6. New Beginnings

The Life of a Service Dog

As the sunlight bathed my skin, I took a step back and looked at the field before me. I was a police officer and, having spent years on the front line, at that moment I was one step closer to my dream.

My mentor handed me a lead. ‘This time, you track the field, Emma.’

Before I had a chance to react, the lead in my hand became taut and the German Shepherd at the end charged forward. Malley, a general-purpose police dog and one of the best with Northamptonshire Police, expertly manoeuvred around the training field, tracking footprints and items of clothing that had been planted hours earlier by my mentor Pete to replicate the work required on a crime scene.

Pete was a legend in the field of training special dogs like Malley, and had taken me under his wing in the hope that one day I would become a dog handler too. I felt privileged indeed. We moved quickly around the field, Malley pulling me forward, picking up clothes and other clues along the way.

‘So that’s what it feels like to be one of a team,’ I said to Pete, when we’d completed the course.

He laughed. ‘Yes, something like that.’

In that moment, I wanted the job more than anything in the world.

I continued training with Pete in my spare time, using my leave days to build my knowledge and learn key skills in preparation for when a vacancy might come up on the dog-handling unit. I watched Pete train his dog and he showed me what it meant to take on this lifestyle. Because that was what it was – a lifestyle, as much as a job. Malley was Pete’s dog for work and at the end of each shift he took her home with him. That special relationship between a handler and their dog was one of the many reasons officers lucky enough to join the team rarely left.

After five years, I had my chance. When the vacancy bulletin went out for a new member of the dog unit in our force, I was one of fifty officers to apply. There was a written application, fitness tests and exams, then an interview. In my time with the force, I’d worked on everything from the Criminal Investigation Department, automobile crimes, the ANPR (Automatic Number Plate Reader) team, drug crimes and as acting sergeant, and hoped my experience would give me an edge over the others, who were just as eager to get the job. I went into that interview armed with knowledge and experience but with a bellyful of butterflies.

I was the lucky one.

I soon met the dog who would be my full-time partner, a German Shepherd called Willis. We trained together for twelve weeks, learning all the skills we needed before we were operational and ready to go out on calls, although Willis would receive continual training throughout his career.

The work was everything I had dreamt it would be. Willis and I went to all sorts of jobs, from burglaries to crime scenes to searching for a missing person. It was exciting and exhilarating.

Eighteen months passed and my line manager told me I would be taking on a second dog, this time a specialist dog that sniffed out drugs, arms or large quantities of money. It was likely to be a Springer Spaniel because the breed is especially well suited to the work. A Springer’s obedient temperament and their hard-working nature make them perfect for what we had in mind. This time I would help to search for the right dog.

I sat down with my iPad, pulled up a new search on Google and typed in ‘rescue dogs’. Then I read about the centres near Northamptonshire Police HQ. When my search yielded no results, I began to look at breeders. I made dozens of calls and told everyone I came into contact with that we were on the lookout for our newest recruit.

Two weeks later, no closer to finding my new partner, something occurred to me.

I returned to Google and typed in ‘Battersea Dogs & Cats Home’. As I clicked through the various pages of the website, I came across Keith Payne, the service dog manager for the Home.

I rang Keith to hear a bit more about Battersea’s service dog programme. I learnt that, from the thousands of dogs that come to the Home’s three sites each year, the team at Battersea keep an eye out for particularly smart dogs who love to play ball or tug games, and are between six months and four years old.

Some breeds have inherent traits that make them excel in certain fields – for instance, the Rottweiler’s strength, guarding instinct and confidence make them excellent security dogs. Keith told me Border Collies, Springer and Cocker Spaniels and Labradors were often at the top of his list, too, and he looked for confident, outgoing and physically fit dogs. Some were scouted for farm or security work but many breeds have the potential to become part of the service dog programme.

Keith explained that Battersea recognizes that many of the dogs that eventually go to ‘service homes’ display behaviour that makes them unsuitable for a traditionally domestic home, and they need the stimulus of a happy working life. The benefits and rewards, for dogs and owners, are immeasurable so Battersea pick their service dogs as though they are choosing a candidate for a top job.

I told Keith my requirements, and he said: ‘We’ve actually just taken in a Springer Spaniel.’ Though the dog was only six months old, too young for our type of specialist training, I reckoned he was worth a look after Keith had explained he’d been through the normal ten or more sessions to assess his potential and been identified as a good candidate for service work.

‘When can we see him?’ I asked.

The next day, my colleague Greg and I climbed into a police van and drove along the motorway to Battersea Old Windsor. We got stuck in traffic, and a journey that should have taken just over an hour took three. When we arrived, Keith gave us a tour of the site and took us to the kennels. We passed a dozen dogs and arrived at the kennel with our candidate inside.

Herbie was bouncing up and down, itching to get out. Keith clipped on a lead and brought him over, then handed him to me. We went outside and headed to the training area in a large enclosed garden. By now, Herbie had stopped bouncing and was almost shy. He waited by my side and I could sense he felt a bit overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds. I wondered if he was too young for what we had in mind. The dogs needed a level of maturity and discipline to become the best possible police dog. Was Herbie cut out for the job?

Keith set up a search in an upstairs room by hiding a tennis ball while we waited in the garden. He called us up, then turned to Herbie. ‘Search.’

With that, Herbie was off, searching the boxes and cupboards at such speed, I wondered if he could possibly be doing a thorough job. He raced through the room like a whirlwind! But, sure enough, within a few minutes, he returned with a yellow tennis ball.

Greg’s and my eyebrows shot up. Herbie was clearly a star.

‘I think Herbie has great potential,’ I told Greg.

He nodded in agreement and we took a walk and chatted about the dog. We discussed his age and decided that, although it might go against him in training, he was still worth taking on, even if we ended up keeping him back until he was a year old and ready to train. I told Keith: ‘We’ll take him.’

A month later, in July 2013, I went to pick Herbie up. I drove to Old Windsor in my police-dog van and took Willis with me in one of the two cages in the back. When I arrived, whether or not he remembered me, Herbie seemed happy to see me. His eyes were bright and his tail was wagging at full speed. I loaded him into the cage next to Willis’s and the two were able to have a whiff of one another. I wouldn’t introduce them properly for a few weeks, instead letting them slowly familiarize themselves with each other. In that way, they could get used to their new dynamic before Herbie started his full training course. We wanted him to settle in a bit.

The first week was tough. Herbie was anxious and didn’t settle well at night: he howled and cried through the early hours. His kennel and Willis’s were in the garden: they were working dogs, and had to understand that when they entered a building they would do so to work and search. Also, they would be safe outside in their kennel from anyone who happened across them by accident, and, of course, they needed somewhere of their own to relax and unwind.

Night after night, I ended up out there keeping Herbie company. I knew he was adapting to a new environment for the third time in his short life and it was a lot to get used to for such a young puppy. He began biting and chewing the bars on his kennel so I ‘Herbified’ everything with metal panels. I worried we’d made a mistake in picking him but hoped that, in time, he’d settle in. Willis didn’t seem to mind all the noise – he slept right through it.

During the day, I made friends with Herbie and tried extra hard to bond with him. We played games and I spent a lot of time with him, just the two of us. I desperately wanted Herbie to trust me and form with me the same special bond I had with Willis, and I knew from experience that the best way to achieve that was to play with him. I also knew that, ultimately, Herbie and any other specially trained dog wouldn’t work for me if they didn’t have that bond. It’s the bond that fuels the working world we’re in and dogs like Herbie want to please their mum or dad, get rewarded and be in that constant cycle of positivity.

So, I spent time with Herbie at home, playing with him, taking him out and giving him constant love and reassurance. When he messed on the floor I trained him to stop by rewarding his good behaviour, rather than telling him off.

After a month, Herbie had settled down, becoming less nervy, and we grew much closer. Pete came over and, together, we took Willis and Herbie to neutral ground – a cricket pitch nearby. We planned to do a controlled meeting and would break things up if they got out of hand. I had been a little apprehensive but Willis was brilliant. Pete and I sat down and started throwing balls to the dogs. While Pete focused on Willis, I took care of Herbie. Before long, the two dogs had forgotten about Pete and me and were chasing each other on the field. They got on brilliantly.

While they played, Pete and I chatted. I learnt that, in the past, our dog unit had taken on puppies but usually we placed them in training at twelve or fourteen months old. Herbie was seven months and I wondered when I should start training him. Given that he had settled in at home, we decided to get him started on the Specialist Search Dog Training Course, which allowed him to train with several things, including drugs.

Our initial sessions only reinforced the good signs we’d picked up weeks earlier at Battersea. Herbie had a strong drive to search which we tested by hiding his tennis ball in a room. He quickly figured out there was a game to be had, and that is essential for dogs in the police force. It’s the best way to train them.

Luckily for us, Herbie was very ball driven and flew through the course. As the training progressed, we tested his skill in identifying odours and trained him to sniff out drugs.

We started off on the one with the most potent smell – amphetamine.

Herbie was trained as a passive indicating dog: he would freeze and stare at the place where he detected the scent of the drugs, cash or firearms. This was so that he would not interfere with the substances when he found them, while also significantly reducing any risks to himself.

Herbie took to the process like a duck to water. Whenever he smelt the drug he was looking for, his eyebrows shot up, his tail began to wag and he’d let out a bark. If there had been a thought bubble above his head it would have read: Ooh! There’s that smell – and, ooh! Here’s my ball!

After that, we were able to drag the process out a bit so that Herbie learnt to sit and wait when he found something. He soon caught on. In a remarkably short time, he was able to identify heroin, ecstasy, cocaine and crack, as well as the original amphetamine, and was ready for his Home Office Assessment.

He passed with flying colours, which meant he was ready to be out on the streets getting his paws dirty.

Herbie was the youngest dog we’d ever brought on to Northamptonshire Police’s dog section, which had a sergeant, an inspector, two trainers and ten handlers like me. Time would tell how successful he would be.

On our first shift, as I stood ready in the police courtyard with Herbie, who was wearing a special harness to go out on a search, I had to pinch myself to believe I was really doing this for a living. Even after three years, it was still such a thrill.

As our van set off, Herbie was comfortably snoozing in the back, as was Willis. Both dogs came with me wherever I went when I was working, and while I was out with one dog, the other waited for his turn.

Herbie was a bit nervous when I put the siren on but he recognized quickly that the noisy thing on the roof meant he was going to do exciting things outside the van and he soon got used it.

He got into the swing of our shift patterns, and when I worked overtime, so did he. As long as that harness was on, Herbie was in work mode – professional, thorough and always paying full attention. He was the model employee.

Soon after, we were sent to search for drugs in a house linked with criminal activity.

Every inch of the place was crammed with rubbish and mess. I looked at it and thought: Where do I start looking? Using our training, we searched each room methodically. I knew if anything was there, Herbie would find it.

Every twenty minutes, we stopped for Herbie to take a break because that’s the amount of time it took for him to get nasal fatigue, which meant his breathing pattern changed, causing him to pant. This would make him less efficient and more likely to miss a substance he was searching for. After a walk round outside and a bit of time relaxing, Herbie was ready again.

He got stuck in and, later, indicated there was something by the fireplace, which was filled with ash. On top of the ash was a burnt purse: Herbie flicked it on to the floor and indicated again.

I rewarded him with his ball but wondered if he was just playing with me. When I began looking through the purse, I gasped. Hidden inside, I found six wraps of heroin.

Next, Herbie indicated on the grate, sending a cloud of ash into the air with his snout. I rewarded him again, and began sifting through the ash while on my hands and knees.

Herbie had this look on his face that said: Keep digging, go on, it’s in there!

Sure enough, I found more heroin wraps. I pulled out so many that it was like panning for gold! In the end I counted fifty. It was a phenomenal find for Herbie over four hours. I knew I was biased about what a wonderful dog he was but I was bursting with pride. Herbie was turning out to be an excellent police dog.

That wasn’t his only successful search. We trained him up to find firearms and cash, and this year alone, he has been part of some of the biggest cash seizures our dog section has ever seen. So far, Herbie’s biggest finds have included £50,000, £100,000 and £33,000 cash, along with 2.5 kilos of Class A drugs, all linked to an organized-crime group. There were times when he would even sniff out a single ten-pound note. I was amazed at how accurate his skills were. Training him so young was not an issue.

As soon as we returned home and Herbie’s harness came off, he was just like any other dog. He and Willis chased each other around the garden, dug up all my plants and made a complete mess. Despite our close working relationship, Herbie had some trouble learning to trust me. He was hand-shy: if I went to stroke him and caught him off guard, he’d cower away from me or pee. I could see that, deep down, he was a delicate, sensitive soul, and whatever had happened to him before he’d gone to Battersea had left an emotional mark on him.

His previous owners had documented behaviour problems, and at Battersea, Herbie had initially been a little submissive, which isn’t unusual for a dog in a new environment with unfamiliar noise, people and loads of other dogs. That was why I made sure that all the training for work was done away from home. I wanted Herbie to understand that when he came home it was time for love, play and cuddles.

I was gentle with him when I needed to be and spent time getting to know him and helping him forge a friendship with Willis. At the weekends, I took them both down to the river for a walk near our home in Northamptonshire and they’d dive in and have a swim before finding and soaking me. Then they’d charge off together round the countryside.

Being around Willis, who loved and trusted me unconditionally, definitely helped Herbie: he became more confident around me. He no longer jumped when I went to stroke him or moved suddenly. That wasn’t the only change I saw in our little family: Willis became more playful and seemed to have taken on a new lease of life with his friend around.

I don’t think Herbie will ever be a bold dog but he was born to work. I can work with him all day long, like a Duracell bunny, and he loves the job. Yet he comes home, stands in my flowerbeds, barks at cats and, despite failing miserably, still believes he will one day catch a squirrel.

Herbie and Willis are happy, silly souls at home, and Herbie has come out of his shell. Like many Springers, he’s a real live wire. He has boundless energy, and I’ve nicknamed him Herbie the Hooligan. He’s always digging things up, generally doing naughty things and egging Willis on. They’re crackers sometimes. I watch them wrestling over a toy and think, Are they really police dogs?

Hours later, they’re out doing serious police work to the highest standard.

But their world is simple. Love, work, play.

Herbie’s life is a bit of a modern day fairy tale. He ended up at Battersea when he was just a few months old and he needed a home. His knight in shining armour – Keith – tapped into his skills, and now Herbie is a successful operational police dog, with a loving home, a mum and a brother.

For Herbie, this is his happily ever after.

Recruiting

I sat at my desk at work and sighed with frustration. It was my job as custodial manager for the dog section to supervise the handlers, control the budget and find new dogs to join our team – but it wasn’t always easy recruiting them.

I was on the lookout for dogs that wanted to be doing something all the time. They were the ones that did not make ideal pets and often misbehaved. I’d learnt over the years to look for the hooligans that nobody else wanted – the Springer Spaniel that had destroyed a three-seater sofa in a matter of hours, the German Shepherd that had ripped up thirty square metres of carpet in a day. Those were the dogs I looked for because, often, they were perfect for service dog roles.

Eleven years ago, when I began working for the prison service, it had been much easier to find those dogs because only the police, the prison service and the army were looking for them. Now, as I trawled through the websites of animal-rescue centres and made dozens of calls, I realized that there weren’t enough dogs out there with potential to be trained up to cater for all the services that wanted them.

At our prison alone, we had a minimum of three dogs patrolling the perimeter twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, with a fourth dog resting and ready to take over so the others could have a break. With private security firms willing to pay massive amounts of money for the right dogs, the pool available to us was getting smaller and smaller.

We’d also learnt the hard way that our dogs needed social skills: they were often working side by side and needed to get on with other dogs in the unit. It was quite a wish list but one day I had an idea.

One of my team typed a letter and when it was done he posted a copy to every rescue organization nearby to remind them of what we were always looking out for. We repeated this every other month to keep the dialogue going. One day I received a call from Keith Payne, the service dog manager at Battersea Dogs & Cats Home. ‘We have a young German Shepherd here. He’s two years old and he might be what you’re looking for.’

‘What makes you think he’s right for us?’

Keith explained: ‘Tyson is a very ball-driven dog and he’s happy to search for it on command.’

My ears pricked up: rewarding our dogs with a ball was the basis of all our training.

Keith added: ‘He also has a reasonable amount of defence drive in him.’

That was music to my ears. ‘We can come and see him in two days’ time. Is that OK with you?’

Our meeting was set. That Friday, my lead trainer, Del, and I made the short drive from Thamesmead, south-east London, to Battersea Old Windsor to meet Tyson. Keith introduced us and we took Tyson for a walk around the grounds. We’d gone wearing our full uniform, which was all black, on purpose because sometimes dogs didn’t like men dressed in black. The reason for this is unknown but it can cause fearful and adverse reactions in them.

We were pleased that Tyson didn’t show any reaction to it. He was happy to let us walk him and had no qualms about meeting new people – another good sign.

Keith took him from us and slipped off his lead in a field on site that was dedicated to training dogs. ‘Let me show you what he can do.’

We hid the ball and Tyson knew to look for it when we asked him to. Then we gave Keith a padded sleeve and encouraged Tyson to grab it, which he did. The bite training was essential for any dog we recruited. In time we’d encourage the dog to grab the pad and have a game of tug of war. We’d build on it until he was desperate to have a go.

Keith had already done the pad work with Tyson, a real bonus for us. Next, we watched Tyson have a run around to check that his gait was right and that he was a fit and healthy dog. German Shepherds are sometimes prone to hip problems and can be hip scored – a visual check of their gait as they walk and run in puppyhood to see if they are likely to develop problems in that area later.

Next we watched Keith put Tyson through his paces with agility tests, such as jumping a three-foot hurdle. Though Tyson hadn’t done that before, he leapt over the equipment Keith had to hand with no problem.

‘This one is a natural,’ I told Del.

We were seriously impressed, so we took Tyson with us that day to meet his new handler.

Our unit had thirty patrol dogs and eight search dogs, each with their own handler. There was one person I thought would be perfect for Tyson. Ian was one of my most experienced handlers and his patrol dog, Prince, was eight years old and ready for early retirement as he’d developed a limp. It was standard practice for us to retire the dogs early for health reasons so they’d enjoy a good quality of life. More than that, Ian was a full service patrol-dog handler, living on his own with Prince in the countryside. He was the perfect candidate to take on a second dog.

But there was a bit of a problem because it was late December and therefore it would be difficult to arrange the standard eight-week training course straight away for Tyson and Ian to complete together, with so many people off work for the Christmas holidays. I handed Tyson over to Ian anyway so that the two could get to know each other. As Christmas set in, Tyson’s journey began …

The Unshakeables

It was a busy Monday afternoon and as the rush-hour commuters piled on to the bus I was driving, it dawned on me that I hated my job. The writing had been on the wall for a while and it was time for a change.

I picked up a newspaper on my way home and it was then that an advert caught my eye. I applied for a job in the prison service and I was hired. I started working on discipline duties with the inmates and, after a while, I had my eye on another job, within the prison this time: a dog handler working patrols.

The job would be perfect for me. My family had always kept dogs, and I’d wanted one of my own for a long time, but because I was single and worked full time, I couldn’t have one. The only way I could have a dog of my own was to join the dog unit where the dog would come home with me when my shift ended.

I began visiting the training grounds on my lunch breaks and got to know the team, always hoping a vacancy would pop up. Two years later, in 1995, an internal memo circulated, advertising a dog-handler job. I went for it and got it.

The two years I’d spent being a thorn in the unit’s side – always asking them questions, tagging along to training sessions, visiting for updates on job vacancies – had finally paid off.

My life changed and I couldn’t have been happier.

A few years after I’d started at HMP Pentonville, rumours surfaced that the dog section was going to close. In time, the rumour proved true, and I was transferred to HMP Belmarsh’s dog section, working a shift pattern for thirty-nine hours a week. The dog assigned to me was two-and-a-half-year-old Prince, a steely German Shepherd: he had been found in Ireland, running around and worrying sheep, then brought to England where we’d taken him on. As we got to know him, we reckoned Prince had escaped from the army because if you put an angry man in front of him he knew to go and bite him. He knew how to leave – stop – when told to, and walked to heel. He was 80 per cent trained already, but without a microchip or a tattoo in his ear identifying him, we couldn’t find out any more about him.

He trained up very quickly and was a great dog to have on patrol. He was always calm, alert and did as he was told. At home, he was like any other dog, partial to treats and barking at dogs on the TV. Every Sunday I treated him to a full roast dinner. Whatever I cooked for myself that day, Prince would have a bowl too. I reasoned that if I had to live on dry food and biscuits all my life, I wouldn’t be very happy. Anyway, I liked to treat him.

After years of pining for a dog of my own, I had one to spoil. Prince was great company and very loyal. He loved to run and play, and kept me fit, walking the fields near our home and spending long afternoons by the river. It was nice to have company and Prince and I my formed a very special bond. I was never without him in waking hours and he became an extension of me.

At night, like all other dogs on the unit, he slept in his kennel in the garden. During work hours, he was an excellent prison-patrol dog and wasn’t fazed by anything. He was extremely intuitive, and if I felt him tense up while we were patrolling through the courtyard where the prisoners exercised, I knew an altercation between inmates was about to occur. He was the perfect early-warning system.

When Prince was eight years old, I noticed he was limping. I took him to the vet and found he had developed arthritis in his hips. With us walking miles every day on the job, there was only one option. We set a plan to let Prince retire, and it was then that my line manager, Stuart, told me about a rescue dog called Tyson. He thought Tyson would be a perfect replacement for Prince on the job. Of course, Prince would remain with me at home after his retirement, but while he was still working, I took Tyson to the prison every day to begin an orientation process. At first, I kept the dogs apart, walking them separately before and after work. It was tiring but it had to be done that way. It can be difficult integrating a new German Shepherd into a home where one already lives and I was worried about how Tyson and Prince would get on when they finally met. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if they had hated each other for a while or if one had tried to lead the other.

To give them time to get used to the idea of each other, I took them both to work every day in the back of my dog van. They were able to get used to the other’s smell and saw each other briefly when I took one of them out.

During shifts, when Prince was having a half-hour rest, I took Tyson around the grounds, getting him familiar with things. Our formal training was yet to begin but this was a good test. A month passed, and the dogs showed no signs of hostility towards each other, only curiosity. One morning at four a.m., as I waited for our shift to begin, we were on neutral ground outside the prison: I let them both out of the van to meet. They said hello and, after a whiff of each other, sat down by my feet with their tails and tongues wagging. Their expressions said the same thing: Father, look at him!

Luckily, Tyson and Prince got on with each other from day one. There wasn’t a cross word between them, and that was a relief. Now, instead of walking each dog separately, I was able to take them for walks together and the two got on like a house on fire. They ran around, played and chased each other. In the garden, they curled up for a sleep together and it was rather endearing to see those big prison dogs turn into such soppy souls.

Meanwhile, as Tyson became accustomed to his new surroundings at work, he was quick to learn that as soon as we arrived for our shift outside the prison walls it was game on. He was instantly alert, ready to work and excited to get in there. I tried him on the slippery floors, working at height, solid and metal stairs, and he ran around like he owned the place. Tyson wasn’t fazed by anything. There wasn’t a single object we put in his way that made him say: I’m not very happy about this.

Tyson was fearless, and in the first two weeks, I was able to walk him through the jail with all the loud and buzzing security doors, metal stairs, around the big and echoing gym, in the wet showers, and I could see that he was cut out for the job. He didn’t flinch at anything. Tyson dragged me up and down narrow stairs without an ounce of hesitation, and if prisoners were acting suspiciously, he wasn’t scared of them. In fact, if I threw a ball into the crowd, he was happy to go after it.

Everything was a new experience for him and he lapped it up. I was seeing in him all the same unshakeable qualities that I had seen in Prince. I knew he would make an excellent patrol dog.

Over the Christmas period, Tyson, Prince and I all worked shifts as usual. It is usually a difficult time for the prisoners, who are away from their families, and they want it to be over as quickly as possible, although they are allowed more visits than usual. Because of that, it’s a busy and relentless time for staff. The risk of self-harm is increased and patrols are more important than ever.

On Christmas Day, we worked an early shift and the dogs were with me. As the official training course hadn’t started yet, Tyson went out on patrol with me. It worked well to continue his orientation, especially with the added tension among the prisoners, but also because it gave Prince a chance to rest as Tyson picked up more of his patrols.

We finished in the early afternoon and returned home together, where our own Christmas Day finally began. I cooked a turkey with all the trimmings: bacon, roast potatoes, and vegetables. The boys and I had a full Christmas dinner and then the three of us settled in the lounge to open some presents.

They had giant bone-shaped chews wrapped in Christmas paper, and as they got stuck into them, I couldn’t help but laugh. I was turning into a complete softie, wrapping up presents for my dogs! But Tyson and Prince seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was. I didn’t have a partner to spend Christmas with or a big family, but Prince and Tyson made it as special as if I’d had a dinner table full of close friends and relatives. Prince was used to Christmases like these, but I had no idea what Tyson’s background had been. I wished I could find out more. That wasn’t an option so I did what I could for it to be Tyson’s best Christmas yet. I spoilt them both with games and long walks over the frosty fields.

Two weeks into the New Year, Tyson and I were finally able to get started on the official training course. He did exceptionally well and mastered all the phases of training with ease. The only thing we had trouble with was getting him to bark. It was then that we were able to surmise that, at some point, Tyson had been kept as a pet because he’d obviously been taught to be quiet. It was a hard habit to break, but barking was vital in his role. Patrol dogs need to be able to bark on demand for crowd control or when they find something we need to investigate, contraband or otherwise. Once he’d understood he could make a noise, he didn’t look back.

Tyson flew through the course, passed his initial licence and was soon working full shifts. Prince went into retirement and couldn’t wait to see us when we got home. Whenever he had a mad moment and ran in circles around Tyson, Tyson looked to me with confusion on his face: Are you sure about him, Father? He loved it, really. Even after a long day’s work, he was soon caught up in Prince’s energy. Every day when I got home, I put the boys on their leads and headed out for a long walk.

The pair of them had a thing about cats: as soon as we were outside, they were no longer going for a walk but scanning every corner for felines. The moment either of them caught a whiff of an unsuspecting moggy, they yanked me forward – it took all my strength not to fall flat on my face as my arms were stretched out and I looked like Ben-Hur being pulled along on his chariot!

Soon, we’d be on to the fields near my home and I’d let the boys off their leads. They loved being out in the open and expended so much energy running around that, by the time we got in, they were ready for a sleep. At night, Tyson slept in his kennel in the garden, like Prince once had, but now that Prince was retired he stayed indoors with me. If I was off work and out without the dogs, they were both kept in kennels because of their special training. I couldn’t take any risks with them. When I was out with both of them, I realized there was a bit of a stigma attached to the breed. People would cross the road so they didn’t have to pass me and seemed frightened of Prince and Tyson. However, I had only to walk 150 yards from my home before we were in the fields, and most people in the area knew that the dogs were under my control.

At work, Tyson excelled. One day, he and I were watching the inmates on an exercise break in the yard when a scuffle broke out. One inmate was attacking another. As per our regulations, dog handlers like me are not allowed to intervene in the initial stages. Just as he’d been trained, Tyson went to the end of his lead and barked continuously until the scuffle broke up. He’d executed the textbook response and I reckoned it was a good indication that he’d do all right in the job. It’s part of our duty to make our presence felt but we’re not allowed on to the yard. Our main role is to remind the inmates we’re there and that if they don’t behave we’ll be on their heels.

The minute we were out of the prison after a shift, Tyson’s whole demeanour changed. He’d see Prince and say: Look, there’s my friend and I’m going to run around with him. They would be very excited until we got out of the door.

Now, Tyson has been doing this job for nearly a year and has matured into it really well. Every spring, there is a local prison-dog trial and handlers are asked to compete in it and really push the dogs. They’re judged by a member of the inspectorate, then go on to the national trials. Tyson competed in May this year. He didn’t win but he came very close to claiming the Criminal Work Trophy.

Just like Prince before him, Tyson makes me proud every day. Without rescue centres like Battersea, wonderfully bright and capable dogs like him would be with people who didn’t understand them and, therefore, would never realize their full potential. I’m so grateful he’s ended up with Prince and me.