Red kept me amused with a running commentary of his
observations. His sense of smell could pinpoint which kids were
healthy, and which ones were scared or excited. After some careful
deductive questioning, I also learned he could tell which mothers
were on their periods, had sex that day, or were pregnant. It was
like talking to a teenager without a physical or verbal filter.
Whatever he was thinking spilled over to me, and I started to
understand a little more about how a dog’s thought processes
worked.
Red kept a watch for other dogs. I was worried if
another male came by, it might posture aggressively or attack. Even
though Red was completely reliable, I didn't want any kids to get
injured if another dog lunged at him.
It was funny to listen to Red scoff about the little
“ankle bitters” (who knows where he picked up that term) with their
fast-action legs trying to keep up with long-legged owners. As much
as Red loved children, he was also excited when other puppies were
brought over to “make friends” or socialize. Red was a very
gregarious dog, and he enjoyed opportunities to simply be a dog,
falling naturally into typical healthy canine behavior.
One little girl brought a kitten to visit Red. He
dutifully sniffed and licked it before telling me he liked the
kitten.
“But why would anyone want a cat?”
he asked.
After I told the little girl it would be okay, she
put the kitten down on Red's back. He tormented it by swishing his
tail so the little kitten could pounce on it.
Red was disappointed I couldn't let him off the leash
to run, but I tried to console him with the idea of a dog door for
the house so he could go outside whenever he wanted. He was excited
over the prospect of going outside at night when it was cooler, and
he mumbled something about stalking the cat from next door.
We had been at the park for over an hour when one of
the moms started calling out for a child who had probably wandered
from her view. Within a couple of minutes, she was frantic, her
tone fully migrated from annoyance to concern.
“Red, do you see any children wandering away
together? Maybe a child hiding in the bushes, or walking
alone?”
“
No, all the kids look like they are close by, or
with a grown-up,”
he told me.
“Do you understand what tracking is? If I let you
smell something the child owns, like a toy, could you maybe find a
place where the smell is and follow it so we can find the
child?”
“
I can try. It’s not a game we have played before.
There are a lot of scents here, but my nose is pretty
good.”
I smiled at his earnestness. “Lead me to the mom who
lost her child, and I will ask for something you can smell,
okay?”
The mom was now hysterical with worry and screaming
her child’s name: Maya. I calmed her as best I could and reminded
her we were across the street from a community police station, a
Spokane COPS Shop. My first question was if any of the adults had
gone across the street to see if a police officer was available to
help. Someone volunteered, and said they'd be right back.
“This is my dog, Red. He is still a puppy, but I have
been doing a little tracking with him.” I didn't think it was
necessary to let her know the full extent of his tracking practice
usually consisted of finding a lost shoe under the bed. “If you
have a toy, or item of clothing, which belongs to Maya, he might be
able pick up her scent and trail her.”
Maya's mother handed me a lightweight fleece her
daughter had taken off shortly after arriving at the park. I held
the coat low so that Red could smell the fabric.
“
This belongs to one of the girls who was playing
with me,”
Red sounded excited.
“The man picked her up and
was walking away with her when the mother started to yell.”
This just got a whole lot more complicated.
I gave the jacket back to the mom and told her Red
and I would see if we could pick up a trail. I think people started
to follow us, so I called over my shoulder, “If everyone can stay
back, there is a better chance someone won't walk over Maya's
scent.” To Red, I said, “Let's head back to my blanket, look like
you're trying to find her scent.”
“
I've already found her scent,”
he told me.
“She came over to the blanket to play, and after a few minutes
her dad came over and picked her up.”
“You mean it was a
man
who picked her up?” I
clarified, remembering what he said when he first sniffed the
coat.
“
The little girl called him 'Daddy' and she was
happy to see him. I would have said something to you if she was
scared.”
Red told me.
“When you asked me to look for a lost
child, they were still in the park. I didn't know she was the child
we were looking for.”
“Since you knew she was with her dad, you couldn't
have known she was the girl we thought was lost. Did you see him
get into a car or truck?”
“
No, I was looking around for a child without an
adult. So I didn't watch.”
“Which direction did he take her?” I asked.
“
They were by the path where you put my leash
on.”
Red replied.
“Well, let's walk in the direction of where you saw
the dad pick her up. Are you able to tell the dad's smell?”
“
I'm not sure, Teresa. There are a lot of scents
here. I can guess which one is the dad, but I can't tell for sure
without having something to smell which belongs to him.”
We must have arrived at the area where the dad had
picked up his daughter, because Red had his nose to the ground and
was leading us toward the library parking lot where we had entered
the park.
“There is a strong male scent going toward the
cars,”
Red referred to the parking lot
. “I'm pretty sure
it’s the man we want to follow.”
I weighed telling the mom we suspected the father
took her, but she was still somewhat frenzied. I decided I would
wait for the police before I shared that information. A policeman
would be hard enough to convince; the last thing I needed was to
try to explain to a panic-stricken mother my talking dog told me
her husband (ex-husband?) took her daughter.
“I'm Detective Stephens,” a voice called out from
behind me. “Has your dog really caught a scent, or is he still
searching?”
Boy! How do I answer this question? To Red, I asked
quietly, “Is the policeman alone? Can anyone overhear us?”
“
Alone. No one else close,”
he replied,
largely distracted by this new puzzle.
“I have a smell I think
is the dad's. There is a faint scent of the little girl in the
area, but he hadn't put her down at this point.”
Red continued
forward in his search.
I took a deep breath and a leap of faith, reaching
into my back pocket I pulled out one of the business cards Ken
created for me on his computer. It has my name, my house and cell
numbers, and an email address Ken monitors for me.
“Detective, I'm Teresa March; my dog's name is Red.”
I held out the card, confident the detective would reflexively take
it, and he did. “You don't know me, so this will sound really odd.
But could you ask Maya's mom if it’s possible Maya's dad picked her
up?”
“Do you know the family?” he asked, warily. He
probably caught onto the fact I was holding back something, but he
wasn't ready to take me away in leg irons. Patience—I like that in
a man.
“No,” I sighed, “and yeah, I realize I'm blind so
what input could I give you, right? If you could ask her, I
promise, I will explain myself. I think Maya's dad took her from
the park and carried her to this parking lot.”
Red barked to catch my attention.
“He put her down
right here. But, there is no trail, so he probably put her down to
open a door and then placed her in the car.”
Pretty cool! My
dog has deductive reasoning skills. Smart dog!
“Red has her scent at this spot, but it doesn't go
further.” I didn't add Red's theory. Parking lot... parking
space... duh, this guy was a detective let him figure it out.
Detective Stevens must have had a phone or radio of
some type, because he spoke softly asking his partner (my
assumption) to ask Mrs. Everett if there was a Mr. Everett. Boy
howdy! Did that get a reaction! When the partner replied back I
could hear her raised voice, and some very colorful language in the
background. Detective Stephens listened to his partner speak for a
few minutes, before disconnecting the call.
“It seems Mrs. Everett called the ex-Mr. Everett at
Officer Bailey's suggestion,” Detective Stephens told me. “He
admitted to having the girl.” There was a questioning tone to the
detective’s voice.
“I was dropping off some stuff for the volunteers at
the Shop,” he continued, “so I don't normally work out of the
community office. The officer on duty here will follow up with Mrs.
Everett. In the meantime, I would love it if you'd accompany me
across the street, so we can have a chat about the accuracy of wild
guesses.”
“Yeah,” I agreed drolly, “this should be fun.”
Red led me back to our blanket. I folded everything
up into the backpack, unclasping the leash so I could use the
harness. The COPS Shop was directly across from the park. I
remembered the building from when I had my sight. Since Janey lives
close to the Shadle area, I'm familiar with the layout. I mentally
grinned—we'd need to jaywalk to cross the street to the police
sub-station.
Detective Stephens seated me in an area which felt
pretty open. Except for the front entryway, I didn't hear any doors
close to indicate we were isolated off in a room. “Detective, is
there anyone else with us?”
“Some of the volunteers are at the counter in front,
but it’s only us in here for now,” the nice detective informed
me.
“It will be easiest to show you rather than tell you.
I'm going to turn around in my chair, facing away from you. Feel
free to walk around the room and point at, or pick up, random
items. I'll tell you what they are, okay.”
“You’re implying you’re psychic?” Detective Stephen’s
voice was disbelieving and a touch sarcastic.
“Oh, detective, it’s even more unbelievable than
that,” I sighed.
“
He's staring at you.”
Red told me.
“Detective, this will go a lot faster if you humor
the crazy woman,” I laughed. “Go ahead, randomly point at items in
the room. For fun, you can just show it to Red.”
“
Pencil.”
I smiled, “Pencil.”
“
Picture of the detective and a female.”
I made a guess, “Family photo? You and a woman, or
girl.”
“
It’s a paper on the wall,”
Red told me,
“all words, and no picture.”
“I think you're pointing out a memo or poster,
Detective. Red can't read, he can't count, and dogs have a limited
range of color vision. Red only recognizes you are pointing to
paper on the wall.”
“
He’s staring at you again. Ah, now he’s staring
at me. Shall I give him my friendly doggy grin?”
I chuckled, “Only if you want to, Red.”
Detective Stephens must have considered us for a
little while longer because Red informed me all he was doing was
looking back and forth between us. I employed my well-tested
“silence is best” strategy.
Finally, the detective’s curiosity won out. “If he
wants to do what?”
“Red told me you were staring at us. He asked me if
he should smile at you. I think he wanted to put you at ease by
appearing non-threatening.”
“Shit!” he exclaimed. “The damn dog grinned at
me.”
“He has a beautiful smile, don’t you think?” I
teased.
The good detective was a sport. He continued to point
at items randomly for another minute before telling me he'd be
interested to know how we were doing the performance. Yep, he
actually called it a performance. He was taking it pretty well so I
ended by saying, “Ask Red to go to the other room with you. Our
communication limit is about thirty feet, go far enough you can
whisper a secret in his ear and be sure I can't overhear it.
To prove all policemen are cynics, Detective Stephens
mentioned I could have my dog wired. Yeah, sure. I come to the park
with my dog wearing a wire in case a child might be kidnapped and
we have an opportunity to perpetrate a huge hoax on the SPD.
Whatever.
“
How about I tell him about the gun and the
alcohol in the purse under the desk when we walked in?”
Red's
observation astonished me, but not so much the discovery, as the
extent of his deductive reasoning skills. How in the heck would my
dog know those two items should not be together?
“Together in the same purse?” I asked, surprised.
This was a police station, so the idea of a gun was not surprising,
but having alcohol in the purse with a gun? Didn't seem like the
choice of a responsible gun owner to me. Was it a policeman’s purse
or a volunteer’s? I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but if it
was something innocent, like alcohol as an ingredient to perfume,
then the purse owner would not have anything to worry about.