Bob's phone call (In the Beginning-post #1) was a catalyst that changed my life.
At this time, in the evolution of the K-9 program at the international corporation where I was employed as a security officer, the focus was on patrol dog training. A new head of security had changed that focus just prior to the events that I am about to unfold, emphasizing explosive detection dogs and eliminating the fighting dog aspect of the K-9 division. This had apparently produced a form of quiet chaos within the K-9 unit as a whole. It is, after all, a simple matter to state that "we are now bomb dog trainers"...it is another matter entirely to begin an un familiar training process much less to grasp the ramifications of working with explosive materials and going into a place to look for a bomb when every other sane person is 300 meters away waiting to see what happens to the crazy bomb dog guy!
So...I get this phone call from the manager of the K-9 division (a worthy dude named "Kevin") and he asks me to come to his office. This happens about 2 hours after Bob leaves my security post and I have to ask my supervisor for permission to go to Kevin's office. I have to admit that I had no idea what I had done wrong (or right) to be invited to this meeting and I was nervous about being in the same room with an "UPPER ECHELON", I had heard horror stories about such "interviews". Kevin came to the point quickly; asking me in the first minute I was with him if I wanted to be a bomb dog handler. I said that it sounded interesting...at least that is what my mouth said, my heart screamed incoherently with what I hoped was joy! I really was bewildered by this turn of fortune, I did not understand just how profound this moment was to be in my life but I knew that it ignited an enthusiasm in my soul that was never to fade or grow dim in the next 28 years. I did manage to ask the piercing and incisive question "Why me?" and Kevin kindly referred me to the few moments that I spent with Bob and K-9 Belle. He seemed impressed all out of proportion with the information that I had given Bob about Belle being in heat, and I told him so. He informed me that the level of dog knowledge ( a term you will hear me use a lot!) within the K-9 division was sparse at best and that with the change over to bomb dog training it was a good time to "change gears" within the K-9 division.
I took the offer.
Two days later I reported to the K-9 division headquarters. This was comprised of an office/locker room and indoor/outdoor kennel building with 10 kennel units all of which were full. I was surprised at the number of dogs (10) in training as I had only seen two or three deployed on a daily basis. I was in for a series of surprises! Surprise number 1...Seven of the dogs in the kennel were "donations" and were to be trained as bomb dogs as soon as possible. None of them had been tested for working ability or temperament. Surprise #2...No one thought this a strange way to do business. Surprise #3...Three of the afore mentioned seven dogs seemed to be grumpy, at best. Surprise # 4...the training consisted of a mish-mash of information gleaned from police and military sources, some of it 40 years old! Surprise # 5...my foreman asked me to put a collar and leash on a dog that I would term "exceedingly grumpy!!!" and "show him my stuff" I ripped off a silent and very brief prayer and jumped into deep water (figuratively speaking, of course). As it turned out, "Tooky", a 4 year old German Shepherd Dog female, and I got along famously. I think my foreman was a trifle disappointed but I have never been sure. This incident again seemed to be blown out of proportion as it was related to the other 6 dog handlers in the division. It did seem to cement my reputation as a "dog guy" and I was accepted into a fairly exclusive group of officers without further nonsense. Surprise # 6...the dogs that I had seen working around the corporation campus were not, strictly speaking, fully trained in any discipline but were "visual deterrents". The bulk of the bomb dog training was yet to be. Surprise # 7 (a good one!) I was assigned to work with Bob on the graveyard shift (lots of training time and opportunity) with the strict command (plea really) to turn out "two fully deployable bomb dogs" in three months time and, as you will see, despite some daunting challenges and a few non-believers, that is what we did.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The Ten Commandments of Dog Training
The Ten Commandments of Dog Training
1. Every dog must receive 5 times as much praise as discipline...this is a minimum, some dogs will require a higher ratio in order to maintain the dog at an appropriate learning level.
2. A verbal command will be given once and then the command will be physically re-enforced in a gently and firm manner.
3. It must be more pleasurable to obey than to disobey and, conversely, it must be more unpleasant to disobey than to obey.
4. Never allow a puppy to do, as a puppy, what you will not allow him to do as an adult.
5. Be consistent! A dog cannot understand discipline given after the fact. Reserve disciplinary action for when it is concurrent with undesirable behavior.
6. The dog is our friend. We will not use force except to establish pack hierarchy and then only that amount of force that is required to obtain compliance.
7. Do not give a command you cannot enforce.
8. Never call a dog to discipline.
9. Expect obedience. Your posture, eye contact and tone of voice should indicate confidence in your dogs ability to perform the task you ask of him.
10. Never command in anger or frustration.
Monday, January 10, 2011
In the Beginning
I was gonna be a doctor. Yep, I loved science and blood and guts and everything! So, how does an earnest seeker of the life of medicine end up as an internationally certified bomb dog judge and instructor who also trains anybody else that has interest in my brand of psychological canine makeover?
Weird story.
I discovered rather early that I preferred a little more adrenaline in my life than classroom study and I liked telling people what to do (this is a common theme you will recognize throughout my "tails"). I also have had a fascination with dogs ever since I can remember. I did not, however, grow up in a dog loving family. My family is full of love and warmth...just no dogs. When I was 16 I made some comment, I don't remember exactly what it was, that caused my parents to succumb to feelings of guilt and (unbelievably) buy me an eight week old Black Labrador Retriever puppy that I immediately christened "Bo". Original? Probably not. I didn't care, I had a dog! Finally. Here begins a journey that would ultimately take over my life.
I still, at this point , wanted to be a doctor. My school days were filled with science and writing classes. After school Bo waited to be "trained". I didn't know what I was doing. I am a thoroughly demented waterfowler and wanted Bo to be the kind of dog I saw on the Kurt Goudy hunting program on TV. I would shoot the ducks and he would retrieve them for me. That was the dream. It was a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. There seemed to be hundreds of books that purported to be THE WAY to train my dog. I read them all, I swear...or at least most of them. After months of work and screaming vile names at Bo, the training dummy, and anyone who was foolish enough to criticize what I was attempting, Bo retrieved his first duck!! Spectacular! Extraordinary! There are no words to describe my elation as I watched my dog do what I had trained him to do. I was hooked. But...now I wanted to be a cop. Life is so strange.
I ended up being hired as a security officer at a large, international corporation. 10 months into a relatively boring job (standing post as a security officer is not exciting...usually. When it is exciting it can be insane, but usually, no) A fellow officer who worked in the K-9 division pulled up in his truck. This visit was one of the high points of my day as it gave me a chance to shmooze with a real live dog handler and pet his "bomb dog". Awesome! On this particular day, however, the dog handler, whom we will call Bob (heh, heh), was not in the best of moods. I asked him why he seemed a bit cranky and he told me that his dog, "Belle", a beautiful black Lab female, had really started to go downhill in her performance during their training sessions. I expressed condolences and not a little curiosity as to the cause of this unusual behavior and Bob confessed to being stumped. Bob and I had talked dogs on several occasions before this so he knew of my experience with Bo and now "Loma", and that I was fairly well read as to dog training material and had assisted several other folks to train their retrievers as duck dogs. He also knew that I thought he had the ideal job. Bob asked me, rather casually, if I would be willing to look at Belle and render any opinion that I might have. I said I would be happy to do that (duh!) and he let Belle out of the back of the truck. Now this dog was a black Lab out of Alaskan bloodlines and, as I mentioned, she was beautiful. She did seem to be quieter than usual, even sluggish, as she approached me for a pet (I had often spent 5 to 10 minutes spoiling her with treats and lovin' prior to this occasion) and I wondered if she were ill. I asked if Bob had taken Belle to the vet and he told me he had not but was considering doing just that if she didn't perk up soon. At this point I am examining the dog and it is suddenly obvious to me that she is in heat! A lot. I must have looked a little strange because Bob asked me what was wrong. I asked him if he knew that his dog was in heat. He looked a little bewildered at this question and asked me how I could tell. I showed him. He looked at me, I looked at him. "That would explain a lot", said Bob and we both burst out laughing. I can't help but wonder if Belle was offended by our boorish behavior. Bob put Belle back in the truck with a light heart and waved good bye as he drove away and I went back to my job. I did not know that Bob was making a phone call that was going to change my life forever.
Weird story.
I discovered rather early that I preferred a little more adrenaline in my life than classroom study and I liked telling people what to do (this is a common theme you will recognize throughout my "tails"). I also have had a fascination with dogs ever since I can remember. I did not, however, grow up in a dog loving family. My family is full of love and warmth...just no dogs. When I was 16 I made some comment, I don't remember exactly what it was, that caused my parents to succumb to feelings of guilt and (unbelievably) buy me an eight week old Black Labrador Retriever puppy that I immediately christened "Bo". Original? Probably not. I didn't care, I had a dog! Finally. Here begins a journey that would ultimately take over my life.
I still, at this point , wanted to be a doctor. My school days were filled with science and writing classes. After school Bo waited to be "trained". I didn't know what I was doing. I am a thoroughly demented waterfowler and wanted Bo to be the kind of dog I saw on the Kurt Goudy hunting program on TV. I would shoot the ducks and he would retrieve them for me. That was the dream. It was a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. There seemed to be hundreds of books that purported to be THE WAY to train my dog. I read them all, I swear...or at least most of them. After months of work and screaming vile names at Bo, the training dummy, and anyone who was foolish enough to criticize what I was attempting, Bo retrieved his first duck!! Spectacular! Extraordinary! There are no words to describe my elation as I watched my dog do what I had trained him to do. I was hooked. But...now I wanted to be a cop. Life is so strange.
I ended up being hired as a security officer at a large, international corporation. 10 months into a relatively boring job (standing post as a security officer is not exciting...usually. When it is exciting it can be insane, but usually, no) A fellow officer who worked in the K-9 division pulled up in his truck. This visit was one of the high points of my day as it gave me a chance to shmooze with a real live dog handler and pet his "bomb dog". Awesome! On this particular day, however, the dog handler, whom we will call Bob (heh, heh), was not in the best of moods. I asked him why he seemed a bit cranky and he told me that his dog, "Belle", a beautiful black Lab female, had really started to go downhill in her performance during their training sessions. I expressed condolences and not a little curiosity as to the cause of this unusual behavior and Bob confessed to being stumped. Bob and I had talked dogs on several occasions before this so he knew of my experience with Bo and now "Loma", and that I was fairly well read as to dog training material and had assisted several other folks to train their retrievers as duck dogs. He also knew that I thought he had the ideal job. Bob asked me, rather casually, if I would be willing to look at Belle and render any opinion that I might have. I said I would be happy to do that (duh!) and he let Belle out of the back of the truck. Now this dog was a black Lab out of Alaskan bloodlines and, as I mentioned, she was beautiful. She did seem to be quieter than usual, even sluggish, as she approached me for a pet (I had often spent 5 to 10 minutes spoiling her with treats and lovin' prior to this occasion) and I wondered if she were ill. I asked if Bob had taken Belle to the vet and he told me he had not but was considering doing just that if she didn't perk up soon. At this point I am examining the dog and it is suddenly obvious to me that she is in heat! A lot. I must have looked a little strange because Bob asked me what was wrong. I asked him if he knew that his dog was in heat. He looked a little bewildered at this question and asked me how I could tell. I showed him. He looked at me, I looked at him. "That would explain a lot", said Bob and we both burst out laughing. I can't help but wonder if Belle was offended by our boorish behavior. Bob put Belle back in the truck with a light heart and waved good bye as he drove away and I went back to my job. I did not know that Bob was making a phone call that was going to change my life forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)