The Dog Squad

by Vikki Petraitis

  As they advanced, the handlers began yelling, ‘Move! Move!’ in booming voices. Nat helped by letting out his best baritone rumble – chest out, front legs off the ground, pulling enthusiastically forward. The front half of the dog said, ‘I’m going to kill you!’ but, at the back half, his tail was wagging with the sheer joy and excitement of barking and seeing people flee in his wake.

  As soon as the dogs began to move towards the rioters, Matt saw an instant reaction in the crowd. People began to scatter everywhere. As the handlers advanced, the police cars moved up behind them to narrow the riot area. As the police regained ground, the crowd separated quickly to avoid the growling dogs and the chanting dog handlers: ‘Move! Move!’

  The handlers dodged a couple of bottles that came flying towards them but, after that, the crowd quickly lost interest. It was one thing to play hero and smash a shop window, or cheer at someone else who did; it was quite another thing to take on a barking police dog or his baton-wielding handler.

  It took just ten minutes to break up the crowd. An hour later, the streets were completely empty and the clean-up had begun. Soon traffic began flowing through the area again as if nothing had happened.

  Five dogs versus 3000 rioters: the dogs win. And not one person was bitten. As the local uniforms dealt with the debris and damage, the dog handlers and their dogs patrolled nearby side streets, just to be sure.

  On New Year’s Day 2011, Nat caught a hit-run driver who had just run down his best mate. Matt had been rostered on to work the night before in the busy city celebrations. Without much rest in between, he got a call about a victim who’d been run down outside the Marong Hotel near Bendigo.

  A man called Daniel had been picking fights with patrons at the pub during the New Year’s Eve celebrations. He had even punched his own mate, Gav, in the head. After the attack, Gav refused to drive Daniel home and left without him. A couple of kilometres up the road Gav got an attack of the guilts and drove back to the pub to pick up his mate. It turned out to be a fatal decision.

  When Gav returned, he and Daniel had another argument. Gav threw his hands in the air, left the car and walked back towards the pub. Daniel jumped behind the wheel, revved the engine and put his foot down. He ploughed straight into Gav, who flew up and into the windscreen. Daniel drove off, leaving his friend dying on the side of the road.

  Daniel didn’t get too far because the windscreen was smashed and smeared with his best mate’s blood. He dumped the car near a local farm, and from there he vanished. Luckily for the police, the farmer came home from his New Year’s celebrations, saw the car with its smashed, blood-smeared windscreen, and called his brother, who was a cop. The brother quickly made enquiries, and found out a guy had been killed at the Marong Hotel. He sent police to the farm.

  When Matt made it to the farm, Nat picked up a scent immediately and led his handler to a nearby house. At the house, there was a seventeen-year-old kid who had run from the cops earlier because he was drunk. This happens sometimes in tracking – a dog will pick up human scent, but it might not be the person the handler was seeking. Because so many police officers had attended the scene, the scent trails were confused. Both dog and handler were exhausted; the sun was coming up, and there was little Matt could do if the dog didn’t pick up another scent. He admitted defeat, handed back the police radio that he’d borrowed to access the country frequency, and walked down the driveway to load Nat into the car.

  It was at that moment that Nat gave a small indication and a little pull on his lead. He put his nose down and elongated his body a little. He’s got a scent, Matt thought. He quickly put the harness back on and connected the 10-metre tracking line. He didn’t think to go and retrieve the police radio before taking off after his dog.

  Nat led his handler over to a big weeping willow. Suddenly, a big bloke emerged from under the drooping branches and made his way straight for Nat. Matt watched in horror as the man took a swing at his dog. There was a sickening crunching sound as the punch connected with Nat’s head.

  And then it was like a war had started.

  The crook didn’t know that a Rottweiler’s head is hard as concrete, and all the punch did was enrage the huge dog. Nat went into attack mode while Matt yelled, ‘Police! Don’t move!’ loud enough that the other cops heard him yelling and came running.

  ‘Call him off!’ cried the crook, writhing on the ground in the jaws of the massive police dog.

  ‘Stop fighting him!’ Matt yelled. ‘I’m not calling him off till you’re in handcuffs!’

  ‘Put me in handcuffs!’ begged the guy.

  As soon as the guy was handcuffed, Matt called the dog off. Nat let go and trotted back to Matt’s side. Matt surveyed the man’s injuries. The guy was wearing shorts, a singlet and thongs – not the best gear for an encounter with a Rottweiler. The man was severely bitten, his big toe hanging on by a thread. He was taken away in an ambulance while Nat had a game of tug of war with his old bit of rope, before hopping into the back of the police station wagon for a well-earned snooze.

  At a later court appearance, Daniel limped in on crutches. Doctors were able to re-attach his toe, but the scar would be a reminder forever of the day he punched a police dog in the head. Daniel got a three-year sentence for killing his friend once his legal eagles had argued the charges down from culpable driving to dangerous driving.

  One time Nat caught a crook who had broken into a school. He had picked up a scent at a brick wall, which Matt assumed was the point of entry. It turned out it was a point of exit. When the handler boosted the huge dog over the fence, Nat landed right on the crook huddled beneath. He didn’t bite him, didn’t have to; he just sat his 50-kilogram frame on the unfortunate burglar and did his low growl until the crook begged for mercy.

  Matt and his dog had so many adventures that Matt’s wife would ask daily, ‘What now?’ as she inspected her husband for grazes and scratches. But at least there was nothing more serious, thanks to Nat.

  Although Matt had initially balked at taking Nat on, he quickly realised that Nat made him a better and more fearless dog handler. Nat motivated Matt; the dog embodied all of the fearsome qualities of a police dog, but at home with the kids he was gentle as a lamb. When Nat retired, Matt got a new young dog. Nat was like an old mother fussing over him. He even slept in the kennel with the new pup.

  When Nat suddenly took ill and didn’t return from the vet, the new pup cried all night.

  MATT’S TRAINING TIPS

  Continuity is the rule. If you don’t want your dogs to hang around the table, don’t feed them at the table – it’s just plain logic.

  Invest yourself in the dog. Don’t be afraid to make an idiot of yourself. Jump around at the park and praise them in an excited way; it ramps up their excitement and appreciation for praise.

  Dogs read your body language. If you tell them off for something they did hours earlier, they might cower, but it isn’t because they feel bad about it; they are reacting to your mood at that moment.

  Praise is just as important as correction.

  Every dog has a different personality and will react differently to things. Try and find your dog’s idiosyncrasies.

  The Dog Squad on the front line in the search for a missing hang glider.

  CHAPTER 9

  Bob and Blitz

  As a young cop Bob Carter worked general duties around Kew, Collingwood and Prahran. Those first postings were designed to give police officers a sample of all the different kinds of police work available, and also to give them opportunities to find their strengths. After a couple of years in the job, Bob found his niche. Having been in the army cadets at Melbourne High as a youngster, he was a natural at drill and firearms. His bosses in the police force recognised this, and asked him to be a firearms instructor. Bob spent a gruelling two weeks at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, learning about weapons training. The course ran each day from 7 in the morning till 9.30 at night, including Saturdays. When he returned to Melbourne, Bo
b trained other police officers in defensive tactics and firearms.

  Over his career, Bob had seen a couple of mates go to the Dog Squad, and he occasionally saw them turn up to jobs with their dogs. While Bob had had dogs as pets in the past, he didn’t regard himself as a dog lover. When he decided to apply to the Dog Squad, the attraction for him was the job itself. He reckoned that being a dog handler guaranteed front-row tickets to the greatest show on earth; dog handlers and their dogs were always at the pointy end of the action.

  Bob did a lot of research before he applied to the squad. The more he learnt, the more he wanted to join. The thing that really clinched it for him was that every dog handler Bob spoke to loved it there; in fact, he noticed something that you rarely see in any job – everyone who spoke about their work at the Dog Squad did so with grins on their faces. There was no better advertisement. A lot of general police work can become a little repetitive and mundane but, from the stories that Bob heard, the jobs a dog handler attended were always different, and every day would bring something new.

  When the Police Gazette advertised a vacancy, Bob applied and went through the assessment and selection panels. When it was time for the bosses to come out to check his house was suitabile for housing a police dog, Bob was embarrassed when his infant son, aiming from his high chair, threw food at the senior sergeant.

  But despite this faux pas the inspection seemed to go well. After they’d had a look around, the bosses sent Bob out of the room so they could speak to the family. A handler’s job is a family affair and the family have to be supportive of the largely twilight and night work required. Not only that, a police dog with the right temperament would become part of the family. In those days, the Dog Squad had a preference for choosing married men with families. Wisdom dictated that if a man was single, his evenings might not regularly be spent at home. A dog needed a family.

  The bosses made it very clear that having a police dog was a 24/7 job. Days off still had to include an hour-long walk with the dog, split feeds and kennel cleaning. For a handler, there was no signing off duty and putting your feet up until the next shift.

  Bob was accepted into the Dog Squad, and got his front-row ticket to the greatest show on earth.

  Like a lot of handlers, Bob’s first dog didn’t make it as a police dog. But at the squad, one dog goes and another dog quickly takes its place, and soon a handsome German shepherd called Blitz arrived at the squad to be tested for suitability. Bob looked out a window and saw Blitz chasing a ball and thought: I must have that dog. Right from that first sighting, Bob could see Blitz had a presence about him. He was mostly black with a patch of honey on his chest, and he moved beautifully, with a confidence that Bob liked.

  Even so, Bob played it cool until Blitz’s assessments were over. When a dog arrives at the squad, there’s no guarantee that it will make the grade. Hidden things like poor hip scores could discount Blitz as a police dog, so Bob had to wait for the vet check.

  The trip to the vet wasn’t plain sailing. Blitz had been donated to the squad by a woman who had been advised to put him down after a single visit to the vet. She had bought him as a puppy for her daughter, who was being stalked, but there’s not much an eight-week-old puppy can do about a stalker. The woman took the dog for a medical check-up, but as soon as he was in the veterinary surgery Blitz turned into Cujo – a raving, snarling lunatic. The vet gave the dog a poor assessment for temperament and one of the options was to put him down. Luckily the woman chose not to follow the vet’s advice, and donated him to the Dog Squad instead.

  Bob didn’t know this part of the dog’s history, but when he took Blitz to the vet for his hip assessment, the same thing happened. The dog went crazy. The vet wrapped his lead around a hook in the examination room to keep him still, but Blitz pulled the hook out of the wall. In the end, they had to pull his head through the door and then shut the door to trap his head so the vet could give him an injection.

  After all that effort, the testing showed one of Blitz’s hips was close to perfect, and the other hip was so perfect the vet said it could have been shown in an anatomy book. Blitz would forever wear a muzzle when he went to the vet’s surgery, and while he would show his disgruntlement by growling a lot, he would let the vet examine him. Outside of the vet’s surgery, he was the perfect dog. He just really didn’t like going to the vet.

  After Bob had secretly coveted Blitz, the boss at the Dog Squad decided that Bob and Blitz would be the perfect pair. They both had similar temperaments – outgoing and enthusiastic. Bob was chuffed. He took a couple of weeks’ leave to bond with his dog. He spent a lot of time with the dog, walking him and feeding him, in order to develop the bond necessary to work together.

  Anything that Bob asked of Blitz, the dog would do. In those early days, the only thing stopping the dog was the limitations of Bob’s own skills as a handler. Blitz’s attitude was beyond enthusi­astic. And his drive was matched by an incredible ability. There was an adage that said a good police dog would always test his handler. While this might not seem ideal to a novice, it is a good trait in police dogs because it encourages them to take initiative. While Blitz was an easy dog to train, right from the start he pushed his boundaries.

  One time in training, there was a ball out in the middle of an oval and one of the other handlers had sent his dog to retrieve it. While the other dog loped off after it, Blitz looked at Bob, and then broke away. Despite the head start, Blitz overtook the other dog and snatched the ball out from under his nose.

  While one of the trainers reprimanded the dog, Bob knew that Blitz could see the ball and wanted it. The other dog was slow, and Blitz was faster. Blitz was always testing his boundaries like that, to see what he could get away with. A good police dog needs to be a bit of a rascal, and Blitz certainly had that in spades.

  After a couple of months training at the squad headquarters, Bob and Blitz were ready to hit the streets.

  Blitz’s first track was at a house burglary near Rowville. Another handler and dog attended the scene as backup. Bob cast Blitz on the long tracking line, and he was pretty sure the dog had picked up a scent because Blitz headed off down the footpath. Like all handlers on their first job, Bob had a moment of wondering if his dog had really picked up a track, but the dog seemed enthusi­astic and was doing all the things he did in training: keeping his head down, sniffing, and pulling enthusiastically on his tracking line.

  A couple of hundred metres from the burgled house, Blitz led Bob up a driveway straight to a boy in his late teens. A bit of questioning prompted the teenager to admit to robbing a number of houses. Bob liked to hand over crooks who had given their story already; of course, it’s easy to confess in front of a police dog handler and an excited police dog.

  Another track caught a serial rapist in Hawthorn. The offender had taken off his boots near the front driveway of his intended victim’s house. Luckily, the woman disturbed him as he was breaking in, and as he ran off, she telephoned the police. The woman described the man as wearing an aqua-coloured top.

  Sure enough, Blitz led Bob to a barefooted man wearing a light blue top. Having never studied fashion, or the nuances of a designer colour palette, Bob was fairly certain that aqua was in fact light blue. And this was their guy.

  Other uniformed police joined them at the scene as Bob questioned the man in the light blue top, who was trying to explain why the tracker dog had led police from his shoes at the scene of the break-in to where he was now standing. ‘Why are his socks in his pockets?’ asked a junior constable.

  The penny dropped: ‘I know why,’ said Bob. ‘He had them on his hands when he broke into the house so he wouldn’t leave fingerprints.’ It was an old crook’s trick.

  Sure enough, the guy was the rapist. He had been foiled by the alert homeowner and caught by an excited German shepherd that also couldn’t tell aqua from light blue but had a nose for crooks nonetheless.

  On another job, Bob and Blitz were sent to a group of shops in Mulgrave,
where the owners had reported a robbery. While Bob was casting the dog, trying to pick up a scent, a man came up to him and asked if everything was okay. Before Bob could reply, the man suddenly took off. Bob had never seen anyone run so fast – the guy could have been an Olympian. Blitz and Bob gave chase. The man leapt across one fence after another, and every time he did Blitz would jump up, snapping and scratching at his legs for a bite. But the man was too quick.

  After half a dozen fences, Bob and Blitz finally ran him down. The guy’s long jeans were now shredded shorts. Because Blitz couldn’t latch on to the guy’s legs, he’d settled for introducing the man’s jeans to some police dog trimming. The guy denied any involve­ment in the robbery, but was later convicted on DNA evidence.

  The oddest recapture of an escaped prisoner occurred when an incarcerated chap scarpered from the minimum security HM Prison Won Wron. Set in the tiny town of Won Wron, around 160 kilometres east of Melbourne, the prison was best known for its annual fundraiser: a fun run called Prisoners on the Run. But there was nothing funny about a real prisoner on the run – at least, not at the beginning of the search.

  Bob and Blitz were flown there by police helicopter because the prisoner already had a head start of a couple of hours. Bob and his family had just spent a week away, and while they were gone, Blitz had enjoyed his own holiday – a week at the Dog Squad headquarters with his police dog pals. Blitz loved staying out there and barked his head off all day. Every time Bob got him back, Blitz would be hoarse from barking, and would croak like a frog for a couple of days until his voice came back. On the flight, Bob shook himself out of holiday mode and set his mind on the job ahead.

  The helicopter dropped Bob and Blitz at the prison, and then took off again to start a search from the air. On the ground Bob was brought up to speed by police and prison guards, then he and Blitz began their own search in the surrounding bushland.