Harry Tangye

How many children have you heard say they want to be a dog handler in the police? It’s something I have always heard and probably would have liked to do myself if I had grown up with a family dog, but instead I looked towards driving fast cars and guns as an armed response officer. For some that need to work with animals is overwhelming and many succeed in their goal.
I have a wonderful friend, Dave Wardell, who is a police dog handler who has changed laws so that cornered suspects couldn’t then attack the police dogs with knives and other weapons and slip through the judicial net by saying they were defending themselves. It sounds ridiculous, but they did precisely that.
When I was on shift and going from job to job, I would often call in the dog unit and they were quickly out of their van, set up with a long leash and immediately on the trail for the suspect who had, by then, left the scene and were well on their way. I would tend to tag along directly in their wake as dog and dog handler, the handler often referred to as the ‘dope on the rope’, made their way along the scent just left by the assailant. Dope on the rope was an unfair description of the handler, often referred to by the handlers themselves when putting their beloved and entrusted friend’s skills beyond their own. I was often in awe with their agility and speed, both dog and handler often in near zero visibility in the dead of night across farm fields and gardens and along streets, often for nearly an hour.
During the track, the officer would often stop and point at objects which I would have missed if it hadn’t been for them. There was vital evidence found, such as the subject’s mobile phone, I remember, in a nearby stream. Quite remarkable. The track was soon on again at some speed as the violent offender needed catching up, and going at the suspect’s speed would not have been sufficient to close the gap. Suddenly, out of the blue I would hear the shrill of “Police dog handler, stand still or I will release the dog”.
The following few seconds would be tense, and I confess I may have prayed the suspect failed to do as ordered and indeed on this occasion someone answered my prayer and the police dog was released, shortly followed by shouting and screaming and a plea for mercy from someone who had been a tyrant now being reduced to a coward.
One dog handler had noticed my interest after a particularly freezing winter night where the dog had located an elderly lady suffering from dementia and now hypothermia, hidden in the woods under a bush to seek warmth. Her life had undoubtedly been saved by the dog. The handler gave me a few hints and I soon taught my Border Terrier Jack Russell cross, Arthur, how to track. It looks ridiculous, a dog not much larger than a squirrel on the end of a very long leash but he’s very good at it. He would be more of a grenade in an angry crowd, rather than a furry Exocet missile like the German shepherd dogs, but I’m sure just as effective. The devastation Arthur would have caused in the middle of a baying mob would have been something to behold, if he wasn’t such a softy.