Moe Milstein, Vancouver Sun
Published: Tuesday, February 28, 2006

I didn't know Nitro, the Vancouver police department dog killed in the line of duty last month. I didn't attend his memorial ceremony, so I can't say whether I agree with Sun columnist Pete McMartin when he writes that it was "...a bit much."

But I know that attitudes toward working dogs have evolved in the 30 years that I have worked with police dogs. Dog handlers have not changed, but the attitude of police administrations has. The bond between handler and dog has always been strong -- as strong as any forged in battle, a word that is neither too melodramatic nor sentimental for these situations.

I learned something of the nature of this bond one night in 1975 around two o'clock in the morning when the phone rang in my bedroom. The Vancouver police department was calling to inform me that Sarge, a young German shepherd working with Const. Tom Carroll, was being rushed to the hospital where I was working.

Carroll and Sarge had caught a prowler. While Carroll was cuffing and subduing the felon, a darkened car glided up to the scene, turned its lights on, and accelerated straight at Carroll and Sarge. Sarge was hit and pinned under the car. The driver kept going and dragged Sarge for five blocks. Sarge sustained a fractured femur and pelvis, internal injuries and a good part of his elbow was ground away on the pavement.

Throughout the night, an endless stream of concerned constables phoned or stopped by to check on Sarge's condition. Sarge survived and went on to continue to give his all in the hunt for bad guys until cancer stopped him.

The next VPD dog squad casualty I saw did not fare as well. He was stabbed in the chest and bled to death.

Over the years, I have seen more injured police dogs, victims of accident or malignant intent. Several dogs fell from the tops of buildings while too zealously engaged in a track. Some died, others were crippled for the remainder of their lives. As if being kicked, shot, and knifed by dangerous people weren't enough, police dogs have also been attacked by other dogs purposely deployed by the bad guys.

This shared danger, along with the dog's integration into the handler's family, creates a relationship with its own special intensity.

Yet, it is only recently that this bond has been recognized. Twenty years ago, it was not unusual for the VPD to move the dog to a different handler every three years or so in an attempt to prevent a bond from developing. The atmosphere around the dog squad was decidedly macho and it was well known that men had no feelings anyway, especially for a dog. If a dog was retired or scratched, the handler was not allowed to adopt the dog.

The largest canine training facility in the world, the U.S. Army's at Lackland, Texas, has been training dogs since 1939 as sentries, messengers, trackers and mine detectors. Until recently, these dogs were worked until they were of no further use or until they had reached the age of 10. Then they were euthanized. It wasn't until the year 2000 that this practice was abolished and the dogs permitted to retire to their handler's care.
Training a dog to attack is really quite easy. Getting a dog to track, ignore distractions, gunfire, physical threats; to close with the quarry and subdue it with controlled bites and then to break off in the heat of this frenzy, is not so easy.

The complexities of these situations are illustrated by the case of Vancouver police dog Major. Major and his handler, a Const. McRae, were driving by as a bank robbery was in progress. By the time they arrived, the thief was fleeing the scene on foot.

McRae pursued the bank robber, but the man was armed and he turned and fired his shotgun full into the constable's face and McRae fell, alive but unconscious. Major still in the car, leapt out of the window at the sound of the gunshots. Now Major had a choice. He could have gone after the robber. He'd done it often enough before. He was the biggest dog on the force with a head like a bear and a personality like a teddy bear. He could have gone after the robber or run amok in the chaos, but, instead, he remained by his fallen handler, his legs astride his body, guarding him from anyone with malicious intent until the ambulance came and they persuaded Major to let them care for his friend.

Nitro's ceremony may have been "a bit much," but so is the life of a police dog.

Dr. Moe Milstein runs the Blueridge-Cove Animal Hospital in North Vancouver.

Blueridgevet@yahoo.com
© The Vancouver Sun 2006