and Kia, belonging to Driffield racers, John and Kay Botterill, were fastened to my rigg. I had visions of veering off the path and ending up on the A64, unable to stop. Our headline would read: "Press man in runaway husky horror".

In reality, it was great fun and very fast. I forgot all the proper calls and settled for screaming at the top of my voice until John stopped the dogs at the end of the path.

After persuading him to let me go again, I felt confident enough to tentatively stroke Sky and Kia on the head. We were a team.

I was grateful to Brian and his crew, they had carried me up the first rung of the fear ladder. When you have spent the day with a pack of wolf dogs, the prospect of the occasional Jack Russell or Springer Spaniel sniffing my crotch wasn't so scary.

Long live huskies!

Updated: 15:55 Friday, June 27, 2003