Episode 6
We were told by our instructors that after lunch, we were going to learn how to search vehicles, so while polishing off my Number 2 Combo (medium, with a Coke), I was practicing in my head. I was envisioning how to work Fama around a car in the most efficient way while staying out of her way. We have already established that she searches fast, and a geometry problem forms in my head. A car, simplified, is a rectangle. Her search path is going to be just outside that rectangle, and my handler path is going to be outside her search path. I can't keep up with her when I'm on the inside of a room and have the mathematical advantage, meaning that she travels further than I do. How am I supposed to keep up when she has the advantage? I couldn't see it happening. Not this old guy.
We returned to the kennels with the windows down so Fama could announce our arrival like Harry (and the Hendersons). We had also discovered that if the windows were down, the sound pressure level inside the vehicle dropped from "Ozzy" to "Garth". We parked and joined the rest of the group doing human leash drills.
Responding to a “Hoodie Hoo” from Heath, all the handlers gathered around the vehicles in the search area, and opened our little dog handler sponge minds for the block of instruction. Gary and Luchian (the only instructor I haven't seen on a Harley, but he drives an H2 Hummer like he stole it; touche) briefly explained how to search a car with a dog. Like most things in the dog world, it seems really simple. You start at a corner and work your way around. They didn't really address the math problem I had in my head concerning the length of my path of travel versus that of my dog, but that's because neither of them is a nerd. I was picked to be the first victim, so I retrieved Fama from the truck and started my search, realizing quickly why I couldn't arrive at a solution to my problem using geometry. It's chaos math all day baby.
We start at the front of the car, and Fama quickly reaches the 90 degree corner present at the headlight of all domestic vehicles, executes a hard left, and leaves me in the dust. She continues the turn-and-squirt pattern around the car. I try to run to catch up and Luchian yells at me to stop running.
"Don't chase your dog!"
OK, so I slow down.
"Keep a loose leash! Face the car! Shoulders parallel to the search!"
I try and do everything at once and end up looking like The Scarecrow trying to Riverdance.
My brain is trying to process all these instructions while paying attention to my dog, when I can actually see her, doing the karaoke sidestep, untangling the leash from my left hand and trying to get the loop over my right thumb (because that's where it's supposed to be damn it) when Fama sits in response to odor, beautifully. I almost ran over her. Then I have to remember how to react properly when she responds; loose leash, turn 90 degrees while getting your ball out, give the STAY command, pay the dog. The only thing I performed correctly was to say "STAY" before I threw the ball. It was a train wreck.
Luchian said, “Not bad.”
I just giggled.
We moved on to the next four vehicles, improving microscopically, but having a really good time. Fama was electric, moving with purpose and grace. Before each vehicle, I would ask her to sit on my left, prepare myself for the search, and give her the search command. While sitting at my side, patiently awaiting the command, Fama would look me right in the eyes, asking permission to go to work. She was so intense, like a drawn arrow, perfectly still, eyes bright and full of desire. I learned to cherish this moment we share before every search. It's when we need each other the most.
I watched the rest of the handlers work their dogs, making mistakes faster than carbon dioxide, and I learned. You start the search ahead of the dog, by using body position. To get ahead of the dog, you turn her around towards the area of the car you already searched, while you continue in the direction you are still going, switching leash hands as you pass her, and then continue the search. You put the ball in your pocket "just so", making it less of a wrestling match and more of a natural thing to retrieve it smoothly. The trainers, true masters of their craft, continually encouraged us while offering a steady stream of direction, and it was never regurgitated dialog. They were always locked on; present in the moment. It was obvious that they loved it. Even after teaching the same material for years, they were still engaged with the task, and most of all, the dogs.
The diversity in the group of dogs was astounding. German Shepherds and Belgian Malinois are a given in the working dog world, but there were a vast array of breeds. Labs, Pits, Dutch Shepherds, even a Labradoodle. They ranged from 35 pounds to 90. They differed in personality from Fama, the asshole, to Midnight the goofy Lab, and everything in between. The one thing they shared was drive. They would all crawl a mile through broken glass to get that ball. It is truly amazing to see a super high drive dog in action, especially when that drive is given direction. It makes me wonder why man would try and replace a dog with a machine? It is incredibly vain to believe we could ever replace this purpose driven animal with some electronics.
That evening we returned to the house, tired, confused, and happy, because we sucked. The musical kennel drill went much smoother (elapsed time 9 minutes). I actually attempted the "dog in one hand, kennel in the other" technique. I failed, but it was a good sign that I was even willing to try. Chatsi, a cute-as-a-button spaz Malinois belonging to Scott, was jumping in and out of the kennel while it was still in the back of the truck, grabbing everything she could get her mouth on in the process. She pretty much emptied the back of the truck onto the road in front of the house while Scott tried to get control of her. We fed the dogs and got some dinner. We did human leash drills for dessert, with a side of intense discussion about the day, and dogs in general. We were hooked.
Before bed, I put Fama in her kennel in the back of the truck and just sat out in the driveway with her, reading a book. We sat out there for two hours, just being in the same place. She was on high alert at first, reacting to every little sound or flash of movement in the night with a bark, or at the very least intense scrutiny, but she soon settled down. I listened for her breathing to change to that slow, deep rhythm of rest, and read to her in a soothing voice. Several times I thought she had fallen asleep, but when I stopped reading, she would lift her head and look at me through the vent in the crate, seeming to wonder why I had stopped.
When I went to bed that night, I couldn't remember anything I read in the back of that truck. The words were a means to an end, not a story. When soldiers experience stress together, they form a bond that is different than anything existing outside of extreme conditions. It is rare in our society for one person to place their life squarely in the hands of another out of necessity. In the Army, we call this person a battle buddy. Somebody that you have shared things with that no one else will understand. You are frightened, angry, excited, in danger together, and because you are together in this, you have strength. Just like the man who surely would have drowned had his faithful dog not pulled him from the lake by his shirt, I was going to owe my life to Fama. That story makes headlines all over the nation because it is extraordinary. Fama and I were going to experience this every day. How lucky am I, I have a battle buddy.
Re: Fama the A$$hole Bomb Dog (Episode 1)
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