At this point in what would be a twenty-five year career I tasted fear. I was terrified that I would be asked to do a real search during a real bomb threat. I was plagued by the thought that I would do a search, miss something and someone would be hurt or, heaven forfend, killed. I did not know just how intense this feeling could get at this time in my life or I may not have gone forward. I was afraid but found that the fear did not stop me from doing my duty.
Over the years, many have commented on the ability to go into a place no sane person wants to go. Bombs scare people, a lot. Everybody is afraid of a bomb, duh! So, when you arrive with your dog at a bomb threat and you see that everyone with half a brain is 300 feet from the area of threat, and I mean everybody, you begin to know what lonely means. Those in charge look at you with solemn eyes and wish you good luck. They often tell you to "let them know what you find"...? I was pretty sure that they would know if I found anything. I fully intended to tell them what I found, loudly and hopefully without wetting myself.
There were instances where a police officer or other official accompanied me into a high risk search. I will write about these experiences later. For now it is sufficient to say that I learned to cope with my feelings. I also developed a taste for the adrenalin rush that was always a part of a high risk bomb threat. It was interesting to find out that coming off an adrenalin high isn't nearly as cool as the high itself. Continued training, (and training NEVER stops), provided a sense of confidence that served to mitigate the dread that often accompanied a deployment.
I have used the term "high risk threat". There are several different kinds of bomb sweeps. High risk threats involve a threat, usually spoken as on a phone, or written, that, when analyzed by professionals, is deemed "viable". To me this was a very scary word. Some threats are less viable and some bomb sweeps are preventative. The fact is, most of the thousands of K-9 bomb sweeps I have performed fall in the latter class. These bring there own anxiety. They are often mundane, involving the search of the same areas over and over. My nightmares often involved situations like this where something is missed in a routine search...and people die.
When my daughter was little her teachers often didn't believe her when she said her dad looked for bombs. That he was a "bomb dog guy". When they found it was the truth (what five year old is going to make that up?) they would invariably say something like, That is terrifying, Who does that, That would be too scary for me!, and, Is he insane!? The answers to these are: Yep, Me, I'm glad you don't have to, and Maybe, a little.
Bomb Dog Handler...scary, scary, scary, and fun.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Creating a "Silk Purse" from a "Sow's Ear"
When Bob and I were tasked to produce two "working explosive detection dogs" from the dogs currently available we decided to start with the dogs already assigned to us. We didn't know any better, at that time, just how important the selection of a working dog was and how it made all the difference, in the end, in what kind of bomb detection ability you had.
Nope, we just jumped in with both feet and hoped we wouldn't die.
Bob had a beautiful young black lab female named Dee and I had a squatty little yellow lab called Katie. We were assigned to the "graveyard" shift (11:00 p.m. 'til 7:00 a.m.) so that we would have the maximum amount of training time possible as well as access to as many training areas as were available at these hellish hours. Now don't get me wrong, I was thrilled to be training dogs as a professional but anyone who has worked all night, every night, knows that life can get complicated as you try and maneuver each day in a coma. Nevertheless, we swore to each other, Bob and I, that we wouldn't quit. And that we would turn out the best bomb sniffing dogs ever! Man, I look back on that time with a sense of awe at our confidence in the face of staggering ignorance.
At this point you may be wondering just how wise it is to begin training bomb dogs when you really don't know what you are doing. Yeah, me too. We used a training program cobbled together from police and military training manuals. We used odor materials (small amounts of explosives) that were several years old, handling it with exaggerated care as we did not want to experience what a close friend of mine who was a bomb technician called "a rapid going away accompanied by a loud bang" ...you get the idea. We didn't have any formal training at this time in the proper handling and storage of explosives but we did our best.
Training a bomb sniffing dog is different from training any other detector dog in that they cannot aggressively tell you where the bomb is. For example, drug sniffing dogs are taught to follow there natural behavior when finding drug odor by scratching, barking and biting at the source of the smell. Scratching, barking and biting at the source of explosive odor is a good way to have one of those "going away" incidents I mentioned previously. This can result in your day going south. So, bomb dogs have to indicate with an immediate, silent sit. Seeing as the dog knows that a toy is produced from the source of the odor (this is done by sleight of hand, at least that is the theory) it is a significant challenge to get the dog to sit quietly while the reward is presented. In fact, it can be really, really challenging.
Each new odor is given to the dog to memorize and then a series of increasingly difficult searching scenarios is undertaken until the dog will find and sit at the exact spot where the target odor is strongest. I am being deliberately simplistic here as I have no intention of this story being a chapter in Terrorism 101. Take it from me, this kind of training, especially when you don't know exactly what you are doing, can cause fits of extreme anxiety denoted by running about pulling frantically at your hair screaming vile names at the universe.
We persevered. We came up with our own training methods. We improvised, adapted, overcame! And, at the end of three months, we held a demonstration for our fearless leaders in which K-9s Dee and Katie searched for, found and indicated correctly on a dummy device that had been hidden previously. TAH DAH!!! I was pretty freakin' proud of our accomplishment, with one small hitch...
Nope, we just jumped in with both feet and hoped we wouldn't die.
Bob had a beautiful young black lab female named Dee and I had a squatty little yellow lab called Katie. We were assigned to the "graveyard" shift (11:00 p.m. 'til 7:00 a.m.) so that we would have the maximum amount of training time possible as well as access to as many training areas as were available at these hellish hours. Now don't get me wrong, I was thrilled to be training dogs as a professional but anyone who has worked all night, every night, knows that life can get complicated as you try and maneuver each day in a coma. Nevertheless, we swore to each other, Bob and I, that we wouldn't quit. And that we would turn out the best bomb sniffing dogs ever! Man, I look back on that time with a sense of awe at our confidence in the face of staggering ignorance.
At this point you may be wondering just how wise it is to begin training bomb dogs when you really don't know what you are doing. Yeah, me too. We used a training program cobbled together from police and military training manuals. We used odor materials (small amounts of explosives) that were several years old, handling it with exaggerated care as we did not want to experience what a close friend of mine who was a bomb technician called "a rapid going away accompanied by a loud bang" ...you get the idea. We didn't have any formal training at this time in the proper handling and storage of explosives but we did our best.
Training a bomb sniffing dog is different from training any other detector dog in that they cannot aggressively tell you where the bomb is. For example, drug sniffing dogs are taught to follow there natural behavior when finding drug odor by scratching, barking and biting at the source of the smell. Scratching, barking and biting at the source of explosive odor is a good way to have one of those "going away" incidents I mentioned previously. This can result in your day going south. So, bomb dogs have to indicate with an immediate, silent sit. Seeing as the dog knows that a toy is produced from the source of the odor (this is done by sleight of hand, at least that is the theory) it is a significant challenge to get the dog to sit quietly while the reward is presented. In fact, it can be really, really challenging.
Each new odor is given to the dog to memorize and then a series of increasingly difficult searching scenarios is undertaken until the dog will find and sit at the exact spot where the target odor is strongest. I am being deliberately simplistic here as I have no intention of this story being a chapter in Terrorism 101. Take it from me, this kind of training, especially when you don't know exactly what you are doing, can cause fits of extreme anxiety denoted by running about pulling frantically at your hair screaming vile names at the universe.
We persevered. We came up with our own training methods. We improvised, adapted, overcame! And, at the end of three months, we held a demonstration for our fearless leaders in which K-9s Dee and Katie searched for, found and indicated correctly on a dummy device that had been hidden previously. TAH DAH!!! I was pretty freakin' proud of our accomplishment, with one small hitch...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Bomb Dog Kindergarten
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.
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.
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.
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