Biology Reference
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of noisy dogs and macho cops. But as one handler who comes from another agency to train
says, “Mike's magic.”
The Durham K9 unit, which boasts between ten and twelve dog-and-handler teams, isn't
just for trotting out at city events and school show-and-tells. These dogs and officers work.
I finally got used to the background sound of radio crackle; I could mostly ignore it when
a patrol car would peel off to a callout: a short track for a burglary or assault, a search for
a dropped gun, to sniff a car pulled over on I-85 for suspicion of drugs. Everyone listened
intently if a call came in about a child who didn't return home as expected.
Not enough people go missing and are presumed dead for the police department to spend
money and time training their dogs to do human-remains detection. It's all about resource
allocation—Durham patrol dogs keep plenty busy with all the other calls. It's the same story
everywhere: Most law enforcement departments have neither the money nor the pressing
need for a dedicated cadaver dog. However, if I could provide a competent cadaver dog, I
might fill a gap. Andy Rebmann worked in the salad days of dogs and law enforcement. He
started the first cadaver-dog program with the Connecticut State Police. That program has
survived up through the present and now has half a dozen dogs and handlers. Programs that
spun off from Andy's founder effect—Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Ver-
mont, Maine—all have law enforcement cadaver dogs. New York and Chicago also have ca-
daver dogs, as does Brevard County, Florida.
The majority of cadaver-dog work, though, falls to volunteer teams. It's not ideal, from
the point of view of most serious law enforcement trainers and handlers. That's not snobbery;
it's reality. If you do something for a living, you can spend more hours perfecting and ap-
plying your craft. I understood that, but there I was, right in line to try to be one of those
not fully respected, jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none volunteers. The good news was that I
was in line to learn a lot about dog training. I'd had little exposure to male trainers up to
this point—women dominate the obedience world and, though to a lesser degree, the search-
and-rescue seminar circuit; men dominate the law enforcement K9 world. That world tends
to be a rougher place than the obedience world, where clickers and treats now rule. In the K9
world, square-chain choke collars are ubiquitous and unremarkable, liver treats rare. But woe
be unto the handler who doesn't either take off the collar or put it on the dead ring if the dog
is going to work, or who takes his temper out on the dog.
Working dogs need the same basic thing, whether from male or female trainers and hand-
lers. Dogs need to hear high happy voices when they're being rewarded. They need to get
their reward at the right moment. And they need gaiety.
“Make it fun for him,” Mike counseled a too-serious, alto-voiced handler. He modeled the
behavior—“Pump him up. Atta boy, atta boy, atta boy!”—pitching his voice ever skyward in
an escalating croon.
