Taz was a life-altering friend. Without Taz, I seriously doubt I would have investigated canine search and rescue and I seriously doubt Chicago Regional Search and Rescue would have existed. While I have said good-bye to her physical presence, her spirit lives on. It feels like she is just napping in the other room and if I need her I can shout “Taz”. Certainly as long as Chicago Regional Search and Rescue exists, a piece of her will always be here.

Taz was a high drive, rock of a dog. Ask her to track, no problem. Ask her to air scent, no problem. Send her for evidence or cadaver and that nose went to work, just thrilled to be in the field working. She had reached her full potential. She would never be an urban search and rescue dog, the smell of human death upset her too much. For the same reason she would not be a cadaver dog, asked to work cadaver on a limited basis, she would do it, not her favorite but she always did what I asked. Her first find was a drowning victim through ten inches of ice, not an easy or happy search, but she made it a success. I remember her running a 3-mile track. Somewhere on the way she sprained her ankle, but never stopped or showed the pain until the subject was found. I remember her focused expression when finding equipment lost under water. I remember her special expression when sent on a training track and she found my “lost” pager, again. The act of being in the field searching was just pure joy to her.

Early in 2003 I noticed she was having vision problems. Expecting to hear “cataracts” it was devastating to realize the most likely cause was a brain tumor. That was a dark time but Clara was there to help. Taz was retired, although we still ran problems in the backyard for her enjoyment. Then Clara was lost. Totally blind, Taz knew her pack member was missing and that first week was terribly difficult as Taz would hit on Clara’s path into the road and try to track her. I never prayed so hard for rain in my life as I continually had to keep vigil on Taz. Arrive the search team current and former members to put up 6-foot chain-link fence to keep the old dog safe. Arrive Lektor to demand to be trained and force me to move forward.

Lektor and Taz struck up a friendship and never once did he use his superior strength and physical condition to dominate her. Instead he let her treat him as a puppy. Lektor knew there was a problem and forced me to get up just as Taz went into a Grand Mal seizure at 5:30 AM on June 5, 2003. I don’t know how but that old dog came back enough to follow my guidance downstairs and out to the truck. There was another seizure on the way to the vet and one more at the vet office. The brain tumor was causing them and they would continue and get progressively worse. It was time to say good-bye.

I feel strongly that it is the responsibility of a good handler to be there with their partner at the end, with your emotions carefully boxed and making the passing of your partner as comfortable and stress free as possible. I held Taz in my lap as she was given her final shot and slipped away. The pain and frailty were behind her.

Lektor knew when I got home she was gone. Shane did his best to try and offer comfort. The sorrow was for us, she was better off now, and it was just we missing her.

The question was where to scatter her ashes. The training field was Clara’s place of joy, but the searches were where Taz was happy. I think I would have had to go to a hundred sites to mark all the good times she had. Finally I decided to scatter her ashes in my garden. Her second happiest time was chasing Clara through the roses, rolling in the lavender, or unearthing all the bulbs as she dug for moles. In a hundred ways she touched our lives. Every time I train a dog or do a search, I will be paying my respects to her and she will be at my side for one more search.

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Sherri Gallagher

Handler