The Dog Squad

by Vikki Petraitis

  If Ruger had embarrassed Harry in the Couch Incident, it was Harry himself who caused the embarrassment when they were both called to Sale to hunt for prison escapees in 1997.

  Most handlers have their fair share of embarrassing stories; Harry’s trip to Sale is his worst. He got a late afternoon call-out to search for two men who had escaped from the Sale Prison. Harry was a little worried that by the time he made the three-hour trip to the scene, the scent trail might be contaminated by the high police presence.

  When he arrived in Sale it was dark. Harry met with the local police and got descriptions of the two escapees. A passing motorist had seen two blokes matching their description near the south-west corner of the prison, which was in a bush area near a drain, around 3 p.m. It was now around 8.30 p.m.

  Harry followed the detectives to the area and told them he’d let them know if Ruger picked up a scent. He removed the dog from the van and began to search. The only problem was that he had worked a big shift the night before and had forgotten to recharge his torch. As he flashed the dim light back and forth, he reckoned he only had about half an hour of battery left.

  Harry wasn’t expecting much from Ruger because the job was so old. He cast Ruger for a track in the vicinity of the possible sighting but the dog didn’t show any interest, so Harry moved him on.

  Harry moved Ruger through the undulating bushland punctuated by timber and machinery yards that bordered the rear of the prison. Since there was no one around, Harry unclipped Ruger from the tracking harness and line, and the dog went into search mode. The two searched for around fifteen minutes but Ruger wasn’t giving any indication that he had picked up a scent. There were no streetlights in the area, and as Harry’s torchlight had dimmed almost down to nothing he decided to turn around and go back to the car. It seemed the escapees were long gone.

  Ruger suddenly perked up and lifted his head. He seemed to get a whiff of something and ran off into the bush. Harry didn’t want to lose him in the bad light, so he called the dog back and clipped on his tracking line. Something had definitely sparked Ruger’s interest, and Harry followed behind him to see what it was.

  They had gone around 100 metres into the bush when suddenly Ruger came to a stop on the edge of what appeared to be a mound of dirt. Harry caught up to him and looked down from the mound. In his failing torchlight, Harry could make out what looked like an old road that was no longer in use. It was about a metre drop down from the edge of the mound.

  Harry was a little surprised that Ruger had stopped at this point; a dog as bold as him would normally just smash right through. But the handler knew that dogs sometimes balked in certain situations, like steep inclines or declines, and he figured that this was one of those times. He decided to take the initiative and jump first to show Ruger it was okay.

  Harry took a leap and tensed his feet for the solid landing on the bitumen. Only the bitumen wasn’t bitumen at all; it was dark algae-covered water.

  Harry had jumped straight into the Sale creek.

  Not only was Harry submerged in the murky depths of the creek – in full police uniform – his gun belt and radio were too. He emerged, draped artfully in pond scum and river weeds, and grabbed at some grass on the riverbank to drag himself out of the water. Unfortunately, the grass was in fact grass clippings, which flew up and covered him – making him somewhat of a river lamington. He lost his footing and fell back into the water.

  Avoiding the grass clippings Harry grabbed for branches instead, and found himself clutching a spiky blackberry bush and cursing his rotten luck. Finally, he slipped and slid his way out of the creek to where Ruger was calmly watching the show. In the manner perfected by German shepherds, Ruger cocked his head and looked a little puzzled. And you jumped into the creek because . . .? he seemed to be wondering.

  When Harry emerged from the track, he met up with the waiting detectives at the cars. His hands were bleeding from the blackberry barbs and he was wet through; long strands of weeds stuck in his hair and his equipment belt was full of water. He squelched past the detectives and loaded Ruger into the back of the car.

  Back at the Sale police station, Harry was the butt of everybody’s jokes. He changed into a fresh uniform and high-tailed it back to the big smoke.

  In addition to general purpose work, Ruger was also a siege dog. That meant he could be used to disarm offenders in siege situ­ations. What sets siege dogs apart from other police dogs is the fact that they are trained to bite on command under any circumstances.

  Harry attended various siege jobs with Ruger for around six years. It was dangerous work in the 1990s, as police took on violent offenders, the mentally ill, or people who sought a death-by-cop. On most of the siege jobs offenders would be armed with knives, or swords, or batons, or sometimes just a big lump of wood. (The Special Operations Group dealt with offenders who were armed with firearms.) While the modern police force tries to avoid confrontation at all costs, preferring to send in negotiators and critical incident teams, in the 1990s the first through the door in a siege was often a member of the Dog Squad and his trusty hound.

  Harry and Ruger had some pretty close calls doing this line of work. One such job happened in the heart of the city, and had an audience of thousands. A repeat offender known as the Highlander, armed with a metre-long sword, brought the city of Melbourne to a standstill.

  It was a cool evening in early September 1998, and the city swept by as people hurried to and from Flinders Street Station. Then the Highlander appeared. He stood near the tram stop on Swanston Street, holding a young woman hostage – pressing a huge razor-sharp sword against her throat. The siege turned surreal when the sword-wielding madman started singing Scottish war songs while a man – who must have been a friend of the Highlander’s – stood nearby playing the bagpipes. The Highlander was clearly not in his right mind; his mood fluctuated between calm and violent. He would wave the sword menacingly at anyone who came too close, then he would retreat back into his shell and stand motionless for long moments.

  Police had the Highlander surrounded for some time before they called for a siege dog. By the time Harry arrived with Ruger, local uniformed officers had closed off Swanston Street and Flinders Street, and had cleared the immediate area of pedestrians. The piper stood playing his bagpipes on the steps of Flinders Street Station, leaving the Highlander and his frightened hostage alone in the middle of the city street. Police officers had attempted to negotiate with the Highlander to get him to release the hostage and give himself up, but the man appeared to be in some sort of trance interspersed with singing. With his sword to the neck of the frightened woman, the Highlander held police at bay for over two hours.

  As time went on, a large crowd formed around the steps of Flinders Street Station, spilling over to the Young and Jacksons pub. Crowds formed up Swanston Street as well. While some people looked on with horror, others became increasingly annoyed that the stand-off prevented them from catching their tram or train home. And the final siren had just sounded at the MCG, so the police knew that footy crowds would soon be joining the fray. There was no end in sight; the time had come to act. The SOG decided to deploy their armoured van.

  During one of the Highlander’s rants, his hostage had managed to escape, which made things easier for police. It became crucial that the man was arrested immediately – if he escaped into the crowd and went berserk with his huge sword, things would turn ugly very quickly.

  Harry and Ruger jumped into the armoured van behind six SOG officers. The vehicle took off in a slow approach towards the ranting, sword-wielding man. The scene was like something from a movie. As the police vehicle got closer, a hush fell over the crowd. From beneath the iconic Flinders Street Station clocks, the lone piper began to play ‘Bound for Botany Bay’.

  The SOG driver manoeuvred the police vehicle to within metres of the man. Over a loudspeaker, a negotiator instructed the Highlander to drop his weapon and surrender. The Highlander refused. He began walking around the armour
ed van, brandishing his sword. By this time, he was incoherent.

  From a sunroof opening in the armoured vehicle, an SOG officer fired capsicum spray at the Highlander. Unfortunately the spray went downwind of the man and had little effect. A sudden gust of wind sent most of the spray back through the sunroof and into the cabin of the van. Unlike his SOG colleagues, Harry was not wearing a gasmask and copped a face full of the toxic spray. In minutes, he was coughing and wheezing, desperate to get out of the noxious space.

  The van swept by the Highlander again, closer this time, and the officers shot at him with beanbag rounds – small satchels containing foam pellets like those found inside a beanbag. These relatively harmless missiles usually take down a target. While they hurt like hell, they only leave a welt. The Highlander, it seemed, was oblivious to the beanbag rounds. He remained standing, still gripping his sword.

  By this stage Ruger was in a frenzy. He had trained in the armoured van before, and every time he would come out of it looking for a bite. To him, the bang-bang of the beanbag gun signalled that it was now his turn. The SOG discussed trying the spray again, but Harry was choking and gasping for fresh air. At the same time, he was trying to control Ruger, who was pawing at the back door, trying to dig his way out. It was then that Harry heard the command: ‘DOG!’

  Any danger or fear of the sword was completely overshadowed by the need for fresh air. Harry and Ruger jumped out of the back of the van and charged towards the Highlander – closely followed by SOG members. Ruger sighted the Highlander immediately and pulled Harry towards him. Even in the face of the barking German shepherd, the man still wouldn’t put down his sword. He pointed the sword towards Ruger as the dog lunged. Ruger was on him in a flash. Harry gave the Highlander a decent whack with his baton, which was enough to put him on the ground while Ruger went for his legs.

  As the Highlander was taken down by the feisty German shepherd, a massive cheer followed by deafening applause broke the hush of the crowd. The Highlander dropped the weapon and the SOG took over. When Harry bent down for a closer look at the razor-sharp sword, it didn’t bear thinking about the damage it could have caused to his dog.

  It turned out that this was the second time the Highlander had been involved in such a siege. After his introduction to Ruger, Harry hoped it would be his last.

  Ruger was not only a fine working companion for Harry; he was also literally a lifesaver. It’s hard to estimate, but Harry reckons Ruger probably saved his life on a number of occasions. Often, these occasions started out as normal jobs, which quickly escalated into life-threatening situations. One time Harry and Ruger were called to a siege situation in Boronia. The man involved had armed himself with two halves of a pair of broken shears, wielding them like big carving knives. As Harry entered the house with Ruger, the man lunged at him with the shears. Ruger took him down. Thirty seconds with a police dog and the whole thing was over.

  At another siege in Frankston, a man in his sixties stood in his yard, keeping police at bay with two huge carving knives. The man stood on a mound, which allowed Harry to sneak up behind the fence in the shadow of surrounding trees. In his agitated state, the man didn’t notice – not until he heard Ruger growling a couple of metres away. With arms swinging like windmills, the man lunged at Harry with the two knives. The policeman felt the whoosh of a knife, millimetres from his face. Ruger lunged at the man’s legs while Harry took him down with his police baton. As soon as the man was down, the other cops rushed in to grab him. It was all over in minutes, but Harry felt that it was the closest he’d come to suffering a serious injury. It was a small job but it proved that you never know when a job might turn nasty.

  Ruger was operational from 1992 until 2000. He was transformed from a regular suburban Houdini named Josh into an exceptional police dog named Ruger. He made 251 arrests.

  Right from the start Ruger was an alpha male – tough as nails, fearless and unrelenting in his pursuit of bad guys. Once he got a whiff of them he would not give up, and it was up to Harry to keep up. As he got closer to his mark, he began a low-pitched growl that sounded scary to Harry – let alone to the crooks they were pursuing. Ruger would prance in front of other dogs, and clearly thought himself superior. Very few obstacles stopped him, including other dogs. Even ferocious guard dogs would quiver in his wake. Ruger was also loyal and dedicated to Harry.

  Although he was well trained he needed constant attention, as he was always on and never seemed to relax fully. Because of Ruger’s temperament, initially he was not considered a good dog to breed. But later in his career, when he had proven himself time and again, he was given the chance. His one and only litter produced three police dogs – a rare occurrence. Two of Ruger’s progeny became general purpose dogs, and one excelled in the narcotics division. Harry would get to be handler for two of Ruger’s sons: Silky (named after slain police officer Gary Silk) for six years, and Salem for a year and a half. Both were excellent police dogs.

  Harry remembers Ruger with great fondness. ‘You never knew what was going to happen next with Ruges!’ he says wistfully.

  HARRY’S TRAINING TIPS

  Keep your dog happy with plenty of praise and attention and exercise. Keep them fed. Then they know that you’re not a threat.

  Dogs learn by association and repetition. When they learn something and they are rewarded for it, they become a happy dog.

  Dogs need to know where they stand in the pecking order. You have to be the pack leader. If you do it once, you have to be consistent. They are happy if you are clear and they know where they stand.

  CHAPTER 6

  The bravery award

  Of the thirty-seven years he was a member of Victoria Police, Sergeant Trevor Studham spent thirty-four of them in the Dog Squad. He had been a farmer for a decade before he joined the police force, and had kept border collies as cattle dogs. Training working dogs was in his blood. Farm dogs learnt from each other; new pups followed the older dogs, and the farmer was the leader of the pack. Trevor knew that not all dogs had the ability to be working dogs. In his experience, one in five made the grade. The dogs that did make it had a natural ability and did the job simply for the love of it.

  In January 1979, when a vacancy was advertised for the fledgling Dog Squad, Trevor applied. He had spent some time with police dog handlers in the line of duty, and their job sounded interesting. Trevor fronted a board and was accepted into the new squad as part of the sixth intake of recruits. In those early days he was allocated a dog, but he only worked at the squad part-time and did general policing duties in the other working hours.

  When Trevor first saw a German shepherd dog track a scent, he was amazed at their ability. During training, a lot of time was spent hiding the dogs’ toys, and teaching the dogs to follow the track. As the dogs got better, the tracks were extended by kilometres, with twists and turns, and unfailingly the dogs headed straight for their quarry.

  In the early days, probably half the dogs showed an ability to track and made the grade. Condor was the first dog Trevor was issued. The German shepherd was a natural tracker, but he wasn’t a strong biter. He retired after three years because of back problems, and a senior sergeant at the squad took him as a pet.

  Over the years Trevor had eight or nine dogs, but the stand-out was a Rottweiler called Butch. Trevor hadn’t trained a Rottweiler before, and he wondered if it would be different from the German shepherds.

  On the first night Trevor took Butch home, the dog sat with him while he did some weight training in the shed. When Trevor’s wife, Maree, came to the door, the dog flew at her and bit her. The shocked dog handler called him off, and the dog stood down straight away. Luckily, Maree was only a little bruised from the bite, and looked on the positive side. ‘When that happened, I knew Trevor would be fine with Butch looking out for him,’ she said later. ‘If the dog wouldn’t let me near Trevor, then it certainly wouldn’t let anyone else near him on the job.’

  After that incident, Butch was always a poli
ce dog, but never a family dog; he didn’t mix with Trevor’s children, or associate with anyone but his handler. Butch, it seemed, was a one-man dog.

  Trevor got Butch when he was eighteen months old and, unlike some police dogs at that age, he was fully mature in his attitude. Trevor never saw any hint of the puppy stage. His other police dogs had been a little uncertain in their younger years, always looking for guidance and praise, but Butch was a ready-made police dog.

  Despite Butch’s enthusiasm for the job, Trevor always had to be in charge. A dog – especially a Rottweiler – needs to be controlled at all times. If Trevor and Butch were tracking and a member of the public stepped in front of them, Trevor needed to be able to command the dog – ‘Stop! Down!’ – and Butch needed to obey immediately. Right from the start, Butch would look to Trevor and wait for a command. Sometimes their communication would be visual – just a look, and the dog seemed to know what to do.

  One of the first times Trevor saw Butch’s potential was when they were called out to a job where a psychotic woman and her teenage daughter had doused their unit with petrol and were threatening to set it alight. Both mother and daughter had a history of mental illness.

  Police and psychiatrists were on the scene and had tried, without success, to talk the women out of the unit. The fire brigade were there on stand-by. When the negotiations broke down, firefighters smashed through the front door and police took the teenage girl without incident; however, the mother held fast to an aerosol can and a cigarette lighter. In the petrol-doused unit, one spark and everyone was in trouble.

  Trevor commanded the dog to take the woman down. Butch did as he was told and the incident was over in seconds. Crisis averted.

  In the early to mid-1990s there was a spate of police shootings in Victoria; there were so many, in fact, that the media led a campaign and shone a spotlight on each new incident. New police training had been introduced to try and minimise the risk, but what the public didn’t realise was that a number of the shootings occurred when people with psychiatric illnesses came at police in violent, life-threatening encounters. Those in the Dog Squad could appreciate how frequent these confrontations were because the handlers and their dogs often formed the barrier between the mentally ill person and lethal force.