Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
I had been invited to watch the last three nights of the twelfth week of training three green
dogs and three green handlers in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. After that, the men and dogs
would hit the streets. Ready or not. Steve Sprouse, the trainer for Broward County Sheriff's
K9 patrol division, preferred them ready.
Steve said a version of the same thing, with a hint of melancholy, at the end of each exer-
cise: “Remember, guys, it'll be different.” Training and actual deployment are separate worlds.
He said it to the intense, eager handler who had the equivalent of a furry Mack truck on
the end of a leash, to the handler with a dog who needed to develop more spine, and to the
handler who seemingly had it all, a balanced dog and a balanced approach to handling.
Sandy and spare, with a slightly drooping mustache, Steve is simultaneously relaxed and
wary, ardent and careful. In his late fifties, he's been handling dogs and training handlers for
decades. He knew the dry admonitions he sent into the mild late-November night air were
falling not on deaf but certainly on naive ears.
Steve and the three green handlers were preparing for the equivalent of a dog-and-pony
show: In two days, the teams needed to demonstrate their newly acquired skills before a
bunch of superior officers. Steve and the three handlers had discussed how to divvy up the
performances. Each dog had his strengths.
One of the three German shepherds had a beautiful obedience routine. Broward Sheriff
Deputy Pete Sepot's new dog, Diesel, was great at bark-box work. Pete faced the huge dog
toward six human-sized boxes scattered on the training range, and Diesel flowed like sable
mercury from one plywood box to the next until he smelled the hidden decoy. he flow
stopped, and Diesel balled up at one of the boxes, giving fulsome warning barks, both front
feet coming of the ground with the force of certainty. He's here. He's here. He's here. Diesel
was just beyond adolescence but already a single muscle from head to tail; his bark sounded
like that of a much older dog. It's an important warning: the prelude to more extreme action.
The kind of bark that would make many suspects come out with their hands up. That's why
patrol dogs are trained to be noisy when they've found a suspect; the bark alert can prevent
worse things from happening: Their bite is worse than their bark.
Lughar, another sable shepherd, and his handler, Dave Lopez, had been tagged to show
what smooth apprehension work looked like—and as important—how a handler can call his
dog off before the dog takes a bite. It's a standard training exercise: If the suspect gives up, or
if the handler realizes the dog is headed full tilt toward the wrong person, the handler wants
the dog to come back. If it's too late and the dog has already launched at the suspect, at the
least, the handler wants to be able to tell the dog “Los!” (“Let go” in Dutch) and have the dog
obey him. A dog with real drive has a hard time obeying either of those commands when he's
flying toward a suspect; he's fighting his own instincts.
