Breaking Creed

15

Ryder Creed never thought he’d actually be anxious to go back to searching for dead bodies. He was, however, certain he was finished with drugs. Hannah had promised this would be the last day, at least for a while.

They had been at it for hours. He’d refused to let Grace work on the tarmac today because of the heat. So instead of inspecting checked luggage before it made its way to baggage claim, they were inside the international terminal. They had been walking up and down Concourse F as hundreds of passengers arrived and were processed.

Creed kept Grace moving through the federal inspection station, along the carousels where the assortment of suitcases, duffel bags, backpacks, and boxes rode conveyor belts. He and Grace weaved through and circled around them and the security checkpoint, then they started the same route all over again.

His badge and Grace’s vest gave them access to anywhere they chose to go with barely a nod or a glance from the U.S. Customs and Border Protection officers. By now, Creed and Grace were well known. Even Grace recognized some of her favorite CBP officers, especially those who had given her treats or stopped to pet her. Both were things Creed did not appreciate people doing with his dogs while they were working, but Grace was an exception. The high-energy Jack Russell needed more interaction to keep her from getting bored.

In assignments like this, a dog handler’s top priority was to keep the dog engaged and motivated. A dog that tired from being in the same place and only ran through the motions would be antsy to leave and might miss an alert. The dog should never consider it work. It was supposed to be fun and interesting.

Creed remembered his marine unit sergeant drilling it into him: “Make the search more exciting than pee on a tree.” Whatever the dog wants and needs, the dog gets.

The marines even gave their canine comrades a military rank one notch above their handlers to reinforce that the dogs receive and deserve respect. It was something that Creed kept in the forefront of his mind, and something he made sure the handlers who he trained did, as well.

It was almost time for a break when he noticed Grace start to sniff the air. She pulled him along, toenails clicking on the floor as she went into what Creed called her scamper-mode. He tried not to rein her in as they quickened their pace through a new crowd of passengers that had been waiting for their baggage to come down the carousel. Grace seemed to ignore the squawking beeps on the machines that alerted the passengers that their bags were ready and would be coming down the conveyor belt. She’d been hearing those beeps for hours and they no longer were interesting. But something or someone on the other side of baggage claim was drawing her attention.

A CBP officer waved Creed over. He had stopped a man on crutches. A cast covered much of the man’s left leg, starting at the knee and running all the way down to his ankle. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to smuggle drugs in a cast. But as Creed and Grace continued across the baggage claim area, Creed suddenly realized Grace wasn’t leading him to the man in the leg cast. Grace was taking him to someone else, and her nose was twitching.