Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
The best term, however, belongs to Suzi Goodhope. “Hoffa,” she tells Shiraz, one of her
Belgian Malinois.
Not only was Solo learning, and not only was I learning to handle Solo, I was learning an
entire new vocabulary, listening to the arguments that would crop up: Should we call that be-
havior an “alert” or a “final indication”? As long as it's clear in your records, it doesn't matter.
Andy was on his cell phone with Jim Suffolk, and they were reminiscing together. “We
used to call them body dogs,” Andy complained. “Now they're calling them HRD dogs.
Human-remains detection.” Actually, Andy was leaving out the newest FBI-approved term:
“victim-recovery canine.” Or, more obliquely, “VR canine.”
Language always seems to move in a direction where specificity gets lost. Bodies, and death
itself, start to disappear under the weight of those terms—collateral damage.
Roy Ferguson out of Sevierville, Tennessee, performs a quiet ritual he started with his first
cadaver dog, Cherokee. He sits his current dog, Apache, at his side, and gives the slight black-
and-red German shepherd a sip of water. It clears his nostrils and mind. To a single-purpose
dog, those rituals are more crucial than any command. When Roy says “Zuk Morte,” Apache
already knows what the game is.
Solo was a fast learner. He was now cued in to the pants and boots and even socks that I
wore for training, ready to go as I dragged them out of the dryer, pulled them on, stumbled
downstairs. As David made coffee and I brought in the newspapers, Solo would dash from
the bedroom to the front door, from the yard to the car, and then back to the house. The gray
light was turning pearly; the sun would be rising soon. Stop grieving. Stop dawdling. Outside
is better than inside. Let's go.
