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.