Sasijohan, Siberia -- As we drink our morning chai, Oleg appears at the door to ask Alyosha to help herd the deer back through the forest to the corral. The men need to select some of the strongest animals to hitch to the sleds for the long ride out to the Numto settlement; we'll be heading home, and they'll use the occasion to stock up on some supplies.

Oleg seems to avoid asking me for help, as if to say "you must be tired and would only slow things down." Sensing a challenge, I convince him otherwise, and after gulping down the chai and jam-covered bread, we're off.

Heading down the narrow forest trail, Oleg looks like a Nenets' Davy Crockett sans raccoon cap. He carries a frayed canvas knapsack over his usual brown, felt parka and an ancient hunting rifle strapped diagonally across his back. A trusty young dog runs by his side, yapping away.

Learning to herd

We move quickly and soon cross a collapsed bridge with icy planks, which can be treacherous. On our hike in, I ended up with one foot in the murky drink after slipping in this very spot. I notice the dog is limping. Poor thing, I think. Is Oleg aware the dog might have stepped on a sharp stick? No -- it turns out his leg is tied with a piece of cloth.

"A way to slow him down -- he runs too fast," Alyosha explains.

This seems odd to me, but it soon becomes clear why Oleg did it. When we spot two deer ambling nearby, the dog throws a fit and races after them, resulting in all three animals disappearing helter-skelter into the woods.

"HAAARIII!! HAAOOOO!!," Oleg calls as we try to race after them. I think this may be the Nenets' way of yelling "DAMN DOG!"

Later the little guy reappears -- and promptly gets a whupping with a handy pine branch. As he yelps and whines, Oleg extends the cloth to link another paw to the first one. This dog is learning to be a herding dog: The Nenets keep dogs for herding and hunting, not as pets.

"He sent the deer in the wrong direction, farther away, and has to learn," Oleg says matter-of-factly, before shifting his pack and rifle and moving on.

After another half-hour Oleg turns sharply right, following the trail of deer prints. Oleg follows the deer tracks in the snow, but even in summer he would know where to find them. He can't really explain how he does it, he says he just knows where they've gone. Before long we spot the elusive quarry, a dozen or so deer meandering through the woods.

As Alyosha moves to outflank this small herd and start them back, I follow Oleg and the dog toward another group Oleg insists isn't far away. Sure enough, we come upon 20 more animals within five minutes. Oleg motions for me to move further over, and we alternate making herding calls, assisted by the dog's more cautious barking. I finally prove my worth: The deer reverse direction and head back toward the corral.

It takes well over an hour for deer, humans and canine to move through patches of thick forest and open swamp to the Khanty homestead.

Clash of the titans

Once inside the corral, the deer are far more aggressive than they were the day before. I'm about to learn what "rutting" season is all about.

One enormous buck in particular seems enraged, circling through the herd with eyes bulging, making loud grunting noises and displaying his giant, pink penis. For some reason, this reminds me of the scene in Fellini's Amarcord when the crazy uncle is let out of the mental hospital for an afternoon and promptly climbs a tree to shout "I want a woman!" over and over.

Most of the other deer give this monster a wide berth. But when another large buck accepts the challenge, a mighty clash of titans ensues. The animals heave against each other, crashing heads and antlers before finally colliding with such force that both enormous bodies crash straight through the sturdy corral enclosure. The aggressive bull quickly rushes back in to shore up his conquest, but the challenger meanders through the snow, his nose dripping blood.

Amid the shouts of various herders from inside the corral, I hear Sasha call for me to run around and scare the challenger back into the pen. Having lost the battle, the buck is more subdued, and it doesn't take much effort to nudge him back in. He promptly hides behind other animals as his giant nemesis continues his aggressive rounds.

"No one else will challenge again," Alyosha says. Yet the herders still decide to saw the antlers off of both animals, along with several other bucks.

"Have to do it, otherwise they'll tear each other apart," Sasha explains.

The procedure doesn't hurt them physically, except perhaps as a blow to their reindeer pride. As one man twists the deer's head around (as cowboys do to steers), four or five others help wrestle the big monster down, where two men sit on top of the deer to hold him there. Even so, the buck still bolts up halfway through the loss of his second antler, causing it to crack off.

Within minutes he and the former challenger are back at it, bucking their antler-less heads over and over again.

If there were such a thing as a reindeer rodeo, I imagine it would be something like this.