Secret Service Dogs: The Heroes Who Protect the President of the United States - Softcover

Goodavage, Maria

 
9781101984758: Secret Service Dogs: The Heroes Who Protect the President of the United States

Inhaltsangabe

In an age fraught with terrorism, United States Secret Service canine teams risk their lives to safeguard the president, vice president, their families, visiting heads of state, and a host of others. Unprecedented access to these heroic dog teams has allowed a fascinating first-time-ever look at a very special breed of heroes.

Wherever the president goes, there will be dogs. They’ll be there no matter what the country or state. They’ll be there regardless of the political climate, the danger level, the weather, or the hour. 

“If you let down your guard on the job,” says Special Agent Bill G., canine program manager, “it can change the history of the world.” It’s a burden Secret Service dog handlers take extremely seriously, regardless of their specialty. Tactical dog handlers on the White House lawn, handlers whose dogs sniff for explosives around the world, and those who walk their amiable floppy-eared dogs up and down Pennsylvania Avenue all live one common mantra: Not on my watch. Or my dog’s.

Secret Service Dogs immerses readers into the heart of this elite world of canine teams who protect first families, popes, and presidential candidates: the selection of dogs and handlers, their year-round training, their missions around the world, and, most important, the bond—the glue that holds the teams together and can mean the difference between finding bombs and terrorists or letting them slip by.

“These animals will gladly run into a hail of gunfire,” says "Stew," a Secret Service ERT tactical canine unit supervisor. “All they ask in return is for their handlers to throw the ball with them, pet them, and talk to them in an embarrassingly high voice.”

Secret Service Dogs
celebrates the Secret Service’s most unforgettable canine heroes. It is a must-read for fans of Maria Goodavage, anyone who wants a rare inside view of the United States Secret Service, or just loves dogs.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Maria Goodavage is a veteran journalist and the New York Times bestselling author of Secret Service DogsTop Dog, and Soldier Dogs. She lives in San Francisco with her family and yellow Lab, Gus Kilroy.

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Chapter 1

A Very Strange Day

Marshall M. had been protecting the president of the United States for eight years and was ready for just about anything. Even terrorists, if God forbid they made it to the White House fence.

But when he woke up early on the morning of October 22, 2014, with his canine partner staring at him next to his four-poster bed, he didn't know what to make of it. Hurricane had never ventured upstairs without being invited. And yet here he was, on the third floor of their downtown Baltimore home, looking like a normal dog who wanted to go for a walk.

"'Cane, what's your deal, buddy?" Marshall croaked, squinting at his clock and his dog.

For the two and a half years they'd been partners in the United States Secret Service's elite Emergency Response Team (ERT), the only place Hurricane had wanted to be while his handler slept was near the front door. From there, the black Belgian Malinois could keep watch on the entire first floor, including the back door and the main windows. All roads led to Hurricane. His fur, the color of midnight, blended him into the darkness. Perfect for surprising an intruder.

Hurricane wouldn't move from his bed unless Marshall called him upstairs, and even then, he always seemed to be in a rush to get back to his spot. He reminded Marshall of a kid who wanted to finish watching his favorite TV show, although he imagined Hurricane's show was more like a live version of The Wire.

Marshall lifted his head off the pillow to get a better look at his dog. It was still dark out, but the street lamps bathed the room in an amber glow. As soon as Marshall moved, Hurricane trotted over to the top of the stairs eight feet away, then back to the side of the bed. Stairs. Bed. Stairs. Bed.

"'Cane, what are you doing? What's gotten into you?"

Marshall closed his eyes, hoping his dog would settle down. They'd be pulling a long shift later at the White House. No need to get out of bed at this hour. He heard Hurricane's paws pad the hardwood floor in a new direction. He looked and saw him standing on the other side of the bed, close to the window, over Marshall's gear bags and tactical boots. Hurricane gazed at Marshall with an intensity the handler found unsettling.

Marshall realized what his dog was trying to tell him.

Grab your gear and let's go.

Hurricane lived to work. The dog could tell by what Marshall was wearing if it was going to be a workday or not. If his handler came downstairs in civilian clothes, Hurricane usually stayed in his bed. But when Marshall greeted him wearing his black uniform, Hurricane jumped up, tail wagging, and shadowed him until they left for work.

Hurricane lowered his head toward his handler's gear bags and exhaled forcefully through his nose, making an odd grunting sound that always got Marshall's attention.

Marshall laughed. "OK, you little weirdo, we're not going to work yet. You need to go empty or something?" In their early days together he would say, "Go potty," but he quickly realized that didn't sound very badass. The dogs who protect the president don't "go potty."

They were out the door in less than a minute, even with leashing and muzzling Hurricane. Marshall slept in shorts and a tank, no matter what the weather. He kept a pair of size 12 slip-on Nike 7.0s at the front door and the back door. In an emergency, he could be on his way in seconds. As part of ERT, it was second nature to be ready for anything-even, it seemed, a dog with pressing bathroom needs.

Marshall headed left toward the park. Hurricane had other ideas. He jerked to the right, toward their white work van. He pulled so hard that he would have dragged anyone who wasn't as strong as his muscle-bound 235-pound handler. Marshall reeled him back with a word and a quick tug.

Hurricane usually marked every tree and rock he came across. But now he didn't bother lifting a leg until Marshall told him, "Go empty," in a firmer voice than usual. On the walk back home, Hurricane pulled the whole way, ending up back at the van. Marshall had never seen him so anxious to go to work.

The dog wouldn't relax at home as Marshall tried to go about his morning routine. Even their tradition of catching up on sports news together in the living room didn't settle Hurricane. Instead of reposing on the floor next to the couch, he paced the hall back and forth to the front door.

"You're so wound up, dog! Let's get you some real exercise," Marshall said, and ran upstairs to get dressed for work.

The vice presidentÕs residence (VPR) looks far more like a traditional home than the White House. The Queen Anne-style mansionÕs location, on the sprawling, tree-flanked grounds of the U.S. Naval Observatory, keeps it fairly hidden from would-be onlookers. By comparison, the White House is a fishbowl.

There's a secluded field on the grounds, and if no one is around, it's an ideal spot for ERT dog handlers to run their dogs. Even though the dogs are under exquisite control, handlers aren't supposed to let them out in public areas without a muzzle and leash unless they're working. But these are high-energy dogs, and they need to cut loose.

Marshall pulled up and eyed the area. On this misty October morning, it was deserted. Time for a half-hour game of fetch-on steroids. Marshall, a southpaw, had pitched for the Kutztown University baseball team for four years. Two of those years they'd gone to the College World Series.

He launched a black rubber Kong ball for his dog. Hurricane streaked out in its direction. The Kong jettisoned past him and landed seventy yards out. Hurricane caught it on the bounce and dashed back to him, wagging and bracing himself for the next throw.

Ever since he could remember, Marshall had wanted to be a pro ballplayer or to work for the Secret Service. Both had the team vibe and would provide plenty of athletic, adrenaline-charged moments. His arm didn't get him into the majors, but it proved convenient as a dog handler.

Soon after he entered the Secret Service at age twenty-three, he learned about ERT, the Service's version of a SWAT team. The challenging program takes guts, strength, speed, courage, smarts, and a level head. Many apply, but few make it through the rigors of the class.

Marshall spent two years patrolling around the White House, and made the Emergency Response Team on the first try. After three years on ERT, he was offered the chance to be part of the canine team. Marshall had never owned a dog but had worked alongside ERT tactical canines at the White House and was so impressed by their capabilities that he found himself wishing he could work with a dog.

He realized that if he became part of the ERT Tactical Canine Unit, his responsibilities would only increase. ERT canine handlers don't transition away from their tactical capabilities. Handlers are in the stack just like the other ERT techs, but they have a dog on top of everything else.

When he walked into the kennels on the first day of the ten-week class in 2012, the dogs-all Malinois-barked with a ferocity that jarred him. They growled. They whirled. Foam flew. Teeth flashed.

Except this one dog, all black. The dog Marshall had been assigned for his first day of training stood at the kennel door and stared at him.

"You want...

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9781101984734: Secret Service Dogs: The Heroes Who Protect the President of the United States

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ISBN 10:  1101984732 ISBN 13:  9781101984734
Verlag: Penguin Putnam Inc, 2016
Hardcover