Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
pounds of raw bone and sinew. Few juvenile German shepherds are handsome. Only a hand-
ful are well adjusted. He was increasingly impervious to pain, whether receiving it or causing
it. Despite my nightmares, Solo wasn't that far outside the shepherd mainstream.
Nancy had given him his first job: to duck his head inside bucket after bucket and figure
out which one held the tooth and gauze. This is one method for laying a foundation for a
cadaver dog, or any scent-working dog, as it learns to recognize and then signal clearly that
it has found what you want it to find. Cadaver, cocaine, gunpowder, heroin. Bed bugs. Some
trainers use buckets; others use concrete blocks. More advanced rigs consist of wooden boxes
with holes in the top, even springs inside so that a rubber Kong or tennis ball can pop out
like a jack-in-the-box for an instant reward. These were early days for me, before I knew the
great varieties of boxes available. Everyone has a favorite system, but bells and whistles aren't
necessary; perfect timing on the part of the handler is.
On the first run, Solo ducked his head into the fourth bucket, which held the bloody
tooth, looked up at me, then ducked his head back in. He had no association with that odor,
although it smelled intriguingly different than the smells in the first three buckets. Nancy
hissed my cue at me, and I fumbled to give him a liver treat. Solo tried to help himself to
the tip of my finger along with the treat. Soon enough, he threw himself into the game. As
Nancy switched the position of the buckets, he charged from one to the next, jerking me
along, tangling us in his lead, pulling his head out of the “hot” bucket, staring at me, griping
loudly if I didn't reward him quickly. His complaints moved up and down the scales, howls
of frustration and delight.
Nancy's chestnut eyes narrowed as she watched Solo and me perform a bad rendition
of the funky chicken with some leash bondage added. I could hear my heart forcing blood
through my head. It should have been simple. I was to move just ahead of Solo, using a loose
lead, past each bucket, not hesitating, not rushing. With a gracious hand gesture, I was to
present the bucket to him. Check here (dog's head dips into the bucket), check here (dog's
head dips in the next bucket), check here (dog's head dips and stays). Good dog! Treat! Clas-
sic operant conditioning. Solo would start linking cadaver smell with a reward.
Nancy let me keep the treats in my handy belly pack, but it was turning out to be one
more thing to manage besides the lead, the dog, the buckets. Oh, and my ego. I was ter-
rible at this. Solo surged from one bucket to the next, skipping one that didn't seem interest-
ing, doubling back, yanking us silly, then yowling when he got a whiff of scent and changed
his mind. He was cheating, energetic, and out of control. Nancy loved it. She chuckled and
crooned, “Good boy, good boy” to him while she hissed sotto voce to me, “Reward him, re-
ward him.”
I was near tears. I didn't fully understand then, but Solo was in what working-dog trainers
call “drive” mode, as essential to keeping a dog running as gas in a car's tank. That revved-up
