A love affair with dogs

March 31--It took 40 years and two tear-soaked bath towels to make retired Air Force veteran Bill Clark realize he had a serious problem.

For years, the Pullman resident had suffered flashbacks to his time overseas. Night sweats woke him from his sleep. When he and his wife married, he warned her not to wake him by putting her arms around his neck.

He had been watching "Black Hawk Down," a 2001 film that depicts the Somalian attack of two U.S. helicopters in 1993, about five years ago when something inside him snapped. He bolted from his chair to the bathroom and had a mental breakdown.

"That's when I realized I had to do something," Clark said while wearing a War Dogs ballcap and gripping a weathered brown leash in his hands as he recounted what he now recognizes as symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

The leash belonged to his own war dog -- a German shepherd named Prince -- back in the early 1960s. In just three days, Prince changed Clark's life forever and sparked a love affair for dogs that years later cleared a path for Clark to begin recovering from his PTSD nightmare.

Love at first sight

Clark was 17 years old when he enlisted in the Air Force in October of 1960. Leaving a physically and emotionally abusive home, Clark went straight to basic training at the George Air Force Base in California.

Clark was verbal and vibrant as he recounted the story last week, but the young soldier he spoke of was an entirely different person.

"When I got in I was very withdrawn, antisocial, I didn't talk to people. I sat back and watched," Clark said.

During that time, Clark noticed some of the other soldiers were training military working dogs in what was called a Sentry Dog program.

"I kept watching dogs, sentry dogs, going by me at night, and I decided, you know, instead of being out here by myself with a rifle and aircraft, maybe I can do that," Clark said.

That's when Prince came along. His serial number was 243E, Clark said, pointing out the number on the leash in his hands. It is a precious piece of equipment.

Almost instantly, Clark noticed that Prince brought him out of his shell. As Clark trained Prince to locate, track and kill, the two became inseparable.

"He realized I was damaged goods," Clark said.

Clark started training Prince six days a week, 14 hours a day for eight weeks. They worked together for three-and-a-half-years on search and destroy missions.

Clark loved Prince so much, he even tried to re-enlist at the end of his service with the Air Force in October 1964 to stay by Prince's side. But it was in vain. Clark took two days to say goodbye to his beloved canine.

"I got up in the second day, patted him on the head, wiped the tears away and I turned my back. That's the last time I saw him," Clark said. And then he vowed he would never live a day in his life without a dog.

Working like a dog

That vow nearly came to pass after Clark left the Air Force. Other than a period of time overseas as a deputy sheriff for the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, Clark got married and got four dogs with his wife, whom he met on the small island.

Since then, the couple has owned a series of yellow retrievers and Labradors, with one Bernese mountain dog in the mix.

Clark began to train dogs on the side, first for money, then for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He taught his wife to train as well.

But at his full-time job with the Pullman Police Department, Clark was dealing with more serious matters that required a level of emotional distance, something Clark had trouble keeping. He had dealt with dead bodies and shootings among his day-to-day work as a patrol officer, something that would later resurface as PTSD symptoms. Clark said he was criticized by his supervisors for becoming emotionally involved in some of his cases. He did not write enough traffic tickets. Arresting someone was not always his solution to the problem at hand.

Clark eventually retired and spent 10 more years of his life volunteering for the Humane Society, working with well over 1,500 dogs per year. There, he witnessed firsthand the powerful experiences owners can have with their canines.

"You just see the power that a dog has for people and what they do for people. It's absolutely flabbergasting as far as I'm concerned," Clark said.

Finding healing in Hattie

Today, Clark remains fully dedicated to working with dogs. Besides the 10 pounds of treats he keeps in his truck to hand out to any dog he sees, he also runs his own service called Licks and Grins that brings trained service dogs to hospitals for children and veterans to comfort patients in times of need.

The dogs go by many names: service dogs, emotional support dogs, PTSD dogs or alert dogs for people with diabetes, cancer or heart problems -- whomever they serve, the reaction from patients is always the same.

"When the kids see me coming, sick kids and wounded GIs and staff who I will be working with, when they see the pickup come in the lot and see the sign, they've got big grins because they know they're going to have some relief from the pain," Clark said.

That is why Clark was so angry and confused to find a sign he uses to advertise the service was stolen from his vehicle earlier this month.

Though Clark was angry himself, he was mostly concerned for potential patients who would not know about the service otherwise -- a service he knows the importance of firsthand.

"That's what people don't think about when they see these signs," Clark said.

Clark is currently training an 11-week-old golden retriever named Hattie to be his own personal diabetic alert and PTSD dog.

Hattie rested at Clark's feet last week, wrapped in a red Service Dog In Training vest, all tuckered out from a day of vaccinations at the vet. Hooked to her vest was Prince's weathered leash, a symbol of his legacy in Clark's "doggy career."

Along with her alert dog training and puppy school, Hattie is also being cross-trained to visit patients in hospitals.

When her vest is on, Hattie knows it is time to work, Clark said. She wears it in public places where she follows Clark along to become socialized.

"When I go home at night and take it off, she knows she's not working. She's reverted to pet," Clark said.

Hattie will monitor Clark for anxiety or panic attacks and let him know when he needs to get into a safe place by jumping into his lap, grabbing his hand or, in some cases, knocking him to the ground and laying down on top of him, whether the vest is on or not.

"She'll keep me in the world," Clark said.

He is confident Hattie has a bright future ahead of her.

"She's very smart, she's calm and she has a lot of patience. And she's already bonded with me. She wants to be near me as possible," Clark said.

Taylor Nadauld can be reached at (208) 883-4630, by email to tnadauld@dnews.com and on Twitter @tnadauldarg.

___

(c)2017 the Moscow-Pullman Daily News (Moscow, Idaho)

Visit the Moscow-Pullman Daily News (Moscow, Idaho) at www.dnews.com

Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.