Eleven years ago, when I began working for the prison service, it had been much easier to find those dogs because only the police, the prison service and the army were looking for them. Now, as I trawled through the websites of animal-rescue centres and made dozens of calls, I realized that there weren’t enough dogs out there with potential to be trained up to cater for all the services that wanted them.
At our prison alone, we had a minimum of three dogs patrolling the perimeter twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, with a fourth dog resting and ready to take over so the others could have a break. With private security firms willing to pay massive amounts of money for the right dogs, the pool available to us was getting smaller and smaller.
We’d also learnt the hard way that our dogs needed social skills: they were often working side by side and needed to get on with other dogs in the unit. It was quite a wish list but one day I had an idea.
One of my team typed a letter and when it was done he posted a copy to every rescue organization nearby to remind them of what we were always looking out for. We repeated this every other month to keep the dialogue going. One day I received a call from Keith Payne, the service dog manager at Battersea Dogs & Cats Home. ‘We have a young German Shepherd here. He’s two years old and he might be what you’re looking for.’
‘What makes you think he’s right for us?’
Keith explained: ‘Tyson is a very ball-driven dog and he’s happy to search for it on command.’
My ears pricked up: rewarding our dogs with a ball was the basis of all our training.
Keith added: ‘He also has a reasonable amount of defence drive in him.’
That was music to my ears. ‘We can come and see him in two days’ time. Is that OK with you?’
Our meeting was set. That Friday, my lead trainer, Del, and I made the short drive from Thamesmead, south-east London, to Battersea Old Windsor to meet Tyson. Keith introduced us and we took Tyson for a walk around the grounds. We’d gone wearing our full uniform, which was all black, on purpose because sometimes dogs didn’t like men dressed in black. The reason for this is unknown but it can cause fearful and adverse reactions in them.
We were pleased that Tyson didn’t show any reaction to it. He was happy to let us walk him and had no qualms about meeting new people – another good sign.
Keith took him from us and slipped off his lead in a field on site that was dedicated to training dogs. ‘Let me show you what he can do.’
We hid the ball and Tyson knew to look for it when we asked him to. Then we gave Keith a padded sleeve and encouraged Tyson to grab it, which he did. The bite training was essential for any dog we recruited. In time we’d encourage the dog to grab the pad and have a game of tug of war. We’d build on it until he was desperate to have a go.
Keith had already done the pad work with Tyson, a real bonus for us. Next, we watched Tyson have a run around to check that his gait was right and that he was a fit and healthy dog. German Shepherds are sometimes prone to hip problems and can be hip scored – a visual check of their gait as they walk and run in puppyhood to see if they are likely to develop problems in that area later.
Next we watched Keith put Tyson through his paces with agility tests, such as jumping a three-foot hurdle. Though Tyson hadn’t done that before, he leapt over the equipment Keith had to hand with no problem.
‘This one is a natural,’ I told Del.
We were seriously impressed, so we took Tyson with us that day to meet his new handler.
Our unit had thirty patrol dogs and eight search dogs, each with their own handler. There was one person I thought would be perfect for Tyson. Ian was one of my most experienced handlers and his patrol dog, Prince, was eight years old and ready for early retirement as he’d developed a limp. It was standard practice for us to retire the dogs early for health reasons so they’d enjoy a good quality of life. More than that, Ian was a full service patrol-dog handler, living on his own with Prince in the countryside. He was the perfect candidate to take on a second dog.
But there was a bit of a problem because it was late December and therefore it would be difficult to arrange the standard eight-week training course straight away for Tyson and Ian to complete together, with so many people off work for the Christmas holidays. I handed Tyson over to Ian anyway so that the two could get to know each other. As Christmas set in, Tyson’s journey began …
The Unshakeables
It was a busy Monday afternoon and as the rush-hour commuters piled on to the bus I was driving, it dawned on me that I hated my job. The writing had been on the wall for a while and it was time for a change.
I picked up a newspaper on my way home and it was then that an advert caught my eye. I applied for a job in the prison service and I was hired. I started working on discipline duties with the inmates and, after a while, I had my eye on another job, within the prison this time: a dog handler working patrols.
The job would be perfect for me. My family had always kept dogs, and I’d wanted one of my own for a long time, but because I was single and worked full time, I couldn’t have one. The only way I could have a dog of my own was to join the dog unit where the dog would come home with me when my shift ended.
I began visiting the training grounds on my lunch breaks and got to know the team, always hoping a vacancy would pop up. Two years later, in 1995, an internal memo circulated, advertising a dog-handler job. I went for it and got it.
The two years I’d spent being a thorn in the unit’s side – always asking them questions, tagging along to training sessions, visiting for updates on job vacancies – had finally paid off.
My life changed and I couldn’t have been happier.
A few years after I’d started at HMP Pentonville, rumours surfaced that the dog section was going to close. In time, the rumour proved true, and I was transferred to HMP Belmarsh’s dog section, working a shift pattern for thirty-nine hours a week. The dog assigned to me was two-and-a-half-year-old Prince, a steely German Shepherd: he had been found in Ireland, running around and worrying sheep, then brought to England where we’d taken him on. As we got to know him, we reckoned Prince had escaped from the army because if you put an angry man in front of him he knew to go and bite him. He knew how to leave – stop – when told to, and walked to heel. He was 80 per cent trained already, but without a microchip or a tattoo in his ear identifying him, we couldn’t find out any more about him.
He trained up very quickly and was a great dog to have on patrol. He was always calm, alert and did as he was told. At home, he was like any other dog, partial to treats and barking at dogs on the TV. Every Sunday I treated him to a full roast dinner. Whatever I cooked for myself that day, Prince would have a bowl too. I reasoned that if I had to live on dry food and biscuits all my life, I wouldn’t be very happy. Anyway, I liked to treat him.
After years of pining for a dog of my own, I had one to spoil. Prince was great company and very loyal. He loved to run and play, and kept me fit, walking the fields near our home and spending long afternoons by the river. It was nice to have company and Prince and I my formed a very special bond. I was never without him in waking hours and he became an extension of me.
At night, like all other dogs on the unit, he slept in his kennel in the garden. During work hours, he was an excellent prison-patrol dog and wasn’t fazed by anything. He was extremely intuitive, and if I felt him tense up while we were patrolling through the courtyard where the prisoners exercised, I knew an altercation between inmates was about to occur. He was the perfect early-warning system.
When Prince was eight years old, I noticed he was limping. I took him to the vet and found he had developed arthritis in his hips. With us walking miles every day on the job, there was only one option. We set a plan to let Prince retire, and it was then that my line manager, Stuart, told me about a rescue dog called Tyson. He thought Tyson would be a perfect replacement for Prince on the job. Of course, Prince would remain with me at home after
his retirement, but while he was still working, I took Tyson to the prison every day to begin an orientation process. At first, I kept the dogs apart, walking them separately before and after work. It was tiring but it had to be done that way. It can be difficult integrating a new German Shepherd into a home where one already lives and I was worried about how Tyson and Prince would get on when they finally met. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if they had hated each other for a while or if one had tried to lead the other.
To give them time to get used to the idea of each other, I took them both to work every day in the back of my dog van. They were able to get used to the other’s smell and saw each other briefly when I took one of them out.
During shifts, when Prince was having a half-hour rest, I took Tyson around the grounds, getting him familiar with things. Our formal training was yet to begin but this was a good test. A month passed, and the dogs showed no signs of hostility towards each other, only curiosity. One morning at four a.m., as I waited for our shift to begin, we were on neutral ground outside the prison: I let them both out of the van to meet. They said hello and, after a whiff of each other, sat down by my feet with their tails and tongues wagging. Their expressions said the same thing: Father, look at him!
Luckily, Tyson and Prince got on with each other from day one. There wasn’t a cross word between them, and that was a relief. Now, instead of walking each dog separately, I was able to take them for walks together and the two got on like a house on fire. They ran around, played and chased each other. In the garden, they curled up for a sleep together and it was rather endearing to see those big prison dogs turn into such soppy souls.
Meanwhile, as Tyson became accustomed to his new surroundings at work, he was quick to learn that as soon as we arrived for our shift outside the prison walls it was game on. He was instantly alert, ready to work and excited to get in there. I tried him on the slippery floors, working at height, solid and metal stairs, and he ran around like he owned the place. Tyson wasn’t fazed by anything. There wasn’t a single object we put in his way that made him say: I’m not very happy about this.
Tyson was fearless, and in the first two weeks, I was able to walk him through the jail with all the loud and buzzing security doors, metal stairs, around the big and echoing gym, in the wet showers, and I could see that he was cut out for the job. He didn’t flinch at anything. Tyson dragged me up and down narrow stairs without an ounce of hesitation, and if prisoners were acting suspiciously, he wasn’t scared of them. In fact, if I threw a ball into the crowd, he was happy to go after it.
Everything was a new experience for him and he lapped it up. I was seeing in him all the same unshakeable qualities that I had seen in Prince. I knew he would make an excellent patrol dog.
Over the Christmas period, Tyson, Prince and I all worked shifts as usual. It is usually a difficult time for the prisoners, who are away from their families, and they want it to be over as quickly as possible, although they are allowed more visits than usual. Because of that, it’s a busy and relentless time for staff. The risk of self-harm is increased and patrols are more important than ever.
On Christmas Day, we worked an early shift and the dogs were with me. As the official training course hadn’t started yet, Tyson went out on patrol with me. It worked well to continue his orientation, especially with the added tension among the prisoners, but also because it gave Prince a chance to rest as Tyson picked up more of his patrols.
We finished in the early afternoon and returned home together, where our own Christmas Day finally began. I cooked a turkey with all the trimmings: bacon, roast potatoes, and vegetables. The boys and I had a full Christmas dinner and then the three of us settled in the lounge to open some presents.
They had giant bone-shaped chews wrapped in Christmas paper, and as they got stuck into them, I couldn’t help but laugh. I was turning into a complete softie, wrapping up presents for my dogs! But Tyson and Prince seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was. I didn’t have a partner to spend Christmas with or a big family, but Prince and Tyson made it as special as if I’d had a dinner table full of close friends and relatives. Prince was used to Christmases like these, but I had no idea what Tyson’s background had been. I wished I could find out more. That wasn’t an option so I did what I could for it to be Tyson’s best Christmas yet. I spoilt them both with games and long walks over the frosty fields.
Two weeks into the New Year, Tyson and I were finally able to get started on the official training course. He did exceptionally well and mastered all the phases of training with ease. The only thing we had trouble with was getting him to bark. It was then that we were able to surmise that, at some point, Tyson had been kept as a pet because he’d obviously been taught to be quiet. It was a hard habit to break, but barking was vital in his role. Patrol dogs need to be able to bark on demand for crowd control or when they find something we need to investigate, contraband or otherwise. Once he’d understood he could make a noise, he didn’t look back.
Tyson flew through the course, passed his initial licence and was soon working full shifts. Prince went into retirement and couldn’t wait to see us when we got home. Whenever he had a mad moment and ran in circles around Tyson, Tyson looked to me with confusion on his face: Are you sure about him, Father? He loved it, really. Even after a long day’s work, he was soon caught up in Prince’s energy. Every day when I got home, I put the boys on their leads and headed out for a long walk.
The pair of them had a thing about cats: as soon as we were outside, they were no longer going for a walk but scanning every corner for felines. The moment either of them caught a whiff of an unsuspecting moggy, they yanked me forward – it took all my strength not to fall flat on my face as my arms were stretched out and I looked like Ben-Hur being pulled along on his chariot!
Soon, we’d be on to the fields near my home and I’d let the boys off their leads. They loved being out in the open and expended so much energy running around that, by the time we got in, they were ready for a sleep. At night, Tyson slept in his kennel in the garden, like Prince once had, but now that Prince was retired he stayed indoors with me. If I was off work and out without the dogs, they were both kept in kennels because of their special training. I couldn’t take any risks with them. When I was out with both of them, I realized there was a bit of a stigma attached to the breed. People would cross the road so they didn’t have to pass me and seemed frightened of Prince and Tyson. However, I had only to walk 150 yards from my home before we were in the fields, and most people in the area knew that the dogs were under my control.
At work, Tyson excelled. One day, he and I were watching the inmates on an exercise break in the yard when a scuffle broke out. One inmate was attacking another. As per our regulations, dog handlers like me are not allowed to intervene in the initial stages. Just as he’d been trained, Tyson went to the end of his lead and barked continuously until the scuffle broke up. He’d executed the textbook response and I reckoned it was a good indication that he’d do all right in the job. It’s part of our duty to make our presence felt but we’re not allowed on to the yard. Our main role is to remind the inmates we’re there and that if they don’t behave we’ll be on their heels.
The minute we were out of the prison after a shift, Tyson’s whole demeanour changed. He’d see Prince and say: Look, there’s my friend and I’m going to run around with him. They would be very excited until we got out of the door.
Now, Tyson has been doing this job for nearly a year and has matured into it really well. Every spring, there is a local prison-dog trial and handlers are asked to compete in it and really push the dogs. They’re judged by a member of the inspectorate, then go on to the national trials. Tyson competed in May this year. He didn’t win but he came very close to claiming the Criminal Work Trophy.
Just like Prince before him, Tyson makes me proud every day. Without rescue centres like Battersea, wonderfully bright and capable dogs like him would be with people who didn’t understand them a
nd, therefore, would never realize their full potential. I’m so grateful he’s ended up with Prince and me.
7. Bringing our Home to Life
Any mother who has seen her children fly the nest will know the mixture of pride and pain that it causes, the sudden silence in the house. There is no laundry that must be done before the school week starts and no time by which dinner must be on the table. Life takes on an altogether different pace.
Years earlier, I might have yearned for a night off to have a long soak in the bath with a glass of wine. But now that my sons Derek and David had grown up and moved out, I longed for the chaos, noise and bustle that two young children generated. But the boys had left a piece of them with me: our Staffie cross, Venger.
He’d come into our lives unexpectedly. One day, teenage Derek came home from school and talked excitedly about a friend who had a dog that needed a new home. I was friends with the boy’s mother and knew she was having a very tough time. Life had dealt her a difficult hand and, to top it off, her puppy was ripping everything to shreds, from skirting boards to clothes.
When Derek and then David pleaded with me to take the dog, I’d caved in. Venger came into our lives and carried on shredding everything in his path. He chewed the table legs and anything wooden he could get his teeth into. One night, I dabbed oil of cloves on all the wood at Venger height. The next morning, I watched as he grabbed a chair leg for a chew, winced, shook his head, then spat and spat. That was the last time he ever chewed anything but his food and toys.
The boys loved having a dog around and spent hours with him. They played fetch in the garden and down at the park, as well as tug of war if the mood took them. When they were fourteen, they had wanted to walk the dog but at sixteen they were no longer keen – they wanted to go out with their friends – so it fell to Terry and me to walk Venger.
Christmas at Battersea: True Stories of Miracles and Hope Page 10