A Day as a Search & Rescue Handler
Thanks to the German Shepherd Dog Review Magazine/July 2001
Article written by Jan July

Last month, an editor who may wish to remain nameless, approached me about an article on cadaver dogs. Now I do know about tracking, but what I know about cadaver recovery could be put in a bait bag. However I agreed to check it out and get back to her. The subject sounded very interesting in the same morbid sense that causes people to slow down at accidents and peer at the injured and/or dead victims. Not that I have ever done that, of course. I'm usually too busy trying to avoid running over the rescue personnel directing traffic to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate parties.
While I was deciding where to research the subject, I chanced upon a bright orange flyer touting a search and rescue (SAR) seminar. Ah hah! What a serendipitous find! I immediately rushed off my check and reservation for the Saturday seminar, barely registering the fact that I was already entered in an obedience trial in my quest for UDX legs on my Sweetie. I did note the raindate though, no trial on that day. I planned to pray for rain.

Fate intervened. My two-year-old bitch, Honey, came into season early, pulling my UDX/SAR wannabe into season ten days later. Scratch the obedience trial. But wait, I can't take a bitch in "full-bloom" to a seminar where all the dogs actually know how to use their noses! Now I was really in a quandary, double-entered, with no place to go. What fun would SAR training be without a dog?

By careful counting of days, a bath, an early morning bummy scrub with rinseless shampoo, and a judicious application of spray deodorant topped with insect repellent, I was able to set off for the day with a young bitch that only an experienced stud dog would alert to. My conscience was almost clear. Just to be safe, I left her in the car until I ascertained that the majority of SAR candidates were either bitches or neutered. I kept snitches at a distance by implying that my Honey may snap if they got in her face (or tail).

I pull up at the site on Saturday morning thinking that I'm in over my head. There is an official police-type directing traffic. Serious looking men dressed in combat boots, army fatigues and sporting crew cuts are striding around conversing on their walkie-talkies. Resolute, I consider that I drove an hour and a half to get here and I am not going home unless they make me.

Now like any female, as soon as I hop out of the car, I look for a bathroom. I am directed around the corner of the barn, to an outhouse. I follow the directions. The term "outhouse" is a euphemism. It is a two-holer with cobwebbed lids. The seats, 12" from the floor, give new meaning to the term squat. I gingerly lift a lid; the hole is filled with sand to the level of the seat. I cleverly make the assessment that it is out of service. The alternative is parked in front of hole #1. It is one of those invalid portable pottys with a five-gallon size bucket. I think they are going to need a bigger bucket! I wimp out. I beg the homeowner. A pair of yellow finches select their breakfast from the bird feeder outside the bathroom window. Relieved, I vow to risk dehydration for the remainder of the day. I discreetly walk Honey. She has no problem with the facilities.

I park my chair under the canopy and check out the other dogs. They range from two Newfoundlands to a miniature poodle with a trio of Norwegian Elkhounds and thankfully a few German Shepherds included. I recognize a few faces from the obedience rings. Most of the handlers are women. None of the attendees are wearing fatigue pants. I relax.

Surprise, the official types are very nice. They have a well-thought-out program including handouts. Two years ago the area mounted a huge three-day rescue effort searching for a lost retarded young adult. The local terrain consists of a large area of state forests and conservation areas with two rivers and serious hiking paths. The cover is dense and difficult to penetrate. Everything from foot searches and thermal imaging by helicopter to equestrian units and canine units were used. The agencies involved learned tremendously through their first hand experience. Organization and a predetermined plan of action are of paramount importance along with strong lines of communication.

We move from the tent to a sandy area behind the buildings where the instructor made several digs a couple of weeks earlier. One of digs contains a "body". We are excited by the expectation of a cadaver search, whoops, I mean recovery. "Search" is used for an expected live find. "Recovery" is used for bodies, parts, and other types of evidence.
The dog, a Border collie, is directed to "find napoo". The instructor uses an indian word for body for aesthetic reasons. We eagerly watch as the Border collie makes a cursory search with no indications of a find. She is directed again to "find napoo". I can see her thinking, "you put this thing here weeks ago, you know where it is!" At the third command she says, "OK, here it is," and indicates the correct dig by pawing. As soon as the find is indicated, the dog is removed from the area to prevent disturbance of the area. The location is cordoned off and the crime scene and evidence collection team moves in. The area is extensively photographed and searched. The ground is carefully excavated using first a flat shovel, and then by hand with trowels and brushes. Before the body is actually moved, the whole area is dug out, leaving the body on a pedestal of underlying earth. Excavated soil is sieved through three screens of increasing fineness for bits of bone, bullets, and other evidence, etc. The crime technicians are meticulous. Ours is enthused by an upcoming seminar to study cadavers buried months earlier in a training exercise. We learn bodies, body parts, etc can be purchased on the internet. Bodies donated to science may end up serving purposes never envisioned by the original owner!

This instructor uses bone dust in training his dog for cadaver work. Human tissue, organs, umbilical cords, pseudo-cadaver scent, and skeletal materials are some of the other training aids used. He does not get into the actual training procedures, but later conversation indicates the process is very similar to other scent work training. The amount of the scent training material is gradually reduced, and the age of the find is increased. Different scenarios are used to simulate field conditions. Remote rural cemeteries make good practice fields for trained teams. Dogs are rewarded for their work. We joke about the ashes of cremated relatives making a contribution.

The session is interrupted by the arrival of a helicopter. The pilot and spotter explain how a helicopter is used to aid search and rescue efforts. This one is equipped with Forward Looking Infrared (FLIR), a video camera, and a very powerful spotlight. The infrared can indicate a hot spot, but identifying the origin takes experience and frequently, assistance from ground personnel. The beam cannot penetrate the heavy canopy of mature trees in full leaf, but readings can be taken through breaks in the canopy. It can even pick up the heat from a pile of manure. It is more accurate if the air temperature is less than 85 degrees, which is similar to the skin temperature of humans. Radio contact with the command center in a search allows the spotter to direct ground searchers to hot spots. Live video can also be sent to headquarters.

After a lunch break, during which the equestrian units pull in with three horses, the moment arrives when we can try our dogs in a mock search. Two young men are reported to be missing for 3-4 hours in the area north of the buildings. We are shown the property boundaries with a wave of the hand and clued that the "victims" are most likely in the center area. Approximately thirty eager searchers and twenty clueless dogs converge on the path leading to the backfields. We pass around the bug repellent and secretly hope our dog makes the find. We are encouraged to pair-up, I suspect to decrease the chance that any of the searchers will be lost. Some dogs are on collars, a few in tracking harnesses. My Honey wears her tracking harness with long line attached. She pees frequently to make sure every dog knows she was there.

I pair up with a Norwegian elkhound and his handler. I am enlightened by learning that elkhounds are used by the Royal Canadian Mounted police for search and rescue work. We check out the east edge of a bean field along a central tree line, but suspect the "action" is further along. It sure is! The mosquitos are dead set on collecting a pint of blood with our every step. We pass the repellent around again. The mosquitos don't notice. (We spray the dogs too.)

We are invited into a wide mowed path between the swampy areas by the promise of cool shade. The mosquitos are horrendous. Conversation without inhaling the buggers is impossible. We retreat after fifty feet and decide to follow the edge of another crop field to the east. The mosquitos are so thick I can't see. I close my eyes and spray my face. Now I have repellent all over my glasses. I still can't see. I am beginning to have doubts about my future as a SAR handler. Honey follows the others through a tree line, tall grass, and mud and up to the river edge. The only prints are those of deer and my fellow searchers. The trail peters out and we turn around. This is no place for a tracking dog. The helicopter hovers above. We don't know what they can see but are grateful when the down draft blows away the bloodsuckers. The equestrians ride east. We follow, milling around disorganizedly. We turn back at east edge of the field. Having run out of urine, Honey makes a contribution of fertilizer to the field. It isn't in anyone's way, so I leave it, hoping no one notices.

We wander back to the original path between the swamps and brave the mosquitos. I feel sorry for the lost victims. The instructor tells us the helicopter is hovering in this area because they have a hot spot. We venture off the path down the bank; the grass is six foot tall, Honey says "yuck." The horse people point to the west. We cannot see clearly across the pond. Some people are returning to the buildings. We wonder what is going on.

The "victims" have been found. One by a six month old golden, the other by a handler. They were west of the path, and we went east. We are disappointed. I don't count my mosquito bites because I don't think I can count that high. I take off Honey's harness. This is no way to conduct a search, too many people and no organization. We learn first hand the importance of planning and communication. It is a valuable lesson.
As we trudge back to the buildings I realize how I can make a meaningful contribution to a search and rescue effort. I'll stay at the command center and serve sandwiches to the volunteers. Now that is a job I can sink my teeth into!

As the session is wrapped up, the presenters ask for feedback and suggestions. I suggest they rent a Port-A-Potty for the next seminar. It is well received. I am pleased to have made a contribution.

The end

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Jan July is an occasional contributor to the German Shepherd Dog Review. She has been involved with German Shepherd Dogs for more than thirty years and a parent club member since 1971. She has finished a couple of champions, put several obedience and tracking titles on her dogs, and is flirting with agility. Except for serving sandwiches, she has crossed search and rescue activities off her list of things to do.