Beginnings Matter

Beginnings Matter

On words, work, and the dogs who showed us the way

As this year comes to a close and a new one begins, I’ve been thinking less about goals and more about beginnings.

Not resolutions.
Not reinvention.
Beginnings.

The early influences that shape how we think and work often go unnoticed. In this corner of the dog world, those beginnings live not only in practice, but in the language we use to describe the work.

Cadaver dog.
Human remains detection.
Historic.
Archaeological.

These terms feel familiar now. Established. But they didn’t arrive fully formed, and they didn’t emerge all at once. Each one reflects a particular moment in time, a particular need, and a particular way humans were trying to make sense of what dogs were showing us.

Exploring where our language came from isn’t about fixing it or replacing it—it’s an opportunity to understand how the work has grown and what that growth can teach us moving forward.

Before the Terms, There Were the Dogs

Long before this work had names, dogs were already doing it. Not because humans trained them to. Not because we understood decomposition. But because dogs, as biological sensors, perceived environmental information that humans could not.

One of the earliest documented accounts comes from early 19th-century Germany. A dog repeatedly pulled its handler toward a woodshed belonging to a murder suspect. The dog lingered, pawed, and returned again and again. Authorities followed the behavior and discovered human remains concealed beneath the structure.

This story appears in multiple historical summaries of early canine detection, including here: https://alifeofdogs.com/the-history-of-cadaver-dogs/

By modern standards, the methods were informal and the interpretations unstructured. But the significance remains: humans noticed that dogs were responding to something associated with human death, even if they couldn’t yet explain what that “something” was.

Throughout the 1800s, similar accounts appear across Europe. Dogs alerting to disturbed ground. Dogs refusing to disengage from specific locations. Dogs changing behavior in ways that caused humans to pause and investigate.

At this stage, there was no discipline. No terminology. Just observation.

When Policing Needed Clarity

As policing and forensic investigation became more formalized in the 20th century, dogs were intentionally incorporated into investigative work. Tracking and trailing were already well established. Eventually, dogs were trained specifically to locate deceased humans.

By the early 1970s in the United States, law enforcement agencies began developing dogs trained exclusively for this purpose. One often-cited example is Pearl, a Labrador trained by the New York State Police in 1974.

A brief overview of this history can be found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Search_and_rescue_dog#Cadaver_dogs

At that point, agencies needed language that worked operationally. They needed a term that was clear in reports, defensible in court, and easily understood across jurisdictions.

They chose a word already embedded in medicolegal practice: cadaver.

The term cadaver dog wasn’t designed to explain how dogs detect. It was designed to distinguish roles and responsibilities. And for that purpose, it worked.

For decades, it provided clarity within law enforcement and search-and-recovery contexts.

When Science Added Complexity

As scientific understanding of decomposition advanced, the limitations of that language became clearer.

Dogs were not detecting bodies in a simple or static sense. They were detecting odor signatures associated with human decomposition—a complex mixture of volatile organic compounds shaped by time, environment, substrate, moisture, microbial activity, and disturbance.

Bone, tissue, residual odor, trace material—these are not interchangeable, and they may not behave the same way in the environment.

As this understanding grew, the term cadaver began to feel insufficient. It implied a single object rather than a dynamic process.

This is where Human Remains Detection (HRD) gained traction. The term better reflected what dogs were actually doing and allowed for a wider range of operational contexts.

In practice, HRD also became a discipline label:

“I work HRD.”
“We certify in HRD.”

That usage reflects real-world handler culture. While researchers may describe HRD as a capability, handlers experience it as a discipline. Recognizing that distinction matters if we want our language to stay connected to lived practice.

When Time Entered the Picture

As dogs began supporting work beyond criminal investigations—cemeteries, heritage sites, unmarked graves—another descriptor emerged: historic.

In archaeological contexts, historic generally refers to periods associated with written or documentary records, though the timeline varies by region. In practice, many teams use the term more loosely to indicate remains that are not part of modern forensic cases.

Historic, then, functions primarily as a time-based descriptor. It helps distinguish context, but it does not describe method. That distinction becomes important as detection work enters archaeological frameworks.

Archaeology Changes the Framework

Archaeological work introduces a different set of expectations.

Detection in archaeological contexts is not only about locating remains. It is about research design, documentation, interpretive restraint, legal compliance, and cultural consultation.

When dogs support archaeological work, they do so within those systems.

This is where Archaeological Human Remains Detection Dogs (AHRDD) becomes a meaningful distinction. Not because of how old the remains are, but because of how the work is conducted.

Dogs have assisted archaeologists in identifying burial sites thousands of years old, including documented work in Croatia involving graves nearly 3,000 years old:https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/dogs-archaeologists-detect-3000-year-old-graves-croatia-180973409/

Those successes weren’t about novelty. They were about integration—dogs functioning as biological sensors within archaeological methodology.

Dogs as Biological Sensors

Across all of these contexts, one principle holds steady. Dogs are biological sensors operating within systems.

Their effectiveness depends on training structure, reinforcement history, exposure, handler interpretation, and environmental context. When those systems are clear, the dogs are clear.

Framing dogs this way keeps the work grounded and defensible. It emphasizes skill, learning, and method over symbolism or oversimplification.

Why This Matters Now

Today, we know more than ever about odor behavior, memory, generalization, and context. We also recognize that the language we use shapes how this work is trained, interpreted, and explained to others.

This isn’t about correcting people or enforcing terminology. It’s about alignment—between science, practice, and ethics.

When language keeps pace with understanding, the work becomes clearer. For handlers. For collaborators. For the dogs.

Ending a Year, Carrying the Work Forward

As this year ends and another begins, reflecting on the beginnings of our language helps put the present into perspective.

The work has grown. The science has deepened. The contexts have expanded.

And we are still learning—carefully, collaboratively, and with respect for the dogs who continue to show us what’s possible.

Beginnings matter.

So does how we carry them forward.

Happy New Year. May this upcoming season be an authentic beginning on your dog journey—guided by intentional training, precise observation, and respect for the work we’re trusted to do.

Go be great. And if you need a thought partner along the way, I’m here.