Woman's Best Friend

Diving into a new hobby can feel so much like traveling to a county that doesn't speak your predominant tongue, or trying to make sense of a complex mathematics problem when your brain runs off literature and language.

Sure, there are always YouTube videos to help walk you through baking sourdough step-by-step, or a cousin who excels at rollerblading and is happy to teach you a thing or two – regardless, the process of mental expansion is often fairly scary.

My hobby is K9 search and rescue. And embarking on it was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. Frankly, it’s grown (like most good hobbies d0) from an interest to a passion.

People often ask, “What got you into search and rescue?” I know they’re waiting for a remarkable story, possibly a personal experience that sparked that flame or a driving need to do good. But, I took my first shaky step into a very unfamiliar world all because of an eight-week-old bundle of insanity.

Say hello to Kinley.

This adorable monster is a Belgian Malinois puppy (a working breed dog with so much energy that they're fondly nicknamed German Shepherds on cocaine) who needed a job. And I needed a way to turn all the intensity that vibrated from her into something productive, with the hopes that eventually I’d be able to sleep longer than a few shaky hours in a row.

I thought I knew what I was getting myself into when I brought Kinley home. I researched ethical dog breeders –– breeders involved in the K9 world to help further healthy, stable, and driven dogs. I'd devoured every article on Belgian Malinois I could find. I'd met a few of the Malinois dogs used by our local Alaska State Troopers. And I begged the breeder to let me bring home a Malinois puppy when the time came. He did, but only with a signed contract stating that if my future pup became too much to handle, I’d return her immediately and a giant list of obedience trainers to seek out.

So by all accounts, I should have been ready. And within hours of bringing home my bundle of insanity, I learned why every internet source out there tries to shove, "Don't get a Belgian Malinois unless you have real working dog experience!" down the public throat.

So, even though in my head I was prepared, nothing was like the live, 3D version of all those articles. The warnings and descriptions of my chosen dog changed from docile words on my computer screen, to a nine-pound manic who would drag anything she could find underneath the farthest corner of the bed. This ‘under the bed’ area soon became ‘The Shark Tank’ because if I dared make a rescue attempt for the sweater she swiped, my hand would come back covered in scratches and bites from my adorable little puppy.

I thought I’d prepared myself for all the warnings that filled different dog websites regarding how intense this specific breed is. I was ready! I could handle it. I’d owned dogs. I’d nannied toddlers and children for a decade, for goodness sake. I. Was. Ready. Ha! Famous last words. Articles were nothing compared to the feisty little red-headed pup who had no real concern for her safety, catapulting herself off of furniture and trying to climb walls.

The best part? Everyone says puppies play hard and sleep hard. Right? My former doggies certainly had. Not Kinley. She preferred to indulge in what felt like an average of forty-nine seconds of sleep every twelve hours, and only if I wasn't doing anything she found entertaining. To this day, she prefers to wiggle herself into my business, like a nosy aunt who can't keep to herself.

Without having any real understanding of what I was getting myself into, I began my obsession -er...my hobby, as a volunteer K9 search and rescue handler and trainer six years ago. I’ve fallen more in love with it every day since.

When I started SAR, I didn’t realize I’d be racing home evenings after work to grab my girl and head to training, or that we'd be spending every weekend for months, and then every other weekend for years, either in the woods or on the snow depending on the season. I also didn’t realize that my hobby would bring so much satisfaction and bone-deep pleasure.

I stuck out the initial awkwardness of being the new girl on the block, and I had (and still have) the joy of being shown a world where humans and dogs get to act as true teammates.

Even though I initially started training my wild girl for the simple purpose of giving her a job to keep her sane, I’m the one who found just as much sanity in the reprieve from everyday life. The bond Kinley and I formed through working our hobby together continues to give me every bit as much purpose as it does Kinley.

The peace that fills me when I tell Kinley it's time to go to work, when I watch her eyes sparkle with pleasure, has carried me through the roughest patches of my life.

I consider myself one of the luckiest women around because I get to share my hobby with the best friend I've ever had. It’s not about the national certifications we’ve been able to acquire together (but I will say, I am very proud that my girl is a born worker and won’t stop until her job is done), nor is it about wanting to save a life. Sure, there’s the strong desire to help and to give back to the community where I’ve made my home. But, more than anything, it’s the way I feel when I look down and see the face that I’ve come to understand better than my own, and know that we’re in this together.

Six years ago, I had no idea that Kinley’s tail flicking a little faster than usual meant she was on the scent. Nor did I think I would phone one of my teammates and say things like, “Let me grab the placenta that we’re training cadaver on out of the freezer to give it some time to age.”

To be completely honest, when I started the whole process, I didn’t even know how to use a compass.

Like most hobbies, ours still has plenty of room for growth and improvement. It's still a challenge, but one that we tackle together. Every search isn’t a success, nor is every training a walk in the park. Most aren’t. Most are exhausting and dirty. But during the long Saturdays and late Thursdays spent with my team and my pup, our day jobs don’t matter. How we earn a living isn’t relevant. No one cares about loads of laundry left to do or the argument one of us may have had with a spouse.

In those moments, those hours, and those days, the only thing that's real is the time we spend working with our dogs.