He once broke the Special Operation Division powerlifting record. At the gym at ERT’s headquarters near the White House, team members have to lift a total of 1,000 pounds doing a bench press, squat, and dead lift. When Marshall arrived on the scene, the record was 1,245. He worked hard until he not only beat the record, but annihilated it: 415 pounds bench, 500 squat, 515 dead lift, for a most impressive total of 1,430 pounds.
But the powerlifting test doesn’t count unless competitors can still get sixteen out of sixteen on the Secret Service PT test afterward, to show they completed the feats of strength without sacrificing any stamina. Marshall nailed it but was glad when it was behind him.
He prides himself in keeping super strong and, like his ERT brothers, thrives on the competition. Most of the guys go well beyond the training standards for ERT.
During one dead-lifting competition Marshall overdid it. His back wasn’t feeling so great after. Wearing forty to sixty pounds of gear ten hours a day didn’t help the pain. The same handler who refused meds after having his elbow ripped apart by a dog reluctantly decided it might not be a bad idea to look for some relief from the pain.
He saw a doctor, who recommended two options: some rest and rehab to let the healing happen on its own over time while he was on light duty, or an anti-inflammatory steroid shot and immediate rehab so he could continue to work at full capacity, not even missing a day.
Marshall couldn’t imagine the rest-and-rehab option, which could take weeks. He wanted to work, not sit around. But more important to him was Hurricane. When Marshall was recovering from the bite to his elbow, he couldn’t help but feel bad for his dog.
Every morning Hurricane had woken up with his hopeful, excited, “Are we going to work today? Are we? Are we?” look. Normally Hurricane would have waited until Marshall was dressed in his uniform to get excited about work, but after his handler hadn’t worn his uniform for a few days, he seemed willing to believe that Marshall might be going to work in a tank top and shorts.
While Marshall’s elbow was healing, Hurricane didn’t do much at all. Marshall knew how hard that had to have been for a dog with his drive. He couldn’t even take Hurricane on runs, because his arm was in a sling the first few weeks, and after that the arm was always wrapped up, and he didn’t want to irritate it.
He would throw the Kong when he could, but because Marshall is a lefty and was injured on his left elbow, he could almost see Hurricane’s dismay when he watched “my weak-ass throws with my right arm. He had to have been wondering, ‘Why am I getting these weenie throws from this guy?’”
Other than these disappointing twenty minutes a day, Hurricane did nothing much for months. Marshall and Hurricane had to recertify when they returned to work.
He didn’t want to put his dog through a long downtime again just because of some intense back pain. And he didn’t want to take any chances that his dog could temporarily be given to someone else.
So rather than hang out with his dog at home for a few weeks while he let the inflammation settle down on its own, he bit the bullet and got the injection.
The needle looked to be about the size of a baseball bat in the image Marshall watched on a screen as he lay on his stomach on the X-ray table. The doctor had already injected some contrast dye and now he pushed the giant needle in from the side of his back all the way into the epidural space in his spine. As the doctor slowly, painstakingly injected a few milliliters of epidural steroid solution, Marshall focused on one thought.
This is for you, dog.
—
It was a phone call he didn’t expect to get for another year or two. Maybe ever.
The previous year Marshall had applied to become an agent in the Secret Service. It’s typically a slow process, with many hurdles to have to clear, even for those making the transition from the Uniformed Division.
Marshall had tried to time it so that if he got an offer, it would come in around the time Hurricane could be retiring. He knew he might not be given another working dog because of the one-and-done policy, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t want another dog so soon after Hurricane retiring anyway.
As much as his whole life revolved around his love of ERT work, especially with Hurricane, after nine years at the White House, and seven of those on ERT, he figured he might be ready for a new challenge and a change of scenery as an agent in a field office when Hurricane retired.
But the time came much sooner than he expected. In late November 2015, he got a phone call with the offer to become an agent. If he accepted it, he would have to report to class in two weeks. He knew he might never be offered the opportunity again if he turned it down. He was honored to have the offer but explained about his dog and asked if he could have a little time to make the decision.
There was a big chance that if he accepted the offer, Hurricane would not be retired and would go to a new handler. The dog wasn’t quite seven years old and had a lot of work left in him. And Hurricane had proven himself to be a great dog—the kind of dog the Secret Service would want to hold on to.
Marshall asked some of the bosses downtown what Hurricane’s fate would be if he accepted the job. They couldn’t give him a definite answer. Much as they empathized with his predicament, they told him they definitely couldn’t guarantee he’d get to keep him.
Even if he had the chance to keep Hurricane, he knew it would be for selfish reasons.
“He loves to work,” he told a friend. “The instructors tell you all the time as much as you think your dog loves you, they love to work a hundred times more.”
Yet somehow that didn’t seem quite true with Hurricane. Sure, his dog thrived when working. And maybe he would trot off happily with another handler who could provide him the chance to do what he loved.
Marshall didn’t think so, though. He and Hurricane had something pretty special. They were almost part of each other, inextricable from one another. He felt that way, and he had an inkling Hurricane did, too.
As he was weighing what to do, he thought he noticed that Hurricane seemed a little sad, a little quieter, just blue. Marshall felt Hurricane knew something had happened that could tear them apart. He figured it was just going down the leash, but then again, there was that whole crazy fence jumper day . . .
Sometimes Marshall would look at Hurricane and almost hear what he was thinking:
Are you going to give me away?
Friends urged him to make a list of pros and cons. He didn’t have to.
Even if the only item in the list of cons was that Hurricane might not get to retire and stay with him, it wasn’t an option.
“If you came up to me with a bag with a million dollars cash and asked me to pass his leash to you, when it came down to it, I wouldn’t be able to do it,” he explained.
He had a feeling that if someone made a similar offer to Hurricane, he would do the same.
As he was about to dial the agent to let him know his decision, he looked over to Hurricane, who was sleeping near the front door. Hurricane looked up and wagged.
“Hurricane,” he said with a smile. “No regrets. This is for you.”
Explosives detection dog Astra enjoys some downtime at dusk near Air Force Two during a vice presidential detail in Rhode Island. (Courtesy of Kim K.)
Leth O. and his dog Reik traveled on protective missions to Germany, Japan, Thailand, Cambodia, South Korea, Oman, Jordan, Romania, and forty-nine states—all but Maine. Reik is now happily retired and living the good life with Leth’s family. (Courtesy of Leth O.)
Two weeks after the November 2015 Paris terror attacks, Astra and handler Kim K. were among eight Secret Service dog teams that traveled to the City of Light for a presidential detail. (Courtesy of Kim K.)
The first canine class of the United States Secret Service graduated on April 30, 1976. The German shepherds had been donated or plucked from shelters. (Courtesy of
Bill Shegogue)
President Ronald Reagan laughs at a quip made by handler Tony Ferrara, who keeps a firm grip on his 110-pound Dutch shepherd, Bart. (Courtesy of the Ronald Reagan Library)
Presidents and vice presidents have visited the James J. Rowley Training Center (RTC) and watched demonstrations of the dogs who protect them and their families. Here President Barack Obama listens to a brief on the canines before a demo with a tactical dog. (Courtesy of “Stew”)
Secret Service Emergency Response Team (ERT) members typically place first overall in the patrol portion of a popular K-9 Olympics they attend every few years. Left to right, canines Baco, Jason, and Nitro worked with their handlers to bring home the “gold” at the 2015 K-9 Olympics. (Courtesy of the United States Secret Service)
ERT canine Spike and handler Jim S. won several top awards at the 2010 K-9 Olympics, including first in individual and team patrol. Jim’s wife and children bestowed the first-place ribbon on seven-year-old Spike when he arrived home. (Courtesy of Jim S.)
Belgian Malinois Jason was eight years old when he competed in the 2015 K-9 Olympics with handler Shawn S., but his age didn’t get in the way of placing first in the challenging obstacle course and being part of the Secret Service team that won first in patrol. (Courtesy of the United States Secret Service)
ERT dog handler Larry C. has been watching over the White House with his dog Maximus since 2009. “Maximus is like my own child,” he says. It’s a common sentiment among handlers. (Courtesy of Larry C.)
The first time handler Sal S. brought home his explosives detection dog, Daro, the 110-pound German shepherd walked up the stairs, turned around, lay down, and sighed. From then on, this was Daro’s spot. (Courtesy of Sal S.)
“Friendly Dog” Roadee (left) at home with sisters Bailey and Ciela. Whenever a sponge, dog bed, or anything else in the house is destroyed, all eyes turn to Roadee, who is inevitably the guilty party. (Courtesy of Josh B.)
Roadee takes his job of sniffing for explosives on humans seriously, but tourists who see him working outside the White House fence often chuckle and ask, “What kind of dog is that?” (Courtesy of the author)
“Friendly Dogs” like Dyson go for walks for a living. Rain, shine, sleet, heat, snow, ice—they spend their work days weaving among tourists near the White House fence, focused on their mission. (Courtesy of the author)
Handler Nate C. has to be extra vigilant about keeping Dyson from getting too hot after the springer spaniel nearly died from a heatstroke. Nate spent almost every waking and sleeping minute at Dyson’s side at the military veterinary hospital that treated him. (Courtesy of the author)
Jon M. offers his dog Rex a cup of water from a water cooler while sweeping a building for explosives in preparation for Pope Francis’s 2015 visit to Washington, DC. (Courtesy of the author)
Canine program instructor Steve M. pets a potential future Secret Service explosives-sniffing dog during weeklong testing at Vohne Liche Kennels (VLK) in Indiana. (Courtesy of the author)
The Secret Service has a reputation for being very picky when it comes to dog selection. Here canine training assistant Shawn G. releases a candidate from the Service’s dog trailer for testing at VLK. (Courtesy of the author)
ERT handlers and dogs train for every imaginable scenario, including rappelling down tall buildings. (Courtesy of “Stew”)
ERT canine Jardan leaps up to bite decoy “Stew” during training at RTC. ERT handlers are pretty much guaranteed bites and injuries throughout their career, despite protective gear. (Courtesy of “Stew”)
Secret Service ERT dogs and handlers take part in a fast-rope exercise from a hovering MV-22 Osprey. (Courtesy of “Stew”)
Hurricane, here with handler Marshall M., became an international hero after an incident on the north grounds of the White House in 2014. (Courtesy of Marshall M.)
Hurricane may be able to take down the toughest bad guys, but he’s also an extremely affectionate dog. During this awards ceremony he had no trouble convincing US Secretary of Homeland Security Jeh Johnson to pet him. (Courtesy of the United States Secret Service)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Tap tap tap . . .
The dog who had alerted his handler to a White House intruder by tapping on his shoulder was now tapping on my leg. I was in the middle of an interview with Marshall M. at Rowley Training Center, and as far as I could tell, there was no significant incident his dog could possibly be trying to convey to me.
But it depends on your perspective. And apparently it was significant to Hurricane that he hadn’t been petted for a good fifteen minutes while there were free hands around. Since I take notes with only one hand, and my other was only occasionally around my coffee cup, it was a hand that was mostly going to waste.
Tap tap tap.
I reached down to pet him. His tail wagged so heartily against the carpet that when I listened to the audio recording of the interview weeks later, I momentarily thought it was the sound of a muffled hammer in the distance. He threw himself on the ground, belly up, and locked in on me with his deep brown eyes.
Who could resist? Of course I gave him a most enthusiastic belly rub. I owe him a lifetime of belly rubs for what he did on the night of October 22, 2014, and for his contributions to this book. He and I have gotten close over the months of getting to know his story. He now refers to me—so Marshall tells me—as “Auntie Maria.” I could not be more proud of my nephew.
Nothing can compare with how proud Marshall is of his canine partner. Whenever he talks about Hurricane, he beams, he glows, he smiles, he laughs, he is the picture of joy. “I don’t care about me being in the book. I just want the world to know about Hurricane,” he’d frequently tell me.
Marshall spent dozens of hours helping me get the details of their stories and answering my seemingly endless questions. His passion for anything Hurricane-related never waned over the months. I am deeply grateful that this smart, funny, badass, quick-thinking, deeply devoted dog handler entrusted me to tell the world about his buddy (and him!). Grazie, Marziale!
Leth O. also spoke with me at length, and over many months, about his heartrending story. I never imagined when I set out to research this book that I would be writing about someone who went from the nightmare of being a child under the Khmer Rouge to the dream of being a man who protects American presidents. It was not easy for him to dredge up the horrors of the camps and the killing fields, but he hoped that by recounting the memories, more people would be aware of the genocide and its lasting effects on Cambodia. Leth, thank you for going through all this with me. I look forward to more delicious Cambodian meals with your family.
I owe a debt of gratitude to all the other current handlers and instructors who shared their knowledge and their stories with me. “Stew,” Jim S., and Brian M. went above and beyond to help me with many aspects of the book. And Brian B., Brian W., Dante C., Daryl G., Erica F., John F., Jon M., Jorge P., Josh B., Kevin H., Kim K., Larry C., Luke K., Nate C., Nate P., Sal S., Shawn G., Shawn S., Steve M., and Tim D. are also deeply dedicated and utterly passionate about what they do.
I truly believe that every handler I spoke with—and probably every handler I didn’t get a chance to interview—has the best dog in the world. That’s the way it should be. The canines of the Secret Service deserve deep respect for their hard work, fortitude, courage, and enthusiasm for their job: from Roadee—one of the most colorful canine characters I’ve ever met—and his soulful colleague Dyson to the most badass K-9 Olympic champions like Nitro and Jason.
Captain Brianna S., who runs the Fort Belvoir Veterinary Center (VETCEN), works hard with her staff to keep these dogs healthy. She was invaluable in helping me understand the smallest details of Dyson’s dire condition. Her three painstaking reviews of the chapter about Dyson’s medical emergency to make sure I got everything right were tremendously helpful.
Lead instructor Brian M
. captains a stellar ship over at the Rowley Training Center. Brian, your grandfather would be proud of you.
Special Agent Bill G. was at my side for initial interviews with each handler to make sure the handlers and I stayed away from information that could jeopardize OPSEC. He also accompanied me to many Secret Service canine locations around Washington, D.C., and to Indiana so I could observe a “buy trip.” He was already extraordinarily busy, but he handled the added responsibility with aplomb, humor, and a quick wit. Bill, thanks for all your time and your support throughout. I can hear you say it now: “It’s all good!”
The United States Secret Service doesn’t often agree to work extensively with book authors. During the months while I awaited the agency’s decision, I tried not to get discouraged but didn’t want to get my hopes up either. Special Agent Brian L., of the Office of Government and Public Affairs (GPA), had liked the idea of the book from the beginning and kept me posted the best he could about the progress as it worked its way up the ladder. It was a happy day in July 2015 when he called to give me the good news.
Special Agent Nicole M. was the GPA liaison assigned to me for the duration. I watched in awe as she juggled multiple urgent media inquiries while calmly helping me gather information, or going with me to locations I would not otherwise have access to, like the Andrews flight line. I greatly enjoyed the time we spent together and appreciate all the work she put into fielding my myriad requests.
Secret Service Dogs Page 26
