Dog handlers have one of the most dangerous, committed and adrenaline-driven jobs in the police. Carly Gibbs goes inside the Tauranga Dog Unit to find why police dogs are so important and why only the best officers make the cut.
It's 10.45am on Monday and a criminal's running loose at the Lakes subdivision. Yoda is desperate to bring him down.
As soon as his handler, Senior Constable Kayne Cording, sets him free from the police car and clips the chequered harness on his back, Yoda pitches forward and puts his nose to the ground.
In less than a second, this 39kg police dog is on the trail, his giant paws, the size of small saucers, scuttling across the concrete path, nose twitching.
On a long rope behind him, in a blue boiler suit and stab-proof vest, is Cording.
The muscles in Cording's arm are defined by the force of a panting Yoda launching forward. Cording, his eyes shielded by sunglasses, says nothing. He lets Yoda lead.
Yoda is "tracking" - using the most recent scent on the ground to lead his handler to the criminal.
This has been a busy walking track this morning and a few times Yoda loses the scent. But then he flicks his head when he finds it again and he's off. When he seems to have it again, Cording in a high voice coos: "Oh, good boy. Good boy.
"He's picking something up over here now," he notes.
Several minutes later and behind a shipping container on top of a small rise, Yoda comes across our criminal, who begins to rant and raise his fist. The hair on Yoda's black back springs up and he launches his body forward.
"Right mate, you're under arrest," Cording yells.
"Up yours," the man hollers.
Cording: "Get on the ground or I'll let this dog go."
After two warnings, the man refuses and advances on Cording. On command, Yoda grabs his arm. The man immediately surrenders. Yoda is pulled off him by Cording and a "roar" escapes the dog's throat. He's panting hard.
"Good boy, good dog.
"Get on the ground, mate. You hold still," Cording screams.
Yoda, adrenaline pumping, begins to bark persistently. His eyes do not leave the offender, an actor in a bite suit, who has now been arrested.
A gut-wrenching moment
Kayne Cording throws open the door to the dog-unit office. Hands on hips, he's got the action man look down-pat.
Outside, his partner Yoda starts barking insistently from the back of his station wagon and moments later, fellow police dogs Hendrix and Turk in a neighbouring wagon chip in.
Cording, in blue overalls and ankle-high black boots, reckons they're just happy to be at work.
On the surface, the 37-year-old is a tough officer. He'd rather we didn't speak about the tragic incident involving his last police dog, Enzo, whose ashes are encased in a wooden box in this very room.
In 2007, Enzo was drowned by a man wanted on a warrant for domestic violence. The man was sent to prison for Enzo's death and the story made national news.
It was a gut-wrenching moment for Cording and dog squad members around the country, who rallied around him after the tragedy.
He briefly contemplated leaving the force but he's moved on and feels he's talked about Enzo enough.
This is the dog unit and officers have to be realistic about what it is their "partners" do. Cording tells me police dogs are not pets.
Stand in the way
Sitting below a row of official photos of handlers and their german shepherd police dogs, Cording, who joined the police in 1997 and the dog unit in 2002, is one of six squad members in the Tauranga/Whakatane area, and they have one of the most dangerous jobs in the police.
They must be prepared to wade through gorse and bush, over swamps or through rivers, for kilometres on end.
Often this is at night with the officers knowing they might have to confront a desperate armed criminal. And often, a lone officer and his dog stand in the way of the criminal's freedom.
For this reason, Cording's boss and veteran officer Sergeant Paul Selby says they will accept only the best.
Officers must have been on the force at least two years before attending the Police Dog Training Centre at Trentham. Then they must commit to living and training with their dog daily.
"Most dog handlers we get are very, very good policemen and the dog is just an extension of their skills to catch criminals," Selby says.
"They must build up a very good level of policing first and show they are a damn good cop."
Boss with a quick wit
Since July last year, the dog squad in Tauranga has helped catch 93 criminals.
Selby is too modest to disclose he is a four-time national dog squad champion. Tauranga handler Logan Marsh says few handlers would have as impressive a record as "Selbs". Marsh won the title for the first time last year, with his dog Turk.
Fellow Tauranga handler Constable James Muir (Zinny) is the holder of a Charles Upham Award for Bravery, the Police Commissioner's Gold Merit Award for Bravery and the New Zealand Bravery Decoration. His dog is Neo. The fourth Tauranga dog handler is Derek Orchard, whose dog is Vadim.
Selby has been in the police since 1973 and has worked in Tauranga twice - with an interruption when he accepted a promotion to sergeant's rank in Christchurch. He has been back in Tauranga since 1999.
He is an understanding boss with a quick wit. He's proud of what his men do and appears respected by them.
Selby says handlers are never completely off duty and the job can be taxing on their private lives. Even on days off, the dogs have to be fed and exercised. Cording does an hour of training with Yoda every day. Nothing but perfection is accepted.
Police dogs aren't pets
During a training exercise watched by Selby and the
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, Yoda, who must always walk to the left of Cording, is corrected when he does not sit straight.
When Cording yells the commands: "Down. Sit. Stand. Speak. Come." Yoda does all five beautifully.
Cording looks no-nonsense with his short haircut and straight face but he has a softer side. He leans back on the office couch, arms crossed behind his head and says while police dogs aren't pets, they are special.
Yoda is his best mate?
"Yeah, probably, because you know, he wants nothing more than my attention and he likes it when we're happy. He's very, very protective of me and here's me not even wanting to talk about Enzo but they were both very similar in that sense. If you wanted to attack me, you'd be doing pretty well to get through him.
"He's very defensive of me, of the car, because he think it's his and very defensive of home."
Likewise, Cording is protective of Yoda, who is both a patrol dog and Armed Offenders Squad (AOS-rated) dog. AOS dogs are capable of doing everything expected of other dogs but at a higher level of performance.
Yoda has been punched by an offender and once was bitten on the snout.
"It is a very special relationship because I spend more time with that dog than I do with my kids," Cording says. "I know that dog absolutely inside out."
Born to be a police dog
Cording is married and a proud dad to three girls - 9-year-old twins and a 9-week-old baby.
Being on call has it's moments with a family, he confesses: "especially at 2am or 3am". But but day-to-day shift work allows flexibility.
In his free time, he likes to fish and play basketball and spend time with his family. His girls love playing with Yoda in the backyard, who is fine around anyone he doesn't find threatening.
"They love the size of him, the fact he's big and strong and just very friendly to them."
The selection process for police dogs is stringent and even promising dogs don't always make the grade. Those who do, like Yoda, seem to love their job.
Cording says if Yoda is lying down in his kennel at home and hears him open the front door, he'll sit bolt upright and start spinning around.
"I open the kennel and he runs straight to the back of the van ... I've never seen him have a flat day."
And Cording says 4-year-old Yoda can handle any situation thrown at him, including threatening criminals.
"He's fine, trust me. He's very genetically born to be a police dog."
I want to know what Cording would have been if he hadn't been a police officer?
"I honestly can't even think of what it would be," he says, somewhat surprised.
Just after high school, he met a dog handler and says his fate was sealed.
Cording grins ear to ear when he talks about why he loves his job and says officers are grateful when the public phone the station or write to the
Bay of Plenty Times
to thank them for their work.
"There's nothing worse than knowing something's happened and you've missed it.
"If there's something big going on you can be sure Logan and I would be first there. We'd be all over it. I still even now, look forward to going to work.
"Can't wait. Love it."
No birthday cake
Constable Logan Marsh is tall and staunch. He's protective of his private life, as are most officers. He prefers to stick to the topic of work and doesn't get too sentimental talking about the two boys he cares for.
The 37-year-old is one of a small number of handlers who has two dogs - 8-year-old Hendrix, and Turk, who turned 5 this week. With a half-smile, he declares: "No, he won't be getting a birthday cake".
Turk, whose forte is tracking, is a patrol dog, and Hendrix is an AOS dog.
"We do it because we love it, it's pretty cool,' he says, looking cool, thumbs tucked under the top of his thick-bodied, stab-proof vest. As we talk, Turk barks outside. Marsh turns his head to the window and yells "Turk". The dog stops and Marsh continues.
Marsh and Turk were named first-equal best team at the National Police Patrol Dog Championships last year, an exceptional reward after a tough time for the pair.
For six months last year, Marsh had to inject Turk with medication three times a day, and for nine months stand and hold the bowl while the dog ate from it.
Turk had contracted a disease which destroyed his muscle receptors, making it difficult for him to walk or even hold his head up.
The success came after a tough few years for Marsh, who also had to cope with the death of his dog Quinn, who died suddenly from a twisted bowel in 2007.
Examining the carpet, he says: "Yeah, it wasn't the best."
Marsh has persevered because he loves the thrill of the chase.
"I know I speak for all the boys that if there's a night shift we're covering, we'd rather get called out, than not. Without a doubt."
Most offenders give up quickly
The job is not one that ends after eight hours. One of the four Tauranga dog handlers is always on call.
"If I'm going over to see a mate in the Mount, I'll have to take the dog van with me. I'll take both [dogs] in case there's an AOS job."
Marsh recalls how on February 20 he finished work at 5.15am and had been home for 20 minutes when he and Turk were called out again. Sandra Brown, 59, had been killed at her Graham Place home. The ex-boyfriend of her daughter, who was also injured in the attack, has been charged with her murder.
Marsh also tells the story of being called to Opotiki last year. Marsh was paged at home to attend an AOS callout and he, Hendrix, and three other officers were flown to Opotiki by helicopter.
A man had attacked police officers and chased them from his property with what was believed to be a sickle. The man then smashed the officers' car.
"This guy has been been holed up in his house for a while. We showed up at the back of property and Hendrix was sent in and it was all done in 10 minutes," he says with pride.
Marsh says most offenders give up quickly when faced with a large police dog. Those on drugs though (namely methamphetamine) don't always surrender straight away and can be almost oblivious to pain. The weight of the dog however, will slow them enough for the handler and other staff to get there.
Marsh says his dogs will only bite on command and it's only ever required when criminals are a threat to officers or the public. He says: "We're just normal cops with another tool on our belt, I guess. Quite a useful tool, I might add."
Shot as soon as he went in
The public need not be concerned that police dogs aren't well cared for or protected, says the head of our dog unit, Paul Selby.
"It's no different from a farm dog because that's all they know, really. We will occasionally [bring] them into situations where we have no option.
"Police dog Jock was killed [in 1994].
"They had a house that had to be cleared. They'd put tear gas into it, so they put the dog in and he was shot as soon as he went in the door but we had no option. It's rather that, than a policeman.
"These things flare up very, very quick so the thinking is very instant."
Another Bay police dog to succumb in Tauranga was Ozi.
Selby and another handler had their dogs enter an illegally occupied Tauranga City Library in 1988 and as they did, the occupants squirted the animals with an accelerant before setting them on fire.
Selby's dog at the time, Saba, was badly singed and Ozi later died.
They don't have down time
At the police training centre at Trentham, near Wellington, a breeding programme supplies dogs with the required genetic makeup. Dogs are fostered out for several months so they develop social habits. Simultaneously, handlers will train their dogs, offering rewards of food and toys until they become operational and work for praise.
"They don't have down time, chilling out on the porch," says Selby, who now has a management role and no longer has a police dog.
He oversees dog handlers in Tauranga and Whakatane and their skills are tested twice a year in trials - once locally and once by an outside validator. The handler's ability to control the dog is tested. '
"Being a dog handler means exceptional commitment.
"Every time they come to work they've got the dog and every time they go home they've got the dog."
Is it harder to work with a dog than a human?
"In a lot of ways it's better," Selby says grinning. "He doesn't answer back."
Knackered but ready
On average, police dogs retire at age 8 and usually stay with their handlers. A police dog's lifespan after retirement however, isn't great.
"They don't make good pets," Selby says. "They are are trained to respond in certain circumstances and they are pretty territorial. They've gone from a very, very active existence to nothing.
"Their spines go because they're a big dog and constantly jumping in their job and it impacts on their hindquarters".
Once a dog hits the age of 6 or 7, police begin planning succession.
The fact New Zealand has only one female dog handler could be because it's an extremely physical job, Selby says.
"You can be tracking for a couple of hours and, in between, you're going over fences and you've got to pick the dog up because you can't have dogs jumping the five-wire strength fences."
Police dogs are big.
"Paddock after paddock picking up a 40kg dog is quite hard work."
Backing this up is Cording, who arches his back to cope with the strain from Yoda on the lead as they run through another exercise.
At the Tauranga Racecourse, a "criminal" has broken into a building. Yoda is quickly on the scent and soon finds his man behind a large wooden cupboard. The dog begins to bark, and jumps up and down on his front legs, not taking his eyes off the offender.
"Good boy, good dog, clever dog," Cording yells.
When it's all over, panting heavily, Yoda plonks himself down on the floor.
Knackered but ready to go whenever the real emergency call comes through.