The Dog Squad

by Vikki Petraitis

  A couple of weeks after the mother—daughter petrol-dousing case, Trevor was called to another young woman in a psychotic state, who was holding police at bay with a knife. The crisis assessment team was called in to help, but they had judged the situation too perilous for their team.

  Trevor and Butch arrived two hours after the critical incident began. Still armed with the knife, the young woman’s behaviour was becoming more and more confrontational.

  Trevor held Butch by his side and called for the woman to drop the knife. Instead she advanced towards the police, plunging the weapon in downward strikes like she was in a horror movie. As the woman got closer, Trevor commanded the dog to take her down. Butch launched himself at the arm that wasn’t holding the knife. The pain of the bite combined with her natural reflexes forced her to drop the knife and fall to the ground. As soon as she was on the ground, unarmed, and no longer a threat, Trevor called off the dog.

  Trevor knew that, as unfortunate as the situation was, the dog was the lesser of the two evils for the woman. She would live to see another day, and that was all due to Butch. Every cop on the street has encountered violent people with psychotic issues who don’t respond to situations like most people do. When someone is in the full throes of a psychotic episode, Trevor doesn’t like setting the dog on them, but sometimes, it’s the only way.

  Butch wasn’t the type of dog that needed rewards – just a ‘good dog’ and a pat on the head, and he was good to go. He seemed to be driven purely by a desire to do the job. Trevor’s attitude as a trainer varied little from his days on the farm training cattle dogs. He simply expected Butch to do the job, and Butch never let him down.

  Because of his capacity to take down crooks, Butch was classified as a critical incident dog. That meant he would be called to jobs when the offender presented a real threat. Once a critical incident dog identifies a target, nothing stops the dog from taking them down.

  Throughout his nine-year career Butch only disarmed about a dozen offenders. On most occasions, his mere presence could end a situation. Trevor had to be very careful deploying him in such situations; he knew that if anyone got too close to Butch, the dog would bite them.

  Trevor had complete confidence in Butch and totally relied on the dog to protect him, but occasionally the tables were turned, and Trevor had to protect Butch. On one such job, a young man with psychotic problems had armed himself with a knife, and was holed up in his bedroom. His worried parents had called a crisis assessment team, but it was no use. He had locked himself in his bedroom and turned the music up so loud that no one could communicate with him. That was when the police were called.

  The door was broken in, and both the parents and the police continued to try and talk the young man out of his room. But he wouldn’t budge, or put down the knife. Four cans of capsicum spray were emptied into the room, but – as in a surprising number of jobs where the person is having a psychotic episode – it had little effect on the man.

  On command, Butch went for the man’s legs and took him down. While this was happening, Trevor wrestled with the man’s hands, which where were clasped around the handle of the big double-edged hunting knife, to stop him from stabbing Butch. Trevor managed to wrench the knife out of the man’s hands. Once the knife was on the ground, and kicked safely out of the way, the man seemed to calm down and was able to be taken to hospital.

  Trevor knew that without police dogs these situations could turn pear-shaped so easily. Not only did the dogs offer a chance at a non-lethal solution, they also created a barrier between armed offenders and other uniformed police officers at the scene. Of course, Trevor felt the pressure at each of these knife-wielding jobs, but with Butch by his side he knew he was as safe as he could be.

  In July 1998 Trevor gave a lecture to the Cranbourne Rotary Club about the work of the Dog Squad and critical incident dogs such as Butch. Butch lay on the stage during the talk, looking the picture of a polite and well-trained police dog. After the talk, Trevor loaded Butch into the back of the Dog Squad station wagon and headed off to begin his shift. There are two types of jobs for general dog patrol: either handlers hear a job – such as prowlers, silent alarms, offenders recently decamping or school alarms – over a radio and attend if they think they can help; or the handler and the dog are specially called to a job. On this winter evening, Trevor was called to a siege situation in Williamstown. A male offender was inside a shop armed with a knife. When the call came through over the radio, Trevor heard that there were other general purpose dogs at the scene, but Butch was needed because he was a critical incident dog.

  Trevor was briefed at the scene; the armed man had a history of violent psychotic episodes. The situation was fraught – police cars everywhere, blue and red flashing police lights, the road closed to traffic and pedestrians. The police had set up a perimeter between the footpath and the road. The man, who lived in the premises at the back of the shop, would come out every now and again armed with a knife and a tomahawk. He would wave them around, threaten police and demand that they shoot him.

  Trevor set up at the front of the shop while another handler, who also had a critical incident dog, set up at the back. Each time the man came out, ranting and taunting them, the police officers tried to read his demeanour and aggression. He’s setting himself up to be shot, thought Trevor.

  After dealing with so many offenders in such a state, Trevor believed these types of people to be the most dangerous. At any moment, this man could charge towards the police surrounding him. There was little space between the footpath at the front of the shop and the road where uniformed members stood behind police cars.

  After a couple of hours, the man dropped the knife and tomahawk on the footpath and ran back into the shop. The watching police quickly removed the weapons. The man kept going in and out of the shop, ranting and aggressive, screaming that he wanted to die. ‘If I attack you,’ he screamed at the police negotiator, ‘you would have to shoot me! I’m going inside to prepare to die!’

  And that was the trigger. Like everybody else at the scene, Trevor could read the breaking point.

  The officer in charge decided to try and catch the man off guard by sending in Trevor and Butch. As tempting as it might have seemed to non-dog handlers to send the dog in alone, Trevor would never do it. If the offender was armed and scrambled behind something where the dog couldn’t get him, that could leave the dog open to any kind of injury. Also, there was no way of telling who else was in the house; there were too many unknowns.

  Standing at the door, Trevor took a deep breath and entered the shop with Butch on a short lead. Leaving their dogs in their cars, two other handlers came in behind Trevor. It was a good tactic – if anything happened to Trevor, the extra handlers could step in and control the dog.

  Moving quickly and quietly through the dark shop, the three men and Butch headed out the back. They went through an adjoining lounge room before sighting the man in a kitchen beyond. The man wielded two knives – one in each hand. ‘Drop the knives!’ yelled Trevor.

  ‘Come and get ’em,’ said the man, eyes alight with menace. He dropped his arms to his sides and began to advance towards the three police officers. As soon as the man moved towards them, Trevor released the dog. In a blur of black and tan, Butch flew towards the man and grabbed his left leg. The offender went down quickly, with Butch clamped to his leg. The two other handlers jumped in to help disarm the man.

  It was then that Trevor noticed his dog was bleeding. Badly. ‘He’s got him!’ Trevor yelled. He reached around and felt Butch’s neck. Trevor could feel the blood pumping from a stab wound. Despite his injuries, Butch would not let go of the man’s leg until called off.

  Trevor quickly called for Butch to release the man and left his fellow handlers to put the handcuffs on. He kept his hand firmly on Butch’s neck, trying to stem the flow of blood. As soon as the offender was safely restrained, the ambulance officers rushed in.

  The paramedics quickly took in the scene
– a badly injured police dog and an injured offender. Even though they would cop flack for it afterwards, the ambos treated the injured police dog first. One produced a pressure bandage from a medical kit and while Trevor let go for an instant, the paramedic wrapped it firmly around Butch’s neck. Once that was done, Trevor put his bloodied hand back over the injury to keep the pressure on it.

  Together with one of the other handlers, Trevor carried Butch, who was panting and silent, to a waiting police car. Trevor climbed into the back seat with his injured dog, never letting go of the pressure bandage.

  The Western Animal Emergency Centre in Werribee was the closest place to take Butch in the small hours of the morning. All the way there – light flashing, siren blaring – Trevor nursed his dog, scared he would lose him. Butch didn’t move, and lay still on Trevor. He was so calm that Trevor thought the worst. There had been so much blood.

  Police at the scene had contacted the Animal Emergency Centre, and Dr Kate Hopper was waiting in the car park with other vet staff and a trolley. Trevor’s panic was balanced by Dr Hopper’s calm. Butch was wheeled into an examination room, and the vet began her examination in a slow, methodical way. She removed his bloody bandage so she could look at the dog’s injuries. Trevor took a final look at Butch, lying still on the trolley, and then the shaken dog handler left his dog to the experts.

  In the waiting room, Trevor rang the boss at the Dog Squad to tell him what had taken place. This was the first time such a serious injury had happened to a Victoria Police dog, and it left all the handlers stunned. While they all knew the jeopardy their dogs faced, this was a sobering reminder.

  Half an hour later, Dr Hopper came out and told Trevor that Butch’s carotid artery had been severed, but they had been able to sew it up. The vet explained that Butch had received a blood transfusion, and that he should be fine. Trevor let out a deep breath. It was a great relief to hear Butch would survive.

  Trevor left his dog at the Animal Emergency Centre and went back to the Dog Squad offices to sleep for the couple of hours left of the cold July night. At 7 a.m. the following morning the media began calling the squad. Trevor knew it would happen, but played dumb on the phone. With the blood of his injured sidekick staining his police uniform, the last thing Trevor wanted to do was talk to the media about it. ‘Nope, I don’t know anything about an injured police dog. You’ll have to call back later when the bosses are in.’

  Butch spent a couple of days in the hospital, and then came home to Trevor’s house to a bed in the laundry. ‘Keep him quiet,’ the vet had said.

  That’s easier said than done, thought Trevor, thinking of his Rottweiler’s boundless, fearless energy.

  While the media interviews were handled by the Dog Squad office, Trevor was happy to have newspaper photographers take photos of his hero dog. The squad was inundated with ‘get well’ cards from school kids. Even federal government minister Amanda Vanstone sent him cookies. People also sent cheques and money, which Butch couldn’t keep and Trevor returned on his behalf. Butch even became a poster dog to encourage canine blood donation, which was then in its infancy.

  Butch literally recovered in leaps and bounds, and was unaware of all the fuss he caused. While Trevor found the recognition for Butch and the squad touching, he was a private person; he didn’t seek glory for himself and he didn’t seek it for Butch.

  Just as the vet predicted, Butch was back at work three weeks later, fit as a fiddle. They both posed for a photo that said what words couldn’t of the relationship between dog and handler; Trevor was looking down at his dog with such pride, while Butch was looking up and licking Trevor on the chin. With Butch’s head extended upwards, the bald patch on his neck from the stab wound was clearly visible.

  On Blue Ribbon Day, Butch and Trevor were flown into Waverley Park and recognised for their bravery before the start of the Hawthorn–St Kilda game. And Butch and Trevor were presented with a big trophy at the Royal Melbourne Show, which stands proudly in a glass case at the entrance to the Dog Squad. Butch never knew what all the fuss was about; he had just been doing his job.

  And he continued to do his job. Just a couple of weeks later, with newly grown fur barely covering the bald patch on his neck, Butch tracked two armed robbers, who had attempted to rob a service station in Narre Warren, to a house about 800 metres away from the botched hold-up. Butch tracked the crooks up the driveway of the house and right up to a knife discarded on the front lawn – no doubt from the robbery. Despite suffering a stab wound just weeks earlier, Butch registered no fear or reservation at the knife. Other police members were sent into the house for the take-down, and the suspects were caught hiding under beds.

  Butch was such a fine police dog that he and Trevor were sent to New Zealand to participate in a two-week training course. The New Zealand force had never had a Rottweiler in their police canine unit, and once they saw Butch in action they changed their minds about the capabilities of Rottweilers in the police force.

  Butch was a no-fuss, good all-round police dog. He went on to serve ten years in the Victoria Police Dog Squad, retiring at eleven and a half years of age. When Butch got too old for active duty Trevor got a new Rottweiler, and Butch was a good role model. Because of the inherent competition between dogs, the new dog picked up retrieving skills much quicker than he otherwise would have.

  Even though the new dog was good, Trevor believed what a lot of handlers believe: in your career, you get one cracker of a dog. And Butch was his.

  TREVOR’S TRAINING TIPS

  You’ll be amazed at what your dog can do. Every dog has incredible ability; if you can tap into it, you will have a better dog.

  Any dog can be trained to some degree.

  Only humans can limit dogs in their learning capacity.

  Of the thirty-seven years he was a member of Victoria Police, Trevor Studham spent thirty-four in the Dog Squad.

  Not only do the dogs provide a non-lethal solution during violent confrontations, they also create a barrier between armed offenders and police.

  CHAPTER 7

  A German shepherd named Renko

  Sergeant Mark Boysen joined the Dog Squad in 1991 and, aside from a three-year stint away on promotion, has been there ever since. When Mark joined the squad, he was lucky to get an incred­ible first dog – a long-haired German shepherd called Renko. Renko was a pretty boy with a fluffy mane, and looked more like a show dog than the highly trained police dog he was. Most German shepherds in the squad were short-haired, and the problems with the long-haired variety only became apparent when the dogs were operational. Every time Renko did a search through paddocks or bushland, Mark would spend hours brushing burrs, prickles and seeds out of his fur. Renko didn’t much like being groomed; he was like a squirming kid getting the knots brushed out of his hair.

  While some handlers engage in a battle of wills with their new dogs, Mark and Renko got along famously from the moment they met. But Renko was a little stand-offish at home with Mark’s family; he wasn’t really interested in attention from anyone but his handler.

  Like all good police dogs, Renko lived for policing. He grew hypersensitive to the sounds and signs that it was time to go to work. From his yard he would hear the scratch of velcro from Mark’s utility belt, and would start to whine and bark excitedly. He would brush his nose against Mark’s leg, and if he detected the fabric of Mark’s work pants, he would get excited. If he detected the denim of jeans he’d look disappointed. Renko loved police work so much, he would have happily worked every day of the year.

  Mark always says, ‘We ask a lot of our police dogs, but they love every minute of it.’ In the early days working with Renko, Mark attended a job in Port Melbourne where two stolen cars had been dumped in the car park near the Spirit of Tasmania dock. There were signs of wheelies and burnouts – it was obvious that the two thieves had done some hooning before dumping the cars. When Mark arrived, he clipped the long tracking line on Renko, and the two set off searching along Beaconsf
ield Parade, in the direction of St Kilda. When they neared Bay Street, Renko led Mark to the rear of one of the grand old pubs that looked out over the bay.

  At the back of the pub was an old wooden staircase leading to the upstairs premises. Coming down the stairs, bold as brass, were the two crooks. Obviously, a bit of hooning had been followed by a bit of breaking and entering on what had to be a crooks’ big night out. The first crook on the stairs was carrying a stolen toaster oven. The second crook was carrying something more sinister; he was armed with a knife.

  Spying the police dog and handler, the crook with the toaster oven jumped down the last couple of steps, tossed the toaster to the ground, and ran off down the lane behind the pub. That left the second guy brandishing his knife. After a quick exchange – ‘Put down the knife,’ from Mark, expletives from the crook, barking from Renko – the crook took off after his mate down the lane.

  When asking nicely didn’t work, it was time to let the dog do what he was trained to do. Mark let Renko go with a command to take down the crook with the knife, who was the bigger danger. Mark had complete faith that Renko would be fine on his own. Leaving his dog to get the crook with the knife, Mark took off after the toaster oven guy. Mark nabbed and cuffed the crook, then led him back to Renko, who had things under control at his end.

  The two crooks were foiled by a handler and dog. After the men were in handcuffs, the dog had a calming effect on the situ­ation; his very presence guaranteed that neither would fire up again. The next sweetest part of the job was handing the men over to the local uniform police for processing, and then Mark and Renko were free to hit the road again.