Hag'em
Memoirs of a Police Dog Handler
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In July 1981, Constable Hawkins, an investigator with the Quesnel detachment planned to arrest a native that had several outstanding warrants in relation to numerous offences. The suspect was a resident of the remote Klus Kas Reserve, about a one-hour flight west of Quesnel. Hawkins requested a dog handler to assist with the arrest and I was detailed to accompany him. The suspect was also known to carry a sawed off .22 caliber rifle.
The detachment hired a civilian helicopter service to fly Hawkins, my dog and me to the Reserve. Pockets of fog hung in the trees surrounding the Quesnel airport, as we lifted off before daybreak. It was just light enough to fly and the civilian pilot was very excited about having us on board his helicopter. Apparently, he had never assisted the police before.
Before taking off, we briefed the pilot on what we hoped to accomplish. He advised us that he had made several trips to the community in the past and was very familiar with the layout of the Reserve. From the information we had, we knew the suspect resided in a large tent situated at Klus Kas. The pilot confirmed that by saying he had seen the tent during one of his trips in.
As we got closer, we noticed the pilot becoming too eager as he talked excessively over the headsets. He commented that he wished he could announce our presence and belt out music over the loudspeakers as we arrived at the Reserve. Hawkins glanced back at me and rolled his eyes. He shared my mounting concern over our wound up pilot.
He did, however make one sensible suggestion. We could fly in a semi-circle behind a number of hills on the west side of the Reserve, to muffle our approach. The pilot concluded by saying, “I can bring us in low, and land her right in front of the tent. You guys can run in and have him before he wakes up!" It sounded feasible and we agreed to the maneuver.
As the sun broke free of the eastern horizon, we came in low behind the hills as planned and popped out at roof top height over Klus Kas. With the nose up, the pilot expertly landed his machine within 100 yards of the only tent on the Reserve. I unbuckled my seatbelt and already had Trapper in his tracking harness. As the skids touched down, I bailed out with the dog at my side. Hawkins joined me at the front of the helicopter. The wind gusts from the rotors beat on our backs as we raced for the tent entrance.
I threw back the front flap...
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“A few more interminable minutes ticked by and I thought I heard a vehicle coming from the north. I strained my ears and pointed north. My two compatriots nodded to confirm what I heard. The noisy crow either grew tired of cawing or perceived that something was about to happen. It suddenly flew away. My breathing quickened upon hearing the distinctive scrunching of truck tires meeting gravel. The white pickup with the two suspects came out of the hairpin and slowly continued south towards the ambush. With shaking hands, I pulled the stun grenade out of my pocket. Holding it firmly in my hand, I pulled the safety pin…”
Brad Kuich spent twenty-two years in Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) and fourteen of those years as a police dog handler. Some say he is lucky to be alive. His story is truly compelling, is poignantly sensitive and insightful and, at times, funny.
He gives a very personal glimpse into what many people perceive police work and the RCMP to be a closed, secretive world.
About the Author
Brad Kuich came from the small farming community of Oyen, situated in the southeast part of the
He worked and lived on the farm and attended school in Oyen until graduating in 1973. In 1975 Brad joined the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and completed training at the
Brad spent 14 years of his service as a police dog handler and has many fond memories of the three canine partners he worked with over those years. He retired from the RCMP in 1997 and later worked for the British Columbia Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
Presently Brad lives in