Issue 4 | July/August 2017 | $9.95
Creating an Effective K9 Unit Part 2
Anti-Poaching in Africa Establishing Local Canine Units
Mechanics of the Bite
Sleeve Progressions in Police K9 Training
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(Not So)
Retiring Heroes
ACTIVE DUTY TO GOLDEN YEARS By Maria Goodavage If you’re like most dog handlers, your K9 is your other half. You’re probably not kidding when you “joke” that your dog knows you better than your spouse does. After all, if you’re in civilian law enforcement, you and your dog have been together almost 24/7 since becoming partners. If you’re a military working dog handler, your bond also runs deep, especially if you’ve deployed with your dog. Your life depends on your dog, and vice versa. And the lives of many others depend on the two of you being able to read each other, trust each other, and take necessary action to avert disaster in a split second. It’s no wonder that when it comes to the idea of K9 partners retiring, handlers can have a range of reactions. On the one hand, who doesn’t want to bring their best friend home to enjoy couch time and family life after years on the demanding job? On the other hand, you’re losing your best work partner, and you may be worried about how your dog is going to handle being put out to pasture. After all, dogs who make it to retirement usually have big drive and love working.
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Dogs may not get to play 18 holes a day after they’re handed the proverbial gold watch, but most get used to the good retired life surprisingly quickly. Over the years of researching and writing my books about military and Secret Service dogs, I’ve been lucky to know many active-duty dogs who retired. Today we’ll look at the retired lives of two of my favorites — both absolute heroes in their working days, and both thoroughly enjoying their golden years.
Hurricane
During his busy career, this shiny black Belgian Malinois with titanium canine teeth protected presidents, vice presidents, their families, and visiting heads of state, including Pope Francis. He was one of the best and most beloved canines ever to serve on the United States Secret Service’s Emergency Response Team (ERT), with incredible tactical skills and an on-off switch that blew away even the USSS’s top trainers. One minute he’d be going after the bad guy in training with everything he had, and shortly after he’d apprehended the guy, Hurricane would be on his back trying to coax his handler or anyone within arm’s reach to dole out a belly rub.
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In 2014, Hurricane thwarted a would-be White House intruder despite being beaten up pretty badly in the process. He made headlines, and his actions at least temporarily put the Secret Service in a good light after a long spate of bad news about the agency. He went on to receive the coveted Department of Homeland Security Secretary’s Award for Valor for his heroic actions. He and handler Marshall M. (last name not used here because of operational security concerns of the Secret Service) bonded at first sight, and were pretty much inseparable during their career together. When it became apparent in 2016 that Hurricane’s hips were having problems that could lead to him not performing up to the extremely high standards of the Service, Marshall didn’t want to believe it. It seemed Hurricane didn’t either. During evaluations of his physical skills, Hurricane gave his all — even more than usual — as if he knew he had to shine. With a mission as vital as the protection of the leader of the free world, there’s no room for error or even a misstep. Hurricane eventually wasn’t able to make the jumps he needed to, and he was retired last fall. Marshall worried about what Hurricane would do stuck at home when the dog loved to work so much and was so used to being at his side. Hurricane is the kind of K9 who knew which days were workdays by what Marshall wore, and he would wait in excitement by the door before Marshall was even in his uniform. (Unlike military dogs, Secret Service dogs live with their handlers.) Plus, Hurricane was only seven years old. The first days he had to leave Hurricane at home when he went to work as a regular ERT member were rough for both of them. Marshall texted me on his breaks that he felt sick with guilt leaving Hurricane behind. Sure, his Secret Service housemates would check on Hurricane, but Hurricane’s look of disbelief, disappointment, and dismay when Marshall left every morning without him haunted him all day.
It didn’t help matters when Marshall was assigned a new tactical canine, a young Mal with little training. He tried to keep Peter from being anywhere in the realm of Hurricane. But Hurricane knew he was there. He could surely smell him in the air, even though Peter was living in a protected outdoor run on the other side of the house. And Hurricane could clearly smell him all over Marshall. The way Hurricane inspected him with his nose made Marshall feel like a guy might feel coming home to his wife with another woman’s perfume all over him. He could almost hear Hurricane tell him: Why would you want someone else when you have me? During this time, I visited them while in Washington, D.C., for the launch of my book Secret Service Dogs. Marshall had earlier dubbed me Hurricane’s auntie, and what’s an auntie to do but bring her nephew and star of her book a steak, especially at a time like this? I walked into their home with an Outback Steakhouse ribeye, and Hurricane was mesmerized, not leaving my side, and casting longing looks at the takeout bag I’d placed on the counter. Human food hadn’t been on Hurricane’s menu when he was working, and although he’d downed a couple of burgers during his month of retirement, steak
hadn’t yet crossed his path. Marshall cut it into little bites, and when he showed it to Hurricane, the regal Mal stood on his hind legs, walked a couple of steps toward it, and remained standing, staring, eyes wide at his possible forthcoming good luck. Marshall placed it on the floor, waited a few beats, and gave him the OK. It was gone within seconds. The sight of his dog Hoovering the steak thrilled Marshall at least as much as eating it thrilled Hurricane. These days, Hurricane is enjoying all the perks that go with retired life, including walks on the shore on weekends and snuggling with Marshall’s girlfriend whenever possible. His hips are starting to do better, thanks to his life of leisure and free medical care from the Animal Medical Center in Manhattan. (Hurricane had received the charity’s coveted Top Dog award in December 2016 at a black-tie gala, and the director and staff fell in love with him and rolled out the red carpet of health care for the rest of his years.) Marshall still sometimes feels the stings of guilt, especially when Hurricane cries if he sees Peter heading to the car for work. Marshall tries not to think about how his old partner must feel. He can usually distract Hurricane from the sight by giving him some treats to keep him occupied as he leaves.
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Hurricane visits with his housemates throughout the day if they’re around, but he has started an interesting new “hobby” — usually on a day no one else is home. As Marshall explains: “The second I open the door, instead of waiting and running up, he’ll be standing a few feet away, and once he sees me, he slowly offs himself (like super slow) and head down ears back — purposely letting me know he did something. Ninety percent of time it’s the same thing. He has taken one small thing out of the trash can and placed it in the middle of the room. Like a wrapper or piece of paper. “It’s so funny because he’s so well behaved, he thinks that’s bad. It’s like he didn’t want to do it, but even bad attention is still attention, and he’s letting me know he’s unhappy. The can is never knocked over, and nothing is ever chewed up. It’s like he ever so gently takes a bottle out of the can and puts it right by the door so I see it. I try not to laugh as I pick it up and throw it away.” Hurricane has his own big, cushy bed, but lately Marshall has noticed a new phenomenon when he gets home: A sunken circle on his bed or couch, always warm to the touch. Hurricane won’t even look at the couch or bed when Marshall’s home, but now that he’s retired, he seems to have taken the term couch potato to heart — at least until Marshall gets home. The moment a car pulls up, Hurricane plunks down and runs to his dog bed. In retirement, the old rules go out the window. “I don’t want to let him know that’s ok, but I don’t mind either,” says Marshall. “So, I guess we both pretend we don’t know about it. I may or may not have snuck up on him a few times and looked through a window and caught him, but purposely took an extra few seconds with the keys in the door. It’s the least I can do for this amazing retired guy.”
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@k9hurricane
Lucca
@luccak458
“Mama” Lucca K458’s deep brown eyes are slightly clouded with age, but if you take a few seconds to look into them, you can almost catch a glimpse of what she has seen during her legendary career as a Marine specialized search dog. There’s a profound depth to her gaze, a wisdom that comes with saving untold numbers of lives during three combat deployments. And there’s still a sparkle because this dog loves life, always has, regardless of circumstances. Lucca led more than 400 missions during her deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. A German shepherdMalinois mix (a “Shepinois”) with a most resplendent tail, Mama Lucca was one of the best when it came to sniffing out IEDs off leash. No one was ever injured when she and one of her two handlers were walking point with her. At least not until March 23, 2012. On that fateful day, she alerted to one IED, and moments later, on a crunchy dry farm field in southern Afghanistan’s Helmand River valley, another IED exploded directly under her. Her handler bolted over and saw that her front, left paw and some of the lower leg had been blown off. She was bleeding profusely. The IED would end her career, but thanks to the quick actions of handler Juan “Rod” Rodriguez, it didn’t end her life. He and the medic stemmed the bleeding and got her stable, and Lucca and Rod were swept off by a Black Hawk medevac. The next morning, surgeons (veterinary and human) amputated her leg during an hours-long painstaking operation. Within a few days, Lucca was taking steps on her own, tail wagging slightly, as she took this next stage of her life in stride.
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Three months later, a nearly healed Lucca arrived with Rod to great media fanfare in Finland, where she would begin her official retirement with her original handler, Chris Willingham. Chris and Rod had agreed that Chris would adopt her when the time came. Chris was married, had two kids, and was living a stable life on Marine Security Guard duty in Helsinki. Chris and Lucca shared a long history, becoming partners nearly six years earlier, on April 23, 2006, in Israel. He had spent half a year training her at a special program with the Israeli Defense Force’s Oketz Unit, and would later complete two deployments to Iraq — one of them especially grueling — with Mama Lucca. Chris had heard about how well Lucca was doing in her recovery from the blast, but it took seeing her in person for him to fully fathom Lucca’s incredible resiliency. “I’ve seen dogs go through much less and suffer much more. She truly was the same Lucca as before the injury,” he says. Lucca’s retirement was seamless. She immediately became a cherished member of the household and settled in to the family’s routine with ease, enjoying comfy beds and plenty of love. And she was something of an instant star in Helsinki, flocked by admirers who had seen the articles and TV reports about the new hero in their midst.
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Photo by Ariel Peldunas
Once back in the U.S., the threelegged Purple Heart recipient (unofficially; dogs don’t qualify for human medals in the military, but a high-ranking officer thought she deserved one) traveled the country with Chris when his busy schedule allowed. She shone as an inspirational ambassador for wounded warriors. The way she walked, trotted, ran, it was hard for people to believe she was a “tripod” dog. “She has virtually no limitations,” Chris would explain, beaming. While living near Quantico, she was a frequent visitor to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center’s amputee rehab wards, where she inspired veterans who were trying to adjust to life without limbs. She brightened the room as she made the rounds to veterans and their families. “It doesn’t matter that she’s a dog. She made a difference,” says former Security Forces airman Brian Kolfage, a triple amputee who also paid visits to the ward to help others. Lucca wins hearts everywhere she goes. At an American Kennel Club awards event in Manhattan, where Lucca received the Heroic Military Working Dog Award, it took Chris and Lucca 90 minutes to make their way through the
adoring crowd so she could get outside for a bathroom break. She was also a huge hit when she rode on the Rose Parade float for the National Military Working Dog Team Monument and rubbed elbows with stars and athletes. In 2016, she received the Dickin Medal, the top honor in the world for military dogs. She and Chris traveled to London to receive it, and Lucca’s story made headlines around the globe. She handles all the attention with the same unflappable poise she had while sniffing out bombs in Iraq and Afghanistan. Chris knew the London trip would be her last big appearance. She was 12 and slowing down with arthritis. Since then, she’s been a true full-time retiree, continuing to enjoy a rich family life with the Willinghams near Camp Pendleton. She loves the whole family, but Chris is clearly her hero. She wants to be around him, always. She’s his shadow, watching his back, and he watches out for her. In some ways, it’s like their days together on deployment, only without all the bad parts. Sometimes he still plants a scent for her to find, for old time’s sake. “It’s been amazing having Lucca during her retirement,” says Chris.
“I owe Lucca everything. She is the only reason I made it home to my family and feel very fortunate to have served with her.” I’ve been fortunate to be able to visit the Willinghams at length over the years since first doing research for my book Top Dog, which stars Mama Lucca. When Lucca sees me, she runs over enthusiastically, gives me a couple of face licks, and then bam! Down she goes for a belly rub. Until recently I thought this was behavior reserved for her inner circle, including her loving biographer who always supplies her with salmon treats. Then I saw her greeting friendly strangers this way and realized I was not alone. Chris confirmed this. “Lucca loves meeting new people, and she almost demands belly rubs these days. She’ll sit beside them, and then as soon as they pet her head, she immediately lays down for the belly rubs,” he says. “I hope my retirement is that good. Not that I want strangers rubbing my belly but, you know what I’m saying — relatively speaking.” Even at 13 years old, Lucca still has such a robust presence that people tend to make incorrect assumptions about her. Pretty much since the beginning, many have mistaken Lucca for a boy. She is a big girl, brawny, and has a name that could go either way. Age has not withered her appearance a bit, and it’s almost an everyday occurrence for someone to comment on what a good-looking dog “he” is. The Willingham children have been polite but staunch defenders of her gender almost since they could talk. “Lucca is a girl,” one will inevitably say, matter-of-factly.
Some people don’t realize Lucca is missing a leg until they’ve been petting her for a few minutes. When they finally discover she’s a three-legged dog, they tend to be shocked they hadn’t figured it out much earlier. On other occasions, someone will point out that Lucca has a little problem. “Sir, your dog is limping,” they’ll tell Chris. “Yes ma’am,” or “Yes sir,” he’ll say with a smile. “They tend to do that with three legs.” Then he’ll go on to tell a brief version of her story if they seem interested. They always are. Former USA Today journalist Maria Goodavage is considered one of the foremost author experts on the training and service of military working dogs after the publications of her critically-acclaimed New York Times bestselling books, Soldier Dogs, and Top Dog, about Marine hero Lucca, who recently received the Dickin Medal for bravery. Goodavage’s experience and knowledge earned her the trust of the United States Secret Service, and now she offers readers the results of her unprecedented access to its canine program in Secret Service Dogs: The Heroes Who Protect the President of the United States. She has appeared on numerous national TV shows, including The Daily Show With Jon Stewart and Today, and has given talks about military dogs at the New York Stock Exchange, National Museum of the United States Air Force, and other large venues. Goodavage lives in San Francisco with her family and yellow Lab puppy, Gus, who is a living memorial to a fallen military dog and handler she wrote about in Top Dog. More on his special story another time. Website: mariagoodavage.com Facebook: facebook.com/soldierdogs
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K9 PROTECTION & EQUIPMENT FOR WORKING DOGS
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• Harness with armour is positively buoyant
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• Protects all vitals but allows K9 to retain full agility • Harness dries quickly in the sun • Stands up to years of hard use • High-angle version is available for rappelling and rope work • Wide range of adjustment and modular components create a custom fit for each K9 • Low maintenance design is easy to clean and maintain • Chest, shoulder and body armour is removable for easy cleaning or to be replaced with a different threat level to suit the mission requirement