I was going to report on Slam’s long effort at training on Wednesday, expecting that Kyle would set up some kind of problem that was just nervewracking enough for me — and would keep my developing area search dog enmeshed in “nose time” for at least a half hour, something he really needs right now. But the fates intervened. We wound up with a very short problem (partially my fault; I had to go back to work — that cursed practice — in the afternoon). With Karen tucked down out of sight, I was given a bearing to set off on and did, straining through my glasses so hard I could’ve cracked the lenses as I went from dial to sighting some tree in the distance, and back to the dial, determined to keep a straight line.
Shift to the second bearing (oh boy was I going to nail that one: on a map it would look like an art student had drawn the line off the edge of an Italian ruler), and boom — Slam did his circling, head surfing, tail flagging, do-si-do with obvious scent, and zoomed into the subject quickly. Much rewarding ensued. But still, I was obsessed with the nav thing. As we hurled the yellow Kong woodwards, I wanted to show someone, anyone, my straight lines on the GPS.
Flash forward about half and hour and I’m at the Mobil station, pumping gas into my car, in a rush to get back to the home office and get to that work call. Decide to pay with cash and stomp inside. So I’m standing on line, tapping impatiently with my giant green and gray hiking boots, forgetting that I am wearing gaiters, giant blue pants, and have all sorts of objects clipped to me. I look like a cross between a firefighter and a wannabe astronaut. I am also wearing a hi-vis cap on my head, probably crooked. The clerk rings me up without looking. There I am pulling out dollar bills from my pocket, along with: old folded up maps with drawings on them, 
a whistle on a yellow string, a couple of used batteries, and that old pal of mine, the compass. Behind me is a trio of teenage girls. I used to be a teenage girl. I used to wash my hair with Herbal Essence. Now I’m happy if I just have the time to wash my hair. But these girls, they are impeccable, and groomed, and they start to giggle. And at first I wonder why they are giggling. Then I realize. I might as well start speaking in tongues. They’re laughing at me.
So, okay, I’m a nerd. But nerd or not, I may be the one to find you that night you break up with your boyfriend and go wander into the woods for some solitude and lose your way. At least that’s what I’m thinking I’d say as I stand there, face burning, as I wait for my receipt. Instead, I hustle off to the car, give Slam a scritch behind the ear, and race off to my work call. Which I conduct in full regalia, pulling a tick out of my hair as I discuss production schedules. And then I wash my hair. In strawberry shampoo.
Eye-level view of searching with Slam yesterday
This was going to be called “That thing called the handler-dog bond” and I’d written the beginning of it in mid April, after a really great solo training problem with Slam at Karen Pardini’s place in High Falls. With Robin in hiding, on a brilliant, hot and sunny day, I set out for a 20 acre area search problem with Slam.
There was noone with me. Just Slam, a compass, the GPS, a radio, me, and a sense that Robin could be sitting just about anywhere. And it took us a while, and it was our first experience alone together. When Slam found Robin, his bump (his indication), even after 40 minutes traversing the rocky crags and scrambling through the laurel, was emphatic. He stomped into me, like, LOOK, I DID IT. It felt like a milestone.
But learning has its peaks, and its valleys. These days I feel like I’m in a bit of a valley. Not as a handler right now, but more as a navigator. I’m not saying I’ve got my dog down to a T, but I know that when he alerts on scent, his nose is going to surf the air and his tail will flag up; when he’s heading into a scent cone, he gets even faster and more animated than he usually is (and if I can’t see him, I can hear the rapid samba of the bell on his collar, ringing with every step).
But I’m in a navigational pit. I took Crew Boss. I took Basic Wildlands. I passed — if not with flying colors, than at least with forest green and sky blue colors. But these days, it’s a question of putting it together. And so the valley is a dark one, in which the compass dial glows forbodingly, daring me to argue with it — no, really, north is this way — as Slam rapidfires his way in and out of smells I can only imagine, looping and ranging and galloping back and forth. And I need to somehow travel in straight lines: for certain tests, an area search handler has to grid, using only the compass, in such a way that she makes straight lines like some kind of martian graph paper over the terrain. Who once said to me, rather annoyingly, that women do not really walk in straight lines? So much pressure to prove him wrong. And while doing so, not lose sight of what my dog’s doing, of the terrain, of the scent picture, and all sorts of other things. It’s a 12-course dinner of scratchy branches, dog breath, ringing bells, ticks and mud. But for some reason I just want it. So back to the kitchen we go.
Ellin holds Slam
This is not a post about an amazing search or how intense it can feel to be out there in the elements covering territory with your dog and watching your dog work, or how exhilarating it is to see a dog progress, let alone make progress yourself, considering all that goes into SAR. This is about sitting still. This is about Slam sitting still.
Since a good search dog ought to be a good canine citzen as well, I’m trying to make sure Slam is exposed to all sorts of people and situations. One situation has a real-time and test relevance — that’s how it’s supposed to be, right? Say you’re at a search, and you’re actually flanking another K-9 handler, not working your dog on this round, and so you ask someone to go and take your dog out. Or you need someone to hold the dog quietly while you do something like pick up all the biodegradable flagging Amir has just invented. And then there’s the Canine Good Citizen exam, which our dogs need to take, which requires a dog stay with someone else — calmly — for 5 minutes while the handler disappears. Which could be a bit stressful on a dog if they’re not used to it. Cue dog perspective: Where is my person going? Doesn’t she know I’m still here? Should I bark? Should I charge after her? I’d better do something because this is just — wrong.
So my friend Ellin has been taking turns holding Slam (not literally, though she always wants to squeeze him and kiss him and give him lots of love) while I walk progressively farther out of the picture and for longer periods of time. Ellin has 2 sheperds of her own and is totally at home with an 86-pound young male who can jump 7 feet in the air just for the heck of it. No problem for her.
This picture was taken after I’d:
1. walked over to Slam and put him on a sitz-bleib (sit-stay) next to Ellin,
2. disappeared to the other end of the parking lot behind a bunch of cars so he couldn’t see me,
3. checked me emails on the i-phone because I knew something would distract me and keep me from being tempted to go back to Slam too soon (otherwise known as misguided handler overattachment),
4. sauntered quietly back to Slam,who was still sitting nicely next to Ellin, and 5. stopped to take their picture, and 6. finally taken him back from her without any kind of excessive fanfare, just a nice Goooooood Doooooooog!
The whole process took about 5 minutes. Ellin is a great sport — it was chilly that day. Spring had decided it wasn’t really ready for the party yet and a wintryish wind was besting the sun. Slam was a great sport too. He wasn’t stressed about it at all, since he’s gotten used to this routine. The first time we did it, it took 30 seconds, and then a minute, and so on. Taking the time to do this, and being organized about it, seems like a good idea — and Slam never forgets. So now he knows: Go to a person, be put on a sit, and just sit there. And we’ll keep doing this. Biiiiiiiig thanks to Ellin, who understands the need to do such things. (Goooooooood friennnnd!)
In the midst of an event packed training day, Jana Martin and K-9 Slam; Buddy Meyers and K-9 Max, did their off-trail tests, their first certifications.
If you want to be certified as an area search dog team through the New York State Federation for Search and Rescue, you and your K-9 partner need to pass 5 tests. Each one increases in difficulty for both the handler and the dog. The first test is called the off-trail test. You and your dog walk a trail as if you were doing a hasty search. Somewhere along the way is the subject, hidden about 30 feet from the trail.
There are four basic goals for this test. Two apply to K-9 and two the handler.
- Will the dog leave a trail and search for a live subject? We try to set up the test so that there is a cone of scent emanating from the subject and crossing the trail
- Will the dog preform the trained behavior sequence called an indication to tell the handler that the subject has been located?
- Can the handler “read” the dog. That is, does she observe significant changes in her dog’s natural, untrained behavior that can mean things like “I smell humans” or “I’m no longer smelling humans.” In this part of the country we call these natural behaviors “alerts”
- How well does the handler deal with pressure? Bad as tests can be, searches are much more stressful. The handler’s emotions will impact the dog’s performance
Buddy Meyers and K-9 Max on the trail
Buddy and Max tested first. I was impressed by Buddy’s grace. He later admitted that he felt pressure but he did a wonderful job acting calm and in control. That’s crucial. Your dog will read you and pick up on your tension. Max demonstrated focus and control. A herd of at least a dozen deer and a younger dog chasing them ran right through the search area. Max ignored the puppy and came back when called off the deer. Not bad for a young Malinois. A few minutes later he located the subject well-concealed under a pile of downed limbs and branches.
Jana Martin and K-9 Slam before their Off-Trail test
Slam and Jana were up second. They are off to a great start.
You want your tester to know what you are thinking. You are being evaluated on your ability to read your dog. If you don’t say it, we are left wondering. Jana clearly communicated with me every step of the way, telling me about Slam’s alerts just as I was noticing them.
When Slam entered that scent cone his behavior was textbook. He located the subject rolled up like a burrito in a sleeping bag and a camo tarp, well consealed behind some downed tree limbs and covered with brush. Once he ascertained the contents was truly human, Slam did two flawless find-indicate-refind sequences. Slam’s indication is a full blown body-slam–what else.
