Oscar’s Arrival – Our Retiree with a Nose for Trouble

We’ve always shared our home with rescue dogs, but recently discovered that, apparently, we’ve reached the age where adoption centres politely pat you on the head and direct you toward something “lower maintenance”—perhaps a potted plant. Enter our son-in-law, who had adopted a retired Army dog from the Military Animal Rehabilitation Centre (MARC) in Melton Mowbray. He suggested we try the same route. He warned us, though, that his own adoption had taken nine months. Plenty of time, we thought, for us to prepare ourselves, our home, and possibly reinforce the walls.

The Army, however, had other ideas.

The very next day we received a message: _“We have a training-reject pointer. Interested?”_ The word “reject” made us wonder whether this pointer had rejected training—or whether training had rejected him. We cautiously asked if something smaller might be available, assuming this would buy us some time.

The following day, another message: _“We have a retired Armament and Explosive Search dog available. Full service completed. No behavioural issues. No vet problems.”_ How could we say no? So off we went to Melton Mowbray to meet Oscar.

The adoption officer sat serenely at her desk with a mellow, angelic springer spaniel curled up beside her. Lovely. Exactly what we imagined. And then— **BANG.

**In ricocheted Oscar, full of enthusiasm, energy, and what can only be described as “search mode,” bouncing off walls like a furry pinball. After years living in kennels, on missions, and later training new handlers, he seemed delighted to be unleashed into an office full of filing cabinets and potential hiding places.

On the lead he was no calmer. Cupboards? Must check them. Walls? Must climb them. Every corner? Possibly harbouring explosives. We weren’t entirely sure _we_ would pass _his_ assessment.

Still, we agreed to a two-week home trial. And the next day—yes, everything really did happen this fast—two soldiers in full fatigues arrived with Oscar. He immediately performed a full house sweep (thankfully no suspicious devices), and then the Army wanted to assess the garden.

Our garden is walled, with a two-metre drop to the road. Secure, we thought. Oscar, however, saw a challenge. Within seconds he cleared the wall, vanished, and the two soldiers launched after him like an action-movie chase sequence. Anyone walking down Summer Cross would have assumed the invasion had begun.

Oscar was eventually located, entirely unbothered, submerged in a pond. We have since learned this is his favourite hobby—weather, ice, and military dignity permitting.

Since he was still under Army responsibility at the time, the escape counted against them, not us. Oscar stayed for the full trial—and we quickly fell in love. Yes, every new walk started with enthusiastic bomb-sweeping, but once he’d confirmed the route was “clear,” he became the perfect gentleman. We’d never had a dog so well trained. Unfortunately, we ourselves are not well-trained handlers—but Oscar seems patient.

Two weeks later, we passed the trial and officially adopted him. We signed a contract ensuring Oscar enjoys the peaceful retirement he’s earned after tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. Should anything change, he simply returns to the Army—no passing him on.

So now Oscar is settling into village life: retired, celebrated, adored, and still searching… mostly for ponds.