Sniffy Part 2

There lies a particular stretch of alleyway a few blocks west of our street where backyard upon backyard of canine populated residences make this portion of real estate a veritable gauntlet for anyone foolhardy enough to meander down it's single lane path.

Franny and I do it almost daily.

While the pit bull twins announce our arrival, and the daschund / corgi tag team follow suit, we slowly make our way past the dalmation/black lab mix who playfully yips while his yellow lab/shepherd mix kennel mate yaps in unison.

At the end of the alley lives the civil servant drug dog, Sniffy, his K9 patrol car backed neatly into the carport to his left.

Now, I don't know what kind of training drug dogs go through, but I'm assuming they must receive highly skilled specialized instruction in narcotic and weapons locating. What I'm not sure of is if they receive any skill sets in the security arts including attack, offense, or guard duties.

I wonder this, because Sniffy is the last one on the dog gauntlet alley, so he gets the barked notifications of a dozen of his bowwow comrades beforehand. Yet 9 times out of 10, when we make it to his backyard, he'll jump up in a startled surprise and give an anemic, embarrassed woof or two, more of a "far-out man" than an irritated warning of impending doom.

I'm hoping that sniffing all those drugs on a daily basis hasn't mellowed his other doggy senses to a dull sheen.