Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
my colleagues might perceive my dogged wandering and wondering. The need to pretend
that the world of theory was my natural home had disappeared with Dad's death.
I had lived for half a century. David and I, if we were lucky, might be able to squeeze in a
couple more decades together. If he didn't lose his patience with me.
“I just want to be happier,” I told him. I could hear both the self-indulgence and the
sloppy thinking in the demand. I needed to dial back on the whine. Some years before, a
friend and university colleague asked, “Why can't you just be happy?” I tried to answer her
honestly. Happiness was not something I aspired to. I had a good man, a good job, and a dog
who was trying to be good—and I was left wanting more. I wanted to be challenged and en-
gaged, to fire on all six cylinders. I wanted to do something that made me lose track of time. I
wanted to push my limits. David was a master cook and baker and had apprenticed with one
of Paris's best artisanal boulangers. He hung out with chefs, thought about food, and wrote
about food. I wanted to master handling scent-detection dogs.
Training Solo to do search work, researching the science of scent, and spending my time
with working-dog people was the closest I had gotten to that desired sense of immersion
in more than a decade. David and I had been pretty immersed in each other for the first
few years of our relationship, but our marriage now gave me the space to play. I kept get-
ting drawn to North Carolina woods and fields, and the dogs and dog people who inhabited
them. I was starting to admit to myself that nose work and research were becoming more
engrossing and fascinating than my academic research and writing projects. I wanted to do
something practical in my spare time, something that engaged two neglected parts of my in-
ner 4-H child: my heart and hands. My head and health got plenty of attention.
On my birthday night, after our friends departed, David and I talked while both dogs
slept. They were exhausted from showing off for company. I knew that taking my and Solo's
training to the next level over the coming year would throw our comfortable routine out the
window. My midlife crisis would not be assuaged by buying a sports car. David, who loved
routine, knew that, yet he was willing to come along for what was bound to be an unpredict-
able ride.
If I were ever going to use Solo in an actual search, it was time to take the leap: getting us
certified to do the work. Certifying Solo meant I would be propelled back into my student
years of test taking rather than test giving. Nancy Hook made it clear that certification wasn't
enough. I needed to find experienced trainers to work with, beyond her and the Piedmont
bloodhound team. If I were ever going to deploy Solo, I needed to up my game, to “bond
with the badge,” that is, to find a way to work with law enforcement. If the first ambition,
certifying Solo, was uncertain, the second ambition—getting access to the world of law en-
forcement—was a brass ring.
