Biology Reference
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Scientists don't know exactly what makes humans' frontal lobes more functional for certain
tasks than dogs' frontal lobes, but being able to read Shakespeare isn't the only difference.
If all the search world's a stage, and all the handlers merely players acting out their parts, I
think some of us find ourselves in the “Zombie Handler Act.” It comes about midplay, often
after a riveting dog performance. I've seen it in other handlers and in myself. This isn't about
handling zombies but about the danger of becoming one.
New handlers start out as infants at first: overcontrolling, nervous, chattering, mewling,
infinitely distracting, not letting dogs do their work and be independent. Good trainers
gently guide novice handlers through that irritating phase. “Zip it,” Nancy Hook told me.
“Stop hovering over your goddamned dog,” Andy Rebmann told another handler.
I got through that phase. Now I was entering an equally problematic phase of dog hand-
ling. Because of a couple of recoveries that partly involved being in the right place at the
right time, I started to idolize Solo. I knew he could do the work. He was more than five
years old—smart, cheerful, fearless, independent, even able to ignore other dogs when he
worked, though it was clear he was pretending. Everyone's an actor. Mostly, Solo was becom-
ing likable. He smiled constantly, his mouth open and relaxed, big teeth gleaming. He went
into high drive during training and searches, but he cuddled with us at home. After one long
difficult search, I said something to David that I will always regret. I was tired, and I shouldn't
have said it, even though at that moment, I meant it. “He's my hero.”
Solo's success had made me doe-eyed and stupid. He had devoured part of my brain.
When I looked around, I realized I wasn't alone. Zombie handlers were everywhere, made
mindless by the fantasy that their dogs were infallible—and could solve complex puzzles by
themselves. Experienced working dogs may be capable of certain kinds of problem solving,
but it's not their job to strategize. Nonetheless, at seminars and in my own training, I saw
people who weren't watching their dogs. Instead of hovering over their dogs, they now had
the opposite problem. They stood on the sidelines, sometimes chatting with other people
while their dogs worked.
Dogs do some things much better than humans; other things, not so well. They're much
better at scent work than we are, but we don't hand them the car keys and ask them to re-
port back to us at the command control center when they've found what they're looking for.
Humans need to set dogs up for success. Dogs need to be put in the right spot to do the job
right. That means more than just being downwind. It means partnering with them. I needed
to learn when to step aside and when to be helpful to Solo. We were a team. Trusting your
dog and letting him do his work doesn't mean being an unthinking chump. You have to keep
your eyes and mind open. Nancy Hook snapped at me one day when I was wandering aim-
lessly in a large field, “You call that a pattern?” Yes. A zombie pattern. I was waiting for Solo
to figure out what I wanted.
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