On A Mission.

I slid down the sandy embankment, trying to keep my feet in front of me so I wouldn't tumble headfirst into the stagnant water filled ditch at the base of the landfill. I hesitated for a moment, removing the thorns from my backside before continuing after the handler and her canine into the woods ahead of me. We cautiously inched our way through the perimeter of the woods, the dense trees stabbing upward like bristles on a brush, their branches weaved with tangles of thorny vines and shedded overgrowth. The pace was painfully slow as we moved deeper and deeper into the forest. What was initially solid ground turned quickly into swamp mud, a sandy brown slime that sucked at our feet if we stayed in one place for too long. We trudged along in silence, except for the occasional profanity that would slip out as low hanging thorns from a swamp vine would scratch and cling to our skin, pulling us backwards as if it were trying to prevent us anymore access into its world. Jayda, the german shepherd, had a much easier time navigating the thick woods than her handler or me, the flanker. She would dart ahead, covering her area thoroughly, stopping occasionally to sniff at the waters edge or at the remains of a dead animal, before returning to her handler as if to say "nothing here." It was difficult to keep an eye on the dog and the handler and still navigate the terrain safely. It was constantly in a state of change. The swamp mud led into the end of a creek and the creek turned back into a swamp. Logs that looked solid as we stepped onto them crumbled like cornbread under the weight of our boots. Roots and cypress knees littered the ground, and looking up was a feat in itself.

I traveled light, carrying a bottle of water for the dog and her handler in one inside pocket of my jacket, my phone in the other, and the team's ham radio in my right hand. I was thirsty but was glad I had decided to leave my camelback of water in the vehicle and instead rely on an occasional swig from the water bottle. The heavy pack would have gotten hung up on the low hanging limbs, slowing me down even more.

As we approached a clearing in the woods, the sun tried to find its way through the thick canopy of trees. We stood in silence, listening for the rustling that would let us know where Jayda had run off to. It was a depressing place. Remote and seemingly untouched in some ways, but suddenly areas would appear that showed there had been signs of life at one time. Scattered beer bottles, faded and dark with age, would appear in groupings around trees and old appliances. A white plastic lawn chair found buried in vines upside down at the base of a tree as if abandoned in a hurry and long forgotten. A flip flop, a tire, a rusty tub. We were drawn to an area rug, rolled up tightly, covered with dirt and tucked away in a rotten tree, barely visible to the eye, but seeping with enough scent of old sex that Jayda took interest in it. These woods had stories they wanted to tell. Stories about teenagers stealing alcohol from their parent's liquor cabinets, laughing together, gossiping, and making memories with their friends in the dark of the night. Stories about the meth head that would leave two-liter coke bottles and plastic tubing on the ground when he was done with his shake'n bake labs. There were the handlebars that the swamp had turned into a vase, a modern work of natural art, a rusty dusty blue tube protruding from the muck that now sprouted a tree, giving life to something old and discarded. There were stories here alright, but stories of secret lives, of lives that were mysterious and risky, stories that weren't meant to be told but were rather doomed to be covered up and forgotten. This was not the kind of place I would chose to end my life. I wondered how alone and depressed one must be to chose this as their last vision of life. I would want my last view to be of something beautiful. A lake, a mountain, a sunset. Not a forest dump at the edge of a landfill.

We reconvened with the rest of the search team by mid afternoon at Incident Command, exhausted and frustrated by a second search effort that did not turn up a body for the family to claim. It was not for lack of effort. More sections were cleared, even more were searched again, and the questions still lingered as to where she would have gone to end her life. It was definitely not for lack of effort.  Mud on the legs of the searchers' BDUs, the pruned up feet ~ collateral damage from waterlogged boots ~ walking on the cold asphalt to dry out, and the rats nests of twigs interwoven into disheveled hair told the opposite tale. We wanted a successful outcome too. We wanted to give the family closure.

I got my first taste of a real search, but Quincy had to sit this one out. It would still be awhile before we could go as a pair. In the meantime we would keep to our training plan. We had just been progressed to the next level at our team training the morning before. Now the "runaways" had me partially hidden from him at the end of my run, encouraging him to begin to become in tune with his innate scent ability. It was exciting watching him progress from week to week. He was eager and quick to learn. It would take me hearing the instructions at least three times before I could absorb them, but Quincy was good with a short "Go Find" and he was off.

Quincy Ran-Away!

It was a dark and stormy night. The whimpering that had awoken me like clockwork over the past week had dissipated into occasional groans and muted chatter around 3am as if he was reminding me he was still in the room and that I shouldn't forget his bladder was small. We made a quick trip into the cold night air to hurry-up and then he returned to his bed without complaint. Every night he would sleep a little longer, and go down just a little easier, often putting himself to bed before I had the chance. By the end of his first week he had slept as much as six hours without waking to go outside.

His curled tail is like a mood ring. When he is happy or engrossed in a scent or an activity it curls and wags incessantly as if he has suddenly lost all control of it. When he is thoughtful or inquisitive it tends to extend straight out. I have yet to see him tuck it down in submission or fear. He is painfully playful at times, and has shown a strange attraction to my paisley print pajama pants, especially the portion near the bony aspect of my ankle. Although I have offered up a bounty of chew toys and treats as a barter with him to save my home furnishings, he has clearly indicated to me that he much prefers the tassels on my area rug and the unrepaired edges of the termite hole in my living room wallboard to anything that I could ever offer him. Petco has taken most of my extra spending money this week, and in turn has left me only with an assortment of ropes, rubber balls, and nylon bones scattered around the house.

Quincy has blessed me by his having a strong stomach and tolerance of motion as if he knows how much I detest cleaning up vomit and he is trying to make amends for the chewing. Our van rides are frequent, as he often accompanies me on my work day driving, happily snoozing in his crate until it is time to get out and romp, stretch, and play. He has adjusted to the chaos of a house with three loud energetic children, and an older dog who thinks at times he is a puppy too. The two tussle and roll around on the floor almost as intensely as my teenage boys but add more flare to the wrestling match with grandiose slides across the wooden floor and games of cat and mouse around the bar stools.

He never hesitates in his actions. Every situation is approached with unbridled curiosity and an eagerness to participate in some way. He is comfortable with walking on grass, dirt, flooring, over metal grates and uneven rocks. Easily amused with the outdoors, he seems to enjoy a challenge and likes to climb and crawl over and under obstacles.

Quincy's first official training exercise, the "runaway".

I've been grinning since we completed our first team training session together. The youngest of the K-9s, Quincy held his own and showed great enthusiasm for the work. He eagerly chased me after being given his first live-search command, "Go Find", and for the first time actually ate the reward I presented to him, even though he was quite happy with himself without any external reinforcement. He loved being the center of attention. Everyone loved having a puppy around and I am pretty sure he knew it. One at a time he was introduced to the other dogs on the team, and no matter their size or excitement level, he reacted the same ~ with a wagging tail and wet kisses. He loved to follow the other handlers and dogs when he could, as if saying "I want to go where you are going!". When it was time to cut them loose and play he eagerly romped through the fields, pouncing and prancing more like a rabbit than a dog. He explored the shores of the lake as he kept an eye on the other dogs who swam together, as he was curious about their antics in the water.

He has only been with us for one week, but this newly turned 8-week old has already become a cherished member of our family. 

Meet The Pearsons

Our first night together was actually...tolerable. My new black ball of fur whined for about 30 minutes in the crate next to my bed. Occasionally when it got too loud I would give the crate a slight thump and follow it with a "Quincy, quiet!" but for the most part I did my best to ignore the whimpering, falling asleep with my pillow over my head. I slept lightly as if my children were babies ~ listening for that sound of distress or of the apnea monitor going off or of the cries of a child with his fat thigh stuck in the grates of the crib. I felt better knowing that there was little that could go wrong with Quincy sleeping in the carrier. It was snug with plenty of air vents and I had wrapped him in the towel scented by his mother and litter mates. Two or three times during the night I would hear him stir and I would gently lift him and take him outside to "Hurry Up" which would become his command to evacuate on cue, an important first step to beginning a search so he wouldn't contaminate the trail for the other search dogs.

I was surprised how much his care mimicked that of raising my twins when they were infants. I learned that it was never a good idea to interact with them when changing their diapers in the middle of the night as it would result in hours of creative attempts to get them back to sleep again. I used this knowledge to my advantage and quietly returned him to the crate between potty-breaks and was able to easily get two to three more hours of sleep between rest stops.

By six o'clock in the morning I realized that Q was ready to get up for good. I went ahead and fixed his kibble and while I watched him eat I decided I couldn't take the stench of him any longer. I put an inch or so of warm water in the tub and laughed out loud at his splashing around in it awkwardly with his paws. He quickly doubled in size after a good toweling off and within 10 minutes he was out like a light for a few more hours.

Meeting Marley The Great Dane

Our first morning together we spent going to see Dr. Hood,  a friendly veterinarian who had a natural ease about him when it came to handling Quincy. It only took one puppy-kiss before he had won over the hearts of the entire staff. The rest of the day we spent riding around together, visiting friends and learning to handle the feeling of a moving vehicle without throwing up. So far that skill has gone well.

The call I had been waiting months for finally came in as I drove home from work. LaSAR had just been placed on stand-by for a human remains search over the weekend. I was excited knowing that finally I was going to be able to go on a live-search as a flanker. And then it hit me. I had a brand new puppy that had been with me for less than 24 hours. He was too young to come on the search, even as a passenger. I felt torn as I needed to be the main person in his world, especially this first week, to establish our bond. As his partner I am the sole one to feed him, take him to "hurry-up", and put him to bed. I need to socialize him in his new environment and keep him safe from overly-eager children, family pets, and visitors. This week we weren't even to attend team training as our directive was to BOND. My heart sunk as I watched a golden opportunity to learn the dynamics of a live search with the team vanish. There was no telling when the next opportunity might come.

He wiggles when he runs, his butt like a metronome that is out of synch with the rest of his body. He makes me laugh when he attempts things for the first time as there is no grey area with him, it is all or nothing. He has no hesitation to hurl himself face first into a puddle of mud, or balance walk across a makeshift bridge built by the kids with wooden planks and bricks to create a narrow path over a ditch of rain water that pools in the backyard. When he wrestles with Roonie, our family mutt, he topples heavy-head first with feet and body following in awkward progression like a drunk trying to catch himself from the inevitable face-plant. His face is that of an old man, wrinkled and wise and as if there is a mystery of deep knowledge hidden behind his eyes. He is a thinker, a problem solver, and a fearless explorer.

That is surely going to challenge me as his boldness grows.

Dr. Quincy, ME - My New Partner

I wonder what he is thinking, what conclusions he has already made about me based on the first impression I made in his world. I see fluff, big black eyes, a wagging tail, a fu-manchu beard, and potential. Lots of potential. He's a chunk and very very curious. He was the one of two candidate selections for our SAR team (out of a litter of six potentials) that without hesitation approached me and stayed with me when I called to him. He didn't seem afraid of anything and wandered independently from the huddle of his siblings whom wouldn't even make eye contact with me. He was energetic and focused on me, both of which are promising traits for a search and rescue dog. The energetic part may however become a challenge for the family.

I wondered what his nose was telling him about me. I smelled a dirty puppy in need of a bath. Did he smell the remnants of steak sliders and Michelob Ultra smeared by my greasy fingertips on the same sweatshirt I wore the night before at Twin Peaks? Or the butter toffee and chocolate combination on my breath from the Skor bar I ate on the way here? That smell he had better get used to. I wonder if he could differentiate between the Diva Wash that I used to wash the blanket that he curled up on in his travel carrier from the cheap detergent I washed my own perspiration tinged clothes in. I had read that dogs can smell some odors at as much as one part per trillion and that a dog has 125 million olfactory cells compared to the five million we have. Surely he had already established an opinion on the matter of his new partner.

While the other dogs in this litter were destined to be companion dogs, only this pup and his sister were destined for search and rescue work. I really want to do right by this guy and train him to his potential. I know that I am already at a disadvantage to his natural scenting ability and instincts and I pray that he is forgiving of all the mistakes I am certain to make. I remind myself of the mantra of search and rescue work: Trust Your Dog.

He whimpers for less than a minute as we pull away from all he has known for the last seven weeks ~ his mom, his dad, his siblings, and his caregivers. The carrier grows quiet as he sleeps the hour and a half ride home. I've decided to name him Quincy after a favorite childhood show about a forensic specialist who solved mysteries and brought closure to families who had lost loved ones. With hopes to go from Live Find training to Human Remains Detection (HRD), I can only hope Quincy can live up to his name.

It was only appropriate that the first people to meet Quincy were members of the team - my lead trainer who helped me choose the pick of the litter, her daughter who helped found LaSAR, and Rob one of my training partners who provided me with my first few nights of puppy kibble. As we concluded our pilgrimage and pulled into my driveway, Quincy woke and patiently waited to be removed from his carrier. Given an opportunity he explored the front yard and sniffed the children that were doing their best to contain their enthusiasm in an effort to not scare the puppy.

As I sit typing away, I have a stinky puppy on my lap sleeping heavily and another dog curled up under my chair. The house is calm and there is an underlying feeling of contentment in the air, and a big question looms as to what the future will bring...

One Week Till Puppy!

"Puppy testing" took place today on a litter of 6 black lab puppies age 6 weeks. The traits that we look for in search and rescue dogs are varied. We look for a dog that is neither overly dominant or submissive, is curious about its environment, is social, is not fearful of loud noises, shows interest in possessing a toy, and has high "drive" (not the same thing as high energy). Of course even with testing there are no guarantees of getting the perfect SAR dog, but the more areas they tend to shine in the better. I came equipped with my ace in the pocket ~ my lead trainer with years of experience and a no fail record in choosing dogs. Two stood out after our initial testing ~ the lone female and a chunky little male. Both seem to show promise so it will likely be a matter of who steals my heart over the next week, although we will do a final round of testing before the decision is made. I also got to meet the dam and sire and was pleased with their temperament, athleticism, and appearance. The sire is a hunting dog and showed an extreme love of water. Mama dog was loaded down with milk so I didn't get to see much of her in action, although she did seem to ferret out a critter in a leaf pile with her nose. A good sign!

My nesting has begun and I am getting prepared and excited!! Pup comes home at 7 weeks and training begins at 8 weeks!