I'm positioned, knees slightly bent, arm a few inches from torso. Bring on the Malinois!

Then I remember the missing ear.

It's earlier that same morning, around 6:30 A.M. A.M., not too warm just yet for the birds in a pleasant grove of trees to pack up their songs for the day. Shade is a precious commodity at Lackland, and about ten new handler course students are starting their day under the trees, bonding with the dogs. They've been a.s.signed these dogs for a few weeks now, and some are really getting attached.

The students smooth their hands down their dogs' coats repeatedly, and they talk to them. It's a practice called rapport work. The touch and closeness helps establish the students as people the dogs should care about. And it helps the students get to know their dogs as well. Some dogs don't even seem to notice all the attention and spend the time barking at another dog or running back and forth as far as their leash will allow. But most dogs revel in it.

I approach a navy student handler whose dog is standing still, eyes slightly shut, as he enjoys the military's version of a dog ma.s.sage. The dog is a large shepherd with bushy fur around his ears. His real name is Hugo P128, but Navy Master-at-Arms Seaman Glenn Patton calls him Chewbacca because of the dog's similarity to the hirsute Star Wars Star Wars character. Patton beams as he strokes his dog. character. Patton beams as he strokes his dog.

"Oh, I love him. I'd take him home if I could," he tells me when I ask how they're getting on. As we talk about his lifelong love for dogs, and how he has dreamed of being a military dog handler for years, he turns his head slightly to the left, and I notice that the upper third of his right ear is missing.

The top edge of what's left of the ear is jagged and red, almost like someone or something recently bit it off. This turns out to be an accurate a.s.sessment. He explains, after some coaxing, that another dog had bolted away from his handler the previous week and tried to attack Hugo. Patton came between, and the aggressor bit into his ear and ripped it off. an accurate a.s.sessment. He explains, after some coaxing, that another dog had bolted away from his handler the previous week and tried to attack Hugo. Patton came between, and the aggressor bit into his ear and ripped it off.

I found out later that a group of handlers and instructors searched for the ear in the vicinity of the attack for a long time and couldn't find it. In an effort to leave no stone unturned, the perpetrator dog was brought to the vet and given an emetic to induce vomiting. But when he threw up, there was no ear.

Patton says the mishap hasn't discouraged him from his calling. "In a weird way, it's made me love it even more. It shows me that my love for the program is as deep as I thought it would be. It doesn't bother me what happened. I just keep loving working with dogs and can't believe my good luck that I'm here."

"Get her!"

Laika lunges toward me. I start shaking my giant, sleeved arm at the Malinois as instructed, so she'll be attracted to that part of my body and not (oh, just for instance) my ear. As she runs toward me, Brooks tells me to freeze. I stop moving so she'll get a good bite on the targeted body part.

Laika is on a long leash just in case, but the impact is strong. She sends me reeling back a step, and the sleeve crashes into my body. She starts tearing at the sleeve, and as I agitate it again she digs in, front paws pushing against my stomach and then my thigh for more leverage. Her bite is steady and strong. The power of this dog's mouth is awesome. Without the sleeve, I'd be a b.l.o.o.d.y mess.

Having Laika on my arm starts to be almost fun. Brooks tells me I can growl at her, so I do and she digs in harder. Then he tells me they always praise a dog, so I tell her what a good girl she is before I realize that as the bad guy I'm probably not the one who is supposed to praise her. But she continues biting just as hard, unfazed by my complimentary words, and perhaps a little concerned about my apparent mood swings. Then Brooks comes over and gives Laika a friendly "atta girl" pat.

"Decoy, stop resisting!" he shouts to me, and I stop moving my arm. "Out!" he calls to the dog. Laika stops biting, but on the way down, quickly b.u.t.ts my torso with her nose. "Sit!" She sits. "Stay." I back away several steps when Brooks tells me to. Laika trots off with her handler, and as she does, she turns around and looks at me with what could only be described as a "Wait till next time" expression.

21

REWARD-BASED TRAINING, MOSTLY

Laika's reward-aka "pay"-was twofold: biting my arm, and the praise from Brooks. If she wanted a piece of me again, maybe it was only because dogs love the rewards of the job.

I came to Lackland wondering what style of training would be used on the dogs. These are strong dogs with great fort.i.tude and will. I expected to witness some manhandling but hoped there would be nothing too brutal.

So I was surprised to see that training here is mostly about positive reinforcement. Dogs who did well got their rewards and heaps of happy praise. In detection work, failure to notice a scent just meant no reward. There was no yelling, no dragging the dog over and shoving his nose in the odor. The patrol side was only slightly different. Praise and Kongs and bite sleeves flew all around, but if a dog didn't listen to a command during bite work-for instance, if he didn't stop when a trainer shouted "Out!"-he'd get a quick, light jerk on his choke chain, and he'd be walked back to start the exercise again.

"It's much more fun, much more rewarding, less inhibiting than other training methods," says Arod. "Since you don't use compulsion or what would be considered traditional punishment, it doesn't affect the softer dogs badly." than other training methods," says Arod. "Since you don't use compulsion or what would be considered traditional punishment, it doesn't affect the softer dogs badly."

Months after my visits to Lackland, I ran into dog trainer Victoria Stillwell at the American Humane a.s.sociation Hero Dog Awards in Beverly Hills. She has drawn a tremendous audience by espousing positive training only. We got to talking, and I thought she'd be pretty happy with the positive training I generally saw wherever I went for the book research. But she said she still thinks there's room for improvement in military working dog training. "You can train even really aggressive dogs in a positive manner. You don't need to jerk a collar. Dogs should not have to have choke collars at all."

Doc Hilliard, who has been instrumental in developing training techniques for the dog school, says that patrol can be done without any sort of correction for some special dogs, "but takes a lot of time. We don't have this kind of time, and the dogs we get are not prepared for pure positive training."

In my travels to military dog training areas, I have never seen anything more than a collar jerk. Even when a dog ran hundreds of yards away from his handler during off-leash exercises in the Arizona desert, he did not get chastised when the handler and an instructor found him. In fact, he got extra care. "Get him water. Take his temperature. Put him in the trailer so he has some AC." It was no act put on because a reporter was there. You could tell this was just protocol. I was amazed at the restraint. Even I might have had a few words with Jake had he made me run a few hundred yards in 112-degree weather.

Military working dog training has changed dramatically in the last twenty years, according to Doc Hilliard. As he explains it, traditional methods used to involve compelling a dog to perform obedience by using corrections, normally by jerking or by tightening a chain choke collar. The reward was understood to be release from this pressure, combined with petting and praise. While the praise was positive, the system was fundamentally "compulsive" in outlook because the dog was not given any choices; he was compelled to do as the trainer demanded. last twenty years, according to Doc Hilliard. As he explains it, traditional methods used to involve compelling a dog to perform obedience by using corrections, normally by jerking or by tightening a chain choke collar. The reward was understood to be release from this pressure, combined with petting and praise. While the praise was positive, the system was fundamentally "compulsive" in outlook because the dog was not given any choices; he was compelled to do as the trainer demanded.

The system worked, but sometimes produced dogs who feared their trainers and did not like work. These days, the dog program is moving toward more "inducive" systems of training, in which training is broken into three stages. In the first stage the dog is taught what commands mean by using a reward like a Kong or a ball. This reward is used to "lure" the animal into a correct position (for example, lying down) and then the dog is rewarded. If the dog does not carry out the command, there is no penalty other than simply not giving the dog the reward. In the second phase, trainers layer on some physical correction such as a soft pop on the leash. They teach the dog that this pop on the leash is a.s.sociated, for instance, with breaking the down position before permission from the handler. This is how a dog comes to understand that certain actions are a.s.sociated with collar pressure and certain others with lack of collar pressure.

In the final phase, the dog learns that he must carry out commands, no matter what the situation or how many distractions. In this phase, sharper collar corrections are used, and the dog is not given the option to do as he wishes. However, throughout all three phases, even the last, rewards such as a toy are still given to the dog when he performs correctly. As a result, trainers produce a dog who understands his work clearly, understands that corrections will be a.s.sociated with mistakes or disobedience, but fundamentally likes his work because he has a clear understanding of what is expected-and because he often receives rewards. understands his work clearly, understands that corrections will be a.s.sociated with mistakes or disobedience, but fundamentally likes his work because he has a clear understanding of what is expected-and because he often receives rewards.

That's not to say harsher methods are never used, at least once the dogs are beyond boot camp level. There are "harder," very aggressive dogs for whom I'm told nothing else has worked. The trick, say the handlers, is to remain calm and in control while getting the dog's attention via a little "a.s.s whupping." A dog who's not backing off an attack on another dog or handler can be thrown on his back and slapped (not hard) on his face, for instance, and no other handlers are likely to cry foul. The idea is not to hurt the dog, but to let him know in no uncertain terms that this behavior will not be tolerated.

But every so often, a handler will go too far. These seem to be blissfully rare events, but they're disturbing nonetheless. An out-of-control handler may kick or punch a dog, pick him up high and slam him hard to the ground, use a cattle prod, or even helicopter a dog. (The latter, unfortunately, sounds like what it is, with spinning and fear involved. It can end with a slam to the ground if the handler has really lost it.) These methods are not only highly discouraged, an individual can be brought up on Uniform Code of Military Justice charges for abusing a dog. The consequences can range from being given extra work to loss of rank or even dog-handler status, or full court-martial that could result in a felony conviction. Marine Captain John "Brandon" Bowe says most cases never go to court-martial but are taken care of in a process called nonjudicial punishment (NJP). "Dog handlers tend to be a cut above, so NJP usually solves matters."

Justice can come from unexpected places. It is not unheard of for instructors or other handlers to mete out quid pro quo punishment. Kick a dog hard in the belly when he's already on his back, for instance, and don't be surprised when what goes around comes around.

I heard about a situation that didn't involve abuse, but accidental neglect. A handler forgot his dog in the dog trailer on a hot summer day. The AC wasn't on, because the dogs were all supposed to be out of the trailer. The dog could have died but was found in time. So he would never forget his dog again, the handler was tied up, shoved in a kennel, and driven out to the training area. He stayed there for a few hours. There are no reports of him forgetting another dog.

With the way that dogs have become a deeply integral part of our families and our lives in the last couple of decades, it's natural to think that the military's stand on positive reinforcement training is a recent development-one that adheres to philosophies like the following, from a book about training war dogs: The highest qualities of mind-love and duty-have to be appealed to and cultivated.... The whole training is based on appeal. To this end the dog is gently taught to a.s.sociate everything pleasant with its working hours. Under no circ.u.mstances whatever must it be roughly handled or roughly spoken to. If it makes a mistake, or is slack in its work when being trained, it is never chastised, but is merely shown how to do it over again. If any of the men under instruction are observed to display roughness or lack of sympathy with the dogs, they should be instantly dismissed, as a promising young dog could easily be thrown back in his training, or even spoiled altogether, by sharp handling.... No whips should exist in the training school and are never necessary; gentle, steady routine work is the right method of impressing the dog's intelligence, and kindly encouragement and caresses will meet its desire to understand, better than coercive measures or rebukes.

Modern thinking, to be sure. Only the author, Lieutenant Colonel Edwin H. Richardson, founder of the British War Dog School, wrote it in 1920. It's from his book British War Dogs: Their Training and Psychology British War Dogs: Their Training and Psychology, which-together with his articles and influence during both World War I and II-helped set the stage for how the U.S. would train war dogs when this country finally got our program going during World War II.

Richardson believed that positive reinforcement was the only way to successfully train a dog, that in the end you had to appeal to a dog's good nature and desire to please. War-dog historian Michael Lemish says that the military followed this doctrine of positive reinforcement and never supported brutality or harsh treatment. But it hasn't all been ear scratches and rubber b.a.l.l.s for soldier dogs. For instance, mine-detecting dogs in World War II were frequently trained using electric shock collars.

And one form of training for sentry dogs in Vietnam sounds pretty crazy. It was called the agitation method and is described as "getting the dog excited about attacking his prey. Usually a small branch would be used and whacked across his backside to make the dog even more excited about going after his prey. It was not punishment." dog even more excited about going after his prey. It was not punishment."

Those were some of the few real sticks officially used. These days, carrots are everything.

A handler told me about the first bomb dog he had. The dog was a veteran and knew exactly what was expected of him. "He'd be like, 'Get my Kong ready and get set to praise me up, and I'll go find a bomb for you.' When you think of what this rubber toy inspires, it's just incredible."

The training and handling of military working dogs today just wouldn't be the same without the Kong. It was, fittingly, a retired police dog named Fritz who inspired the creation of this hard rubber toy. Back in the mid-1970s, the German shepherd was always chewing rocks, cans, anything hard he could get his mouth around. It frustrated his owner, Joe Markham, to no end. One day, as Markham was doing some repairs to his 1967 Volkswagen van, Fritz started chewing rocks again. To distract him, Markham threw Fritz various van parts he was through with. The dog took no interest in the radiator hoses and other bits flying toward him, until Markham tossed a hard rubber suspension part to his dog. Fritz went mad for it.

Markham knew he was on to something. He finessed a design and found a rubber manufacturing plant near his Colorado home. After seeing the prototype, his business partner said it looked like an earplug for King Kong, and a name was born. Kongs are still made in Colorado, of a proprietary superstrong rubber. They dominate the dog-toy market.

Kongs are ubiquitous in the military working dog world. You'll find Kongs at every military kennel and, really, anyplace in the world where there are U.S. military dogs. Lackland ordered nearly one thousand Kong toys in 2010, just for the dog school and handler course. Kongs even show up all over Afghanistan now, thanks to the presence of working dogs there. A Kong representative says the company donates thousands of Kongs annually to military dog facilities and handlers.

Kong is not one toy but actually a line of hard rubber dog toys. The most popular Kongs in the military are red or black, with what looks like three b.a.l.l.s of different sizes fused together in a snowmanlike configuration. They're hollow inside, and many civilians like to stuff treats into them to keep their dogs occupied with getting them out.

But in the military, Kongs are not used in this manner. They're bouncy rewards that supplement the dog's primary reward of pleasing the handler. (Some trainers say that the reverse is true-that handlers are secondary rewards to Kongs and other toys. It likely depends on the dog and handler.) Kongs gratify a dog's prey and play drives. Toss a Kong on the ground, and it doesn't bounce true, as a tennis ball does. (Military dogs also get tennis b.a.l.l.s as rewards. Even a glove will do in a pinch.) Its odd shape causes the Kong to bounce and skip erratically, much like a fleeing rabbit or other prey. Dogs chase, catch, and experience what's apparently the unparalleled feeling of the toy/prey in their mouths.

"To the dog with a high prey drive, the Kong is a million-dollar paycheck. You throw it and it's run, chase, bite! They can't help themselves," says Gunnery Sergeant Kristopher Knight. But there are soldier dogs whose prey drive isn't so strong. Kongs or praise or even food rewards may not be enough pay for them to do their jobs well. These dogs may certify at dog school and even do pa.s.sably well at their home bases. But when they deploy to a place like Afghanistan, the motivation to sniff for IEDs can be the sole factor that separates life and death-for the dogs, their handlers, and anyone nearby. even food rewards may not be enough pay for them to do their jobs well. These dogs may certify at dog school and even do pa.s.sably well at their home bases. But when they deploy to a place like Afghanistan, the motivation to sniff for IEDs can be the sole factor that separates life and death-for the dogs, their handlers, and anyone nearby.

Gunfire, mortar blasts, IED explosions, and intense heat are part of the canvas of extreme conditions troops and dogs have to deal with in that war-ravaged country. Even dogs with fine prey drives can have difficulty functioning well once they deploy to this foreign, oft-hostile setting.

Fortunately, soldier dogs and handlers have a Stateside location where they go to prepare for the rigors of deploying to this kind of environment. If you were blindfolded and taken there, you could easily think you were already deployed.

PART THREE

THE DOG TRAINER AND THE SCIENTISTS

22

AFGHANISTAN, USA

When you walk by an empty dog trailer, it's supposed to be silent. And when Marine Gunnery Sergeant Kristopher Knight-known to his commanding officer, Captain John "Brandon" Bowe, as "the smartest and most amazing man on the planet to train dogs"-pa.s.ses within two feet of a trailer's empty kennels on a 110-degree August afternoon at the Yuma Proving Ground, it is indeed mute. But when I walk past it a few seconds later, I'm surprised when a series of hefty barks fly out of a lone dog, Rocky P506. He's waiting in semi air-conditioned comfort while the rest of his cla.s.s tracks faux bad guys in the distance. He is there as backup, in case any of the dogs are too spooked to track well after a hair-raising helicopter ride that was part of the day's training. He won't stop barking at me, even when I'm twenty feet away.

"Hey, Gunny, why didn't that dog bark at you you?" I ask.

"Heh heh," he answers and we walk on.

We return about an hour later after watching the dog's colleagues at work, and Gunny pa.s.ses by the trailer. Once again, silence. As soon as I get within a few feet, a deep silence. As soon as I get within a few feet, a deep RAW RAW RAW RAW RAW RAW staccatos at me. staccatos at me.

"Gunny, why is he only barking at me me?" Dogs always like me. What's up with this one?

"Could be any number of factors, even something like you're not in a uniform. He's used to people in uniform," he explains.

The barking continues and Gunny Knight walks toward the trailer. "Watch this. You can breathe on him and calm him down." He goes up to the German shepherd, who is still barking in my direction behind the metal bars of his kennel. Gunny blows a stream of air gently on his head, and the dog almost instantaneously quiets down and sits.

Bowe told me that Gunny has a way with dogs that no one else has. "He talks dog. That's the thing about Gunny Knight. He speaks their language. He speaks dog slang. He speaks dog En-glish. He speaks dog Ebonics. No matter what language, he knows how to read dogs, talk dogs, train dogs, and I've never seen in all my years in the Marine Corps-and that's going on twenty-anyone who can work with dogs like him."

I get closer to look at this transformed canine, in awe of what Gunny has done. Suddenly Rocky starts in at me again.

"Go ahead, breathe on him," Gunny instructs. "Let him smell that you are calm and can control him, you are in charge."

I conjure up the words "I'm the calm boss" in my brain, and I exhale gently on Rocky's head. It doesn't work. I realize that while I'm calm, I'm not feeling like the boss, just making up the words. So I channel Gunny Knight as my persona. No words this time, just a feeling-a benevolent authority; I am momentarily muscle-bound, with a big c.o.c.ky grin. I exhale, briefly becoming Gunny Knight, breathing Gunny Knight vibes onto Rocky's head. with a big c.o.c.ky grin. I exhale, briefly becoming Gunny Knight, breathing Gunny Knight vibes onto Rocky's head.

Rocky suddenly stops. He sits and looks at me, mouth slightly open, seeming almost relaxed. He stays like that even as I walk away with Gunny.

What just happened?

Gunny tells me that he uses this technique to calm down dogs and let them smell the chemical c.o.c.ktail that is uniquely him. "By doing so, the dog is able to determine multiple factors about me-confidence, fear, threatening behaviors, trust, calm nature, etc."

I later ran the incident by canine cognition expert Alexandra Horowitz. I thought she'd know exactly what magic Gunny had worked. But somewhat surprisingly, she said that it's common wisdom in dog circles that blowing on a dog's face is an aggressive action. "I could conjecture that a dog who is blown on might stop being restless, but not necessarily because they feel calm. They might feel alarmed, too. I would have to see the rest of the dog's behavior and posture in context to get a read on this marine's dogs."

If Horowitz had been dealing with a standard military dog trainer, her desire to observe and understand the situation might have paid off with scientifically based insights drawn from other similar observations. But there is nothing standard about Gunny Knight.

And there's nothing terribly ordinary about the predeployment course for dogs and handlers he runs in this arid corner of Arizona bordering Mexico and California. I learned this one dark June morning, at 4:30 A.M. A.M., when I first set foot on the Yuma Proving Ground.

23

THE PROVING GROUND

A full moon hovers over rows of open-air kennels, where the cacophony of barking punctuates the warm predawn desert air. Sixteen handlers in camo greet their excited dogs and leash them up for their morning const.i.tutionals. Two klicks away, down a dusty road, an ammo recovery team sets out explosives in Taliban fashion, hiding them, covering them with dirt and pebbles, making them look just like any other part of the terrain. full moon hovers over rows of open-air kennels, where the cacophony of barking punctuates the warm predawn desert air. Sixteen handlers in camo greet their excited dogs and leash them up for their morning const.i.tutionals. Two klicks away, down a dusty road, an ammo recovery team sets out explosives in Taliban fashion, hiding them, covering them with dirt and pebbles, making them look just like any other part of the terrain.

Gunny Knight calls over to me and has me hop into his Isuzu VehiCROSS-one of only four thousand that were ever sold in the U.S. over several years, he will tell you.

We drive to a place called Site 2. As we're driving, the sun climbs over the horizon, casting new light on what was only a milky visage moments ago. Flat, dry, unforgiving Sonoran Desert terrain spreads out for miles in every direction, with low, jagged mountains fringing the desolate landscape. You would not want to be lost here.

I'm thinking about how much it looks like images I've seen of parts of Afghanistan, when I spot people falling out of the sky. They're dangling from parachutes, twenty of them, getting almost alarmingly close to us. I'm fascinated. They're clearly Special Ops guys of some form-who knows, maybe even related to Cairo's people. My excitement is lost on Gunny. He scoffs. "Clowns. When's the last time anyone ever parachuted into combat?" alarmingly close to us. I'm fascinated. They're clearly Special Ops guys of some form-who knows, maybe even related to Cairo's people. My excitement is lost on Gunny. He scoffs. "Clowns. When's the last time anyone ever parachuted into combat?"

We drive around for awhile so I can get the lay of the land, and by the time we arrive at our destination, eight handlers are finishing a long run. It's already eighty-three degrees. Some are sweating and red, others (marines, mostly) look like they just stepped out of a cool cafe. Then it's military push-up time. As they wrap up PT, the moon disappears, and the dogs who have been barking in their trailers come out and chug water from gallon jugs. It's now 6 A.M. A.M. and time to start the day. and time to start the day.

Military working dog handlers deploying to work outside the wire are supposed to go through rigorous predeployment training, generally at a course designed to prepare them and their dogs for the grueling demands of war. There's a canine team predeployment course at Creech Air Force Base in Nevada and one at Fort Dix in New Jersey.

But the course that every handler and instructor I talked with across all four services says is the the course to attend is the Inter-Service Advanced Skills K-9 (IASK) Course, here at the Yuma Proving Ground. It is the only advanced course among the three, and it focuses entirely on matters essential to dog teams. In addition, it's the only course that accepts dog handlers from all four services. Those who have gone through this Marine Corpsrun program rave about the training, despite its rigors: "No other course course to attend is the Inter-Service Advanced Skills K-9 (IASK) Course, here at the Yuma Proving Ground. It is the only advanced course among the three, and it focuses entirely on matters essential to dog teams. In addition, it's the only course that accepts dog handlers from all four services. Those who have gone through this Marine Corpsrun program rave about the training, despite its rigors: "No other course compares." "It'll save your life, and maybe a lot of other lives." "A killer, but the best training in the entire military." "Should be mandatory for every handler deploying." "Gunny Knight knows his s.h.i.t like no one else." compares." "It'll save your life, and maybe a lot of other lives." "A killer, but the best training in the entire military." "Should be mandatory for every handler deploying." "Gunny Knight knows his s.h.i.t like no one else."

The course takes advantage of its location, and at thirteen hundred square miles, it is one of the largest military installations in the world. YPG is known for testing munitions systems and weapons, military vehicles, and manned and unmanned aviation systems. In addition, some thirty-six thousand parachute drops take place annually here-apparently much to Gunny Knight's annoyance. As the day goes on, and the sky divers drop from planes like tiny bursts of rain, there is always a new name. This time it's "d.a.m.ned glory children!" You get the impression that these parachutists are in the same category as mosquitoes to this man. Or maybe it goes deeper than that.

The terrain and the climate make the Yuma Proving Ground a popular training area for all kinds of units that will be deploying. The IASK course adds some authentic man-made touches, with a mock "Middle East" village; it's home to a mosque, mud and concrete buildings, and a small marketplace. At Site 2 there's a two-story compound surrounded by walls-a small and simpler version of Bin Laden's final manse. And because this is a test facility, the course gets munitions and ordnance no other military working dog courses can.

During the course, which runs for nineteen days, dogs and handlers take part in realistic raids, night operations, and route-clearance exercises. The machines that simulate ammo, IED, and mortar blasts are deafening, the humps are long and arduous, and the heat is stultifying. "A lot of dogs who are good at their home station in a cooler area come here and s.h.i.t the bed. Like 'Sweet Jesus, I can't feel my b.a.l.l.s and I can't breathe by 11 station in a cooler area come here and s.h.i.t the bed. Like 'Sweet Jesus, I can't feel my b.a.l.l.s and I can't breathe by 11 A.M. A.M.!'