I was checking on one of my sites today, which happens to be right next to a County yard where they store old abandoned vehicles. Angus and I were right near it when we figured out that there was something going on in there.

There’s a dog training place here too, and they often use old buildings to practice with the drug dogs. And I’ve seen police dogs going in and out of there, but this was the first time I’d seen them work.

They had a whole bunch of dog handlers outside the fence on the far side from us, and one German Shepherd was savagely attacking a guy’s arm. I recognized the guy as the owner of the dog training facility, but my first thought was that there was actually something going on.

I stopped Angus and put him on a down before he could charge up to the fence and challenge a dog that would surely kick his ass in a heartbeat. I was also kind of wondering if these dogs would stick to their jobs or get distracted by another dog. No, I wasn’t close enough to really interfere, but they could see us, and the trainers knew I was there.

We watched a few rounds. The guy in the suit (and it wasn’t really a very big suit) would sneak around and get in a car. Then the handler would call out his lines, and then send his (or her—there was one woman too) dog in. The dog would race around all of the cars looking for the bad guy. The two dogs I watched start did see us, but they didn’t spend much time near our side of the fence, so I guess they definitely knew their jobs.

Then, when the dog found the bad guy, he’d either come out of the vehicle or get pulled out by the dog, all the time screaming like someone would who was really in some deep shit at that point. And the handler would come up and praise their dog, and snap the leash on and leave. One dog went right in an open window, which I don’t think the guy was expecting.

The whole time, Angus minded very well, although he tells those dogs off from the safety of his truck every morning when we pass the kennel. He made a lot of noises that I’ve never heard before—low down groans and squeaks that I wouldn’t quite call a growl.

The last handler called out, “Your turn” to us, but I laughed and told him that Angus would just herd the guy, not bite him. Although I wonder, since he watched those other dogs attacking and getting praised for it.