I had forgotten how much fun search dog work really can be. A group of us met today at Schoodic Pennisula. What a beautiful spot--especially on a cold, snowy, crystal clear day in January. When we left, the sun was on the horizon with that slanty light of a late winter's afternoon. There wasn't a breath of wind and the ocean almost looked inviting and warm--until you saw the snow on the rocks of the islands. More people really should visit this piece of Acadia National Park.

Snow caves were the specialty of the day. Keith had already dug and hidden in one at home a couple of weeks ago, so Zeke had the idea. The funniest part was watching him crawl into the hole after Irene when he found her. We almost couldn't get him to come back out. He's such a natural when it comes to this work and he's so OLD for a 5 month old puppy. He just seems to get it--whatever it is at the moment. We are in tune and it's fun.

Probably the most fun of the day was a snow fight that Irene and I had after she hid for Zeke in a short area search. We were throwing snow at him, whooping it up and making it a big reward. She got so into it, she started throwing snow at me, so I threw it back at her and then she buried me. Leslie just laughed...we should have buried her too!

Zeke had a couple of nice refinds on his two short area problems. We got to practice some obedience with distractions. He loved the snow cave work. All in all a great day playing in the snow with dogs.

Flying In-Cabin with a Puppy

Here's the scene. On Saturday afternoon I fly from Maine to Minnesota via Detroit--there are no direct flights from Maine to anywhere. I'm on a high as I'm going to pick up my new Toller puppy Zeke who is turning 8 weeks old. I've been waiting for him since before he was born. I arrive and meet the co-breeders, Barb and Krista. Krista has just flown in from British Columbia to see the puppies herself. It's 6pm. Back to the house we go with daylight fading. Well I can say I've seen a little bit of MN but not much. By the time we get to Barb's house it's dark. The puppies were all running around outside with the stud's owner--Cindy--watching them. I was so excited, I didn't even introduce myself. I just threw myself into the puppy pile. We play with puppies, eat dinner and off to bed so I can get up at 4 am to catch my flight home. Barb was amazing. She welcomes this stranger into her home, offers transportation back and forth to the airport, and even cooks for me (you have to understand that Barb doesn't cook).

I should have had Zeke sleep with me away from his littermates, but I was selfish and wanted one more nights sleep and I wanted him to have his last night with his brother and seven sisters. Big mistake, or at least that's what I'm goting to blame it on. The silent puppy became a Toller-screaming maniac. I should have known I was in trouble when Barb and I stopped twice on our way to the airport to see if he needed to "potty." He didn't. Lap or crate, it didn't matter. He whined and screamed.

Once at the airport (it's now 5 am), the ladies at the ticket counter "oohed" and "aahed" over the cute puppy and sent me on our way. Security was a breeze and we were at the gate. It was simple. Zeke had been quiet the entire time. We were all set....or were we. Once I sat down, it started. First, a quiet whine then a full-blown Toller yowl almost "the scream." So I picked up the crate and....silence. Seems he was quiet as long as he was moving. An hour later, my arm was ready to fall off and it was time to board the plane.

Do you know how quiet a 6 am flight is, once everyone is settled and waiting for the plane to take off? Very! Next time listen, because it's more quiet than you can imagine. Well, almost quiet. First it was a quiet whine--"no, Zeke, you've got to be quiet. Those people look mad." "Shhh...Shhh...I'm not allowed to take you out of your crate. Here, you're on my lap." "Just poke your head out...no you can't get out."

He didn't stop until we were airbourne, and from time to time throughout the flight he even dozed, but just when I dozed, he woke up....and whined. I spent the entire flight with my head against the seat in front of me, stroking his head and ears. My back ached for a week!

Finally, we arrived in Boston. This is where the story gets messy and, no, not because Zeke had a mess. I walked for an hour to keep him quiet, I had been up since 4 am. I just wanted to be home and I had another flight to go--this time on a small plane. What if he yowled through this one too. But he seemed to have made friends in the terminal. One came over to meet him. How cute--my response, "you won't think he's cute if you have to sit next to him!"

Boarding call and I hand the gate attendant my boarding pass. Then she asks for the dog's boarding pass. Mind you, I had already flown in from Minnesota. No one had questioned the dog, nor given me a boarding pass. The result--pay $100. No, she didn't believe he was a future search dog. She was sorry but there was no way around it. The plane was leaving either pay or don't fly. Through all of this, Zeke was now at a full-blown SCREAM. If you haven't heard a Toller scream, imagine fingers on a chalkboard--magnified and loud. I was so mad and so trapped and so tired, I was in tears. After all, I had called the airline three times before I left to make sure that Zeke could fly for free in-cabin as a future SAR dog.

This time, he didn't even stop screaming even when we walked onto the plane. What if he screamed the whole way. We found our seat and guess who our seatmate was....

I stowed Zeke under the seat for take off and as soon as the plane pushed back from the gate, blessed silence. A half hour later....silence. He had never been that quiet since I had yanked him from his littermates. Was he still alive? Had the stress killed him? Was he getting enough air? Did I want to check on him? What if I woke him? What if he was dead? My seatmate and I looked at each other and I dove for the crate, put my hand in and....he lived, and he still never quivered. He didn't move until I got outside the airport in Bangor.

I hope when he's a certified dog and we fly again in-cabin, my experience is better then that!

Zeke: An Introduction

Zeke--my second Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever (Toller) joined our family in late September. The plane trip home deserves a blog on its own, so I'll leave that to another post. In my life BC--before children--I had a yellow lab named Mac that I certified as a SAR dog with Maine Search and Rescue Dogs (MESARD). We had about 6 glorious years together as a team before a combination of children and what I now believe was Exercise Induced Collapse retired us as a SAR team. I decided to switch breeds in 1997 with Casey--my first Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever. We worked hard to become an operational team, and in fact completed 3 of the 4 certification tests, but I was never completely happy with Casey's re-find and my family and work responsibilities kept me from putting in the extra hours we needed to really work as a team. Looking back, I realize I couldn't let Casey be his own SAR dog. Mac and I had been an exceptional team. I kept comparing Casey's work to Mac's work--unfair to both dogs. So I took a break from SAR Dog work. I think the hardest part was giving up my vanity license plate--I'm so shallow!

Mac lived to be 14 and Casey died July 4, 2009 from congestive heart failure. In the meantime, Buck--a beautiful blockhead lab--had joined our crew as the "family dog" and the first dog I've ever owned that hasn't been meticulously trained. My kids are both teenagers and I was ready to get back into SAR Dog work.

Two of my dear friends--one a SAR Dog handler--joined me for a few days of R&R on Pond Island. Thanks to the amazing capabilities of Smart Phones, I had found a breeder and was lined up for a male puppy by the end of our stay. There we were first peering at tiny pictures and pedigrees of dogs on my Blackberry and then there were several lengthy phone calls with potential breeders.

What was I looking for? Well, I really liked Casey even if he never made it to full operational status. His full brother Clipper was an exceptional dog, both conformationally and in the field, so my first thought was I'd like one of Clipper's sons. Unfortunately, Clipper's parents weren't having any puppies in the near-term. Then I found a kennel where Clipper had been used as a stud and there was a beautiful boy (Chase) who wasn't a Clipper son, but actually had the same dad as Casey and Clipper. He had been bred to a spitfire of a bitch named Valor. Could they produce the type of puppy I sought?

I called Barb--Valor's owner--and we talked for hours. She was excited at the prospect of one of Valor's puppies being used for SAR Dog work. What characteristics was I looking for in the puppy? Well, first I knew I wanted a male. Second, I wanted the dog to be conformationally correct so that he would have the structure needed for a very active lifestyle. For personality, it became a matter of degrees. I needed a dog that was attached to and liked people, but could work and think independently. He needed to be a problem solver, but not to the point that he wouldn't look to me for some guidance and direction. He needed to have a strong prey/play drive but would preferably have an on/off switch. Mac didn't have an "off" switch, making him a rather miserable house dog. I needed a dog that I could crank up when needed, but one that would continue to think. I didn't want an aggressive or dominant dog, but nor did I want a submissive one. Above all, I needed a dog that would keep trying until he got the job done.

Barb tells me that she knew within a few days that Delano (Zeke's litter name) was the right dog for me. He was the first in his litter out of the whelping box--and the youngest dog out of all her litters to have ever made it out of the box. He didn't whine, cry or whimper when he failed or was frustrated, he just kept coming back for more. He wasn't the most dominant puppy, but he also didn't back down from his littermates either. The more Barb watched the puppies over the 8 weeks she had them, the more sure she was that Zeke was the dog for me.

Those 8 weeks went by so slowly. I lived for the pictures that Barb posted each week showing how the puppies had grown. Never in all my summers in Maine had I ever wished a summer away--until this year. Finally, the last weekend in September (2009), I flew to Minnesota to meet and pick up Zeke. He was indeed everything for which I could ask.