Quiet nights kept us on edge

Quiet nights kept us on edge the most, because the quietness has a history of deception.  There is an international Rugby test on TV in the middle of the night.  The duty Senior Sergeant has “borrowed” a TV for his office. 

I followed my father’s footsteps and did my time as a Rugby referee, but only for a short time.  Rugby is a religion in New Zealand, way outstripping the main churches with devotees.  An international test is compulsory viewing.  The Senior Sergeant and I have quipped about the quiet night and our speculation that the night will erupt and there will be no chance of watching the game.  We are half-right.

At 0515hrs on 16^th November 1980, the call comes in on the 111 emergency line.  A farmer out the back blocks of Huntly (a small rural town whose primary audience is coal miners) calls in to say a car has crashed into the fence below his house and the occupants have run off.   Earlier in the night, Huntly Police reported a stolen car and the crashed one fits the description.  Even though there is a rugby match at half time and I am meant to finish work at 0500 hours, this sounds too good to be true.  I race to the basement and fire the dog van into life.

Police dog Cara is jet black, small and yet a ball of energy.  From an early age, she has been an incredible tracker.  She is not very strong as a biter but my logic is if she could find the offender, I will do the rest.  Cara is instantly fired up and ready for action after a night with no activity.  Technically, it is about a forty-five minute drive to the scene, but for a Police dog, seconds make a difference between success and failure.  We arrive at the scene in less than forty-five minutes.

I know Cara needs to relieve her bladder.  A dog with a full bladder is as distracted as a human in the same predicament.  On arriving at the scene the local Huntly cop is talking with the farmer.  The vehicle is embedded in the fence.  I open the back of the van, let Cara out to go toilets, and go to talk to the farmer.

“Where did you last see them?” I enquire.

“See where your dog is going?” says the farmer pointing at Cara.

Full bladder or not, Cara finds the track and is off.  Technically, she is supposed to be in her tracking harness, but the fresh track allows her to operate at her own pace.  It is also clear the offenders have a considerable start and to catch them requires speed on our part.  Cara loves tracking and the body language reflects her passion.  The black tail is wagging furiously.  Rural tracks like this are heaven.

The area was undulating hills and there was a reasonable length of grass in the paddocks, keeping the scent fresh.  The only slight distraction is multiple offenders.  The dog tracks the freshest human scent and when there are multiple offenders, it is hard for them to work out which one to follow.  To be successful the dog selects a particular scent and stays with that one. 

The track starts to follow the road, but one paddock in from it.  I am running as hard as I can to keep up with her.  Cara flies over the fences with great ease and just keeps going.  The fences slow me up, as I do not fancy the barbed wire giving me a vasectomy at this stage in life.  Next we cross towards the road and then over.  These offenders know where they are going – they have to be locals. 

Cara goes up a steep hill and down the other side.   I decide to stay on the ridge and follow her from the vantage point.  I know Cara will track for hours and the weak link in time would be me.  Up and down hills at a running pace, in heavy army style regulation boots often wears me out.  The boots are essential for 95% of the work, but occasionally such as this, running shoes will make a significant difference.

We track down by a small lake and around the edge.  Cara is not missing a beat and her tail is in timing with the excitement.  The track turns to our right and we cross the road again.  The Huntly Police car is cruising with the objective of slowing the offenders down to give us more of a chance.  The patrol car uses their spotlight to keep track of our movement, and usually involves curses from me for having a bright light in my eyes.  There is no portable radio communication in this area –it is dead, and I do not have mine with me. 

Cara swings back towards the road and then we are tracking along the side of it.  I hear a car coming towards us and worry about Cara not being in her harness.  She concentrates so hard she never notices anything around her.  The car is not moving fast and then it comes around the corner and the headlights blind me.  They are on full beam.  It is the farmer.  He pulls alongside.

“Jump in mate I’ll take you back to your vehicle.  They are long gone.”

I thank the farmer and reject his kind offer.  Even though he is used to working dogs, understanding the dynamics of a Police dog is different.  If I pulled Cara of a “hot track”, it would take hours of training to get her back up to speed.  When Cara is tracking, I follow her no matter what. 

“I think you’re crazy mate, but your choice.” He retorts.

A few moments later we cross another fence and Cara heads down the hill into a bit of a gully.  I stick to my pattern of staying on the ridge top – less distance for me.  The sun is rising and hits me in the tired eyes.  

Cara is speeding up.  This is a sure sign that she is getting closer. I decide to leave the ridge and join her.  The pace is taking its toll on me and I start retching.  Cara is not missing a beat, so my discomfort is meaningless.  Cara’s performance inspires me to ignore my body, which is pleading for rest. 

And then!

Cara is starting to raise her head.  This means she is wind scenting the offender(s) instead of tracking.  Cara goes through some bush and as I burst out the other side, she catches one offender.  I quickly apply handcuffs and take him back to the road with Cara doing her usual assistance tricks to make sure he does not try to run again.  As we get to the road, luck is on our side.  The Huntly patrol car is there.  I hand over the prisoner and ask for some temporary (plastic) handcuffs.    I stuff a few sets in my pocket and take Cara back to the spot where we caught this guy. 

Cara instantly picks up the track again and is flying.  My body is arguing as hard as it can but I know we are close to catching more.  A few more bushes and we catch another couple.  They stopped when they heard their mate yell at Cara’s interview technique.  They quickly give themselves up and are handcuffed and taken to the patrol car.  I know we still have one outstanding.

Cara quickly picks up the last track, but even she is showing signs of tiredness.  The level of concentration is tiring even for an extremely fit Police dog.  We go through light scrub and I hear running footsteps ahead.  I call on him to stop to no avail.  Then Cara and I are in a clearing and the last offender is only yards ahead of us.  He picks up a nearby large rock to take Cara on. 

“Feel free mate, it will only aggravate her more and your wounds will be worse.” I warn.

Luckily, he sees reason and puts the rock down.  Cara just flops where she is.  The offender has no idea of our state of exhaustion.  He is taken to the Huntly patrol car that was called out to assist after we caught the first offender, so they are able to transport all prisoners.

Cara jumps in the boot of the patrol car and back to the dog van.  The farmer obliges with a cup of tea and a large bowl of water for Cara.

The official commendation we got reads in part:

“The Constable and his Dog actually followed a track over both country and road surfaces for a distance of eight kilometres before finally catching the offenders.”  The distance was further because of the cross-country nature of the track.  The road distance was eight kilometres.   From a dog handler perspective, this was our finest. 

Bruce Howat (NZ)