Cadaver Dog Read Online Free PDF

between the house and the barn and the warehouse. There was nothing she could do here. It was all dog instinct. Either the dog would take to the smell, or he wouldn’t.
    Without looking to Angie, Murder dropped the chicken at his feet. He took a few steps forward, then whoofed at the box. He waited a moment, then sniffed the air. The dog looked to Angie for reassurance, but she gave him none. For this part, Murder was on his own.
    Murder took another few steps, then paused. His body swayed gently from side to side, like a prize fighter trying to decide how best to take down his opponent. A jab? An uppercut? He gave the air another sniff, then took a few more steps. He was almost on top of the box when one of the other dogs barked from the open pen area. Murder turned his head, then ran to the other dogs and barked his happy reply.
    “Shit!” She knew better than to have the other dogs out while she was introducing scent. Working with a wasp was really getting her off her game.
    Angie opened the gate to let Murder go play, but he ran back to grab his chicken first.
    “Of course,” she teased. “Can’t go anywhere without your chicken.”
    She put up the box and went inside.
     
    The next morning, Angie woke up so early the dark was as thin as the last inch of dirt on a grave. The only sound was the knocking of a woodpecker in the forest behind her home. She left the other dogs in their kennels and started with Murder. She took him, chicken in tow, out into the field where she worked directionals with gun dogs. This time, there would be no distractions. The open box sat in the middle of the field, the lid at its side. Murder dropped his toy beside Angie and entered the area, this time with more confidence. He walked up toward the box, then stopped about three feet away. For a moment he seemed to waiver with what to do next. Just as Angie was about to say something encouraging, Murder turned around and trotted back to her.
    Angie’s heart sank. An inexperienced trainer may have tried to force the issue, but Angie knew that a good working dog worked because it enjoyed the job. It was play for him. And if the dog didn’t like what he was smelling now, he wouldn’t like trailing it later. By turning about-face, Murder might as well have been making puking noises and pleading Angie to never take him back. But then the dog did something curious. Murder retrieved his chicken from beside Angie and brought it to the box. He plopped down on the box lid and started chewing on his chicken.
    “Good boy,” Angie said, the realization of what the dog was doing dawning on her. Murder perked up when he heard her. His tail thumped on the ground. She handed him a treat, which was greedily inhaled. Murder picked up the chicken and stuck his nose in the box.
    “Good boy!” Angie cheered, this time with much more enthusiasm. Success!
    She petted Murder all over his blue-and-black hide. The dog spun around on her to get the full effect of the rubdown. Angie spent a few more minutes feeding him treats every time he stuck his nose in the box, then stopped with a really big reward with so much petting that Murder rolled on his belly and opened his mouth, his tongue hanging out.
    There might be something here after all , Angie thought. She was so excited with the breakthrough and the implication of his response, the near-perfect recall, that she could hardly concentrate the rest of the day.
     
    Angie only needed to imprint Murder once more since he had gone through imprinting with human remains and bomb detection and the start was the same for each discipline. First, the dog had to develop its vocabulary. Cadaver dogs had to be able to identify human blood, tissue, and bone. Bomb detection dogs had to learn the different components to make a bomb. (It was a popular misconception that bomb dogs actually detected bombs.)  Every time the dog put its nose over the specific chemical, the dog was rewarded. With wasp-hunting, or