The crew of the research vessel learns from the human how to train canines properly so the animals can help carry light, for the animals, loads, and help protect the crew when the human is unable to. -- BKF
[AN: Surprise, I know jack shit about dog training! Nevertheless, I shall make an attempt]
In centuries past, on a Deathworld appropriately named Terra, the Humans looked at the wolf and said something like, "That looks friend-shaped." The descendants of those wolves were forever altered. As Companion Blyx stared at Human Lorn's pets, he could easily believe that these creatures had once been wolves. They still looked like wolves.
Looks, Blyx knew, were deceiving. Skitties, for example, generally looked like lazy orange lumps that slept all the time. They were also, pound for pound, the deadliest creatures at work in any station or ship. These wolf-like dogs were, according to Human Lorn, were "soppy ole softies."
They were very well trained, and Lorn insisted they could be useful. Not just as guards, but also haulers.
"Stick 'em in a sled harness and they can haul ten times their own body weight. Teams work better than single hounds, but one can still cart a good load." He even had instructional diagrams on how to make all-terrain sleds out of available materials.
Companion Blyx was daunted, until they had to cart their camp across several obstacles to the excursion ship's new landing spot. The survey crew had survived the storm that wrecked the old landing zone, as had much of their equipment. The shelters were deathworlder make and therefore proof against anything short of an apocalypse.
All packed up on Lorn's all-terrain sleds with his dogs wagging in their harnesses.
"We bred jobs into dogs," said Lorn, as the crew trotted beside the sleds. "These guys barely needed training to haul, since they're bred to do the job." He paused to whistle a code and the dogs simultaneously turned left. "The rest is rewarding the behaviour you want."
Of course, Lorn had drones scouting the wildlife trails so they didn't have to double back, or wouldn't get stuck. Which made the journey a lot more pleasant than it could have been.
Blyx was quietly amazed with how Human Lorn and his canines seemed to share a telepathic bond. Neither Deathworlders had the gene-coding for telepathy, and Blyx knew it. So how in the Powers did Lorn know when the dogs needed to rest or drink?
They spent most of the trip watching Lorn and the dogs. Watching Lorn watching the dogs. The Human's sharp, predatory gaze flicking from hound to hound. Not on their faces, since they were turned away, but rather on the ears and tails. The tails would slow in their wagging, or the ears would waver back, and it was time to call a halt.
That was when Lorn would break out the cool mats, water bottles, and optional treats. Getting the rest of the survey to help tend the dogs. Sometimes, the Human would get the slicker comb out and extract enough hair to make a small pillow from the hounds.
"How do you know what to do for them?" asked Blyx.
"Body language, mostly," Lorn kept combing fluff out of one particular coat. "Panting too much means they're hot. Panting too much when already on the cooling mat means they might have too much coat causing problems. A good brushing doesn't hurt, and it might help. So I give 'em a good combing."
Blyx observed one dog sprawled in so much comfort that its eyes were closed and its feet were twitching. "What does it mean when they fall asleep?"
"Time to make temporary camp," said Lorn. "We're stopping for the night."
[Photo by Daniel Tuttle on Unsplash]
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