From backyard patrols to world-class adventures
When I was a young Shep living in Alaska, I had a very important job: I was in charge of patrolling my yard.
Every morning, my dad would look at me and say one word:
“Patrol.”
That was my signal.
Mission activated.
I’d run the whole perimeter of the property, nose down, eyes sharp, checking for anything suspicious like moose, squirrels, ravens, foxes, and sometimes just a leaf blowing the wrong way. My sister chased me sometimes because she thought it was a game. I let her believe that. But I knew it was serious business.
And that wasn’t even my biggest job.
My second specialty was Woodpecker Protection Services.
See, in our part of Alaska, we couldn’t drink the water because it had poison in it. Dad says it was something called AR-sen-ic. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds serious, like something you should growl at.
So we had to truck in clean water ourselves or pay someone to do it.
Because our cabin sat on frozen ground called permafrost, there were no underground pipes like normal houses. Instead, we had a huge water tank sitting next to the house.
A different man brought fuel oil in a truck to keep the heater running. Dad chopped wood too, and I helped by sniffing it, supervising, and sometimes sitting on the logs so they didn’t escape. Very professional work.
But the biggest challenge was the woodpeckers.
In the winter, when the snow was deep, those sneaky foam bandits would try to steal pieces of insulation from the water tank to build their nests. Dad said getting that foam sprayed on the tank was expensive, and the woodpeckers were not invited to take free building supplies.
So that job became mine.
Whenever Dad yelled:
“BIRD!”
I launched into action.
I charged out the door, ears high, paws flying, barking my warning across the frozen yard. Those feathered thieves scattered, and our tank stayed safe.
Growing up in Alaska, all of this felt normal to me.
I thought every dog had snow higher than their tail, woodpeckers to chase, and water that arrived in trucks.
Later, when I left Alaska and traveled to the lower 48, or as Alaskans like to call it, just outside, I realized my beginnings were a little different.
And just so we’re clear:
I’m not retired.
A working dog never quits. We just get promoted.
Now I am:
Chief of Security
Lead Perimeter Specialist
Senior Bird Enforcement Officer
Deputy Squirrel Investigator
Head of Smelling Everything That Exists
and Assistant Snack Supervisor, with full tasting rights.
My jurisdiction is no longer one yard in Alaska.
It’s the whole world.
And yes, I’m still very good at my job.
Respectfully,
Officer Karl