Seek. Seek. Seek.

Southwest Florida suits Penny fine.

Afternoons she lounges in the sun. There's a dip or two in the backyard pool. Naps on the couch. Spending time with friends.

By nightfall, after her frenzied day of leisure concludes, she jumps into a king-sized bed and nods off.

Even Penny would admit it's a charmed life. Still, it may not be the life she would've picked: This professional mold tracker arrived here nearly three years ago for the humid climate and constant hurricanes, which make the area ripe for the vexatious fungi.

And if this 4-year-old Jack Russell was a human, she'd be standing in the unemployment line.

Penny can't get a gig in this kingdom of mold.

• • •

Bill Whitstine rescued Penny — short for a strain of mold called penicillium — from the Pinellas County Florida Humane Society nearly four years ago.

"We get dogs that are more likely to be put down," says the owner of the Florida Canine Academy. The academy teaches dogs obedience and gives them a job to do.

Whitstine has trained hundreds of dogs, including 108 mold dogs and 400 termite dogs. He's currently training a dog that can smell sea turtle eggs for Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

"It's all scent discrimination," says Whitstine, who taught Penny to identify 18 of the most damaging and loathsome species of mold that infiltrate homes, including aspergillus, stachybotrys and penicillium.

Humans are 30 percent accurate when they hunt for mold on their own, Whitstine says. The most common tools are thermo image cameras, which detect moisture in walls, and air sampling, which determines if there is mold in a house.

A dog is nearly 100 percent accurate based on scent alone, he says.

"The fastest and the most accurate method is a dog," Whitstine says. "They can smell one part per trillion. And while you're busy tearing out floorboards and drilling holes in walls to find the stuff, Penny could just walk right up to it and tell you where it is."

Whitstine, who has a mold-tracking terrier of his own, remembers Penny well. "Penny is such a smart dog. All she wants to do is work and please her owner."

John Rizzolo uses Rudy, a 2-year-old termite beagle trained by Whitstine. He co-owns Pro-Tech Pest Control in Naples.

"We take her out on every job," he says. "Rudy can smell one single termite. And Rudy doesn't lie. Either she tells you you have termites or you don't."

Pro-Tech used to charge $75 for a home inspection, but since Rudy joined the business more than a year ago the standard fee has risen to $95. She goes out on an average of three housecalls a week, Rizzolo says.

"I remember working with Penny when I was at the academy," Rizzolo says. "Bill had us work with multiple dogs, to get a feel of how to guide them. Penny is a great dog."

These specialized sniffers are foolproof tools, Rizzolo goes on. The only reason a dog wouldn't be successful is if it's not constantly trained.

"They have to be worked."

• • •

Brian L'Hommedieu bought Penny for $14,000 nearly three years ago.

The idea, as he saw it, was to generate spin and boost business for his 10-year-old mold detection company.

L'Hommedieu was so impressed by Penny's skill that he started a new company, Mold Tracker, which put aside high-tech detection instruments in favor of the dog's snout.

The dog's ability to pinpoint mold through walls, floors and baseboards would prevent L'Hommedieu from tearing into walls or ripping off baseboards to look for this growing problem. Penny's skills also meant there'd be no need for air sampling, which costs extra and can take days for results.

Customers, who would be paying about $300 extra for Penny's services, wouldn't have to foot the bill for unnecessary repairs or testing. Customers would see that right away, he thought.

So L'Hommedieu, 40, forked over $3,000 for a quarter-page ad in the Yellow Pages that advised readers to be "Penny-wise, not mold foolish," and had another telephone line installed in his home office.

In 2004, after slow-moving hurricanes Frances and Jeanne pummeled Vero Beach, Penny and L'Hommedieu found plenty of work.

"I think she paid herself off there," L'Hommedieu says. "It was just too much work for me to do by myself, and a lot of times my thermo image camera wasn't picking up anything because the water had dried."

But then, things slacked off. People didn't want to pay for Penny sniff out their home.

"She's not a gimmick," he says. "You think drug dogs or bomb dogs are gimmicks?"

He tried to convince clients of Penny's worth, citing the statistics and pointing out the eventual savings.

It wasn't working, and after a little more than a year, Mold Tracker had shut down. The phone line defunct. The yellow pages ad is nothing more than a $3,000 scar.

"It bums me out to know she's not working," says trainer Whistine. "It's kinda like having a Porsche and keeping it in the garage."

"At least I know she has a good home with Brian," Whitstine says.

Now this super-dog, with the ability to detect a pin-sized amount of mold with a single sniff, lives incognito with L'Hommedieu, his wife, 6-year-old son and two other dogs, a Newfoundland lab mix named Daisy and Bell, another terrier. The canine trio spends most days hunting for lizards and snakes in L'Hommedieu's 2 ½-acre backyard in Alva.

"She's a pet," he says, pausing for a moment. "She's a pet waiting to go to work."

• • •

Even though Penny doesn't go out on many jobs these days, L'Hommedieu makes sure to keep her nose tuned. Just in case.

There are no distractions when Penny works. On site, L'Hommedieu makes sure to clear the room of customers. When he's at home training her, he keeps the other dogs outside and turns off the TV.

"She needs serenity," he says.

Right now, she's hunting along the baseboards of his living room for the slightest wiff of ulocladium botrytis. Her snout shifts back-and-forth like a metal detector.

L'Hommedieu looks over her small shoulders. "Seek. Seek. Seek."

She shoves her nose between the lounge chair and ottoman, leaving wet prints on the leather sofas.

"Seek. Seek. Seek." His voice is stern and insistant.

She moves to the baseboard under the family-room window. Penny's blue leash is taut as she pulls L'Hommedieu forward. Sniffing. She comes to a small mahogany-colored set of drawers and stops. Sits.

Then the terrier looks back at L'Hommedieu and starts bouncing up and down. Like a pogo stick.

"It's in there" each jump seems to say. "The mold. It's in there."

"Show me. Show me. Show me," L'Hommedieu says, this voice is more upbeat. Excited.

He reaches down, opens the bottom drawer, shifts some papers out of the way, and voila, there it is: a orange capped jar of mold.

"Hey, I forgot that was in there," L'Hommedieu says, surprised. "Good girl."

Penny wags her tail. He slips her a treat.

"Ready?" he says, with a perky tone. "OK, Penny, seek. Seek. Seek."

There are still five more vials lurking about.

• • •

Penny stays at home most days.

"I took her out the other day, to a job in Naples. A couple had a leak in their ice maker," L'Hommedieu says. "Penny ended up staying in the car. I found the mold on my own. There wasn't any need for her."

Still, L'Hommedieu wouldn't think of selling Penny to another mold man. She's become a part of the family. Plus, there's no way he could recoup his $17,000.

"I wouldn't get rid of her," he says. "I spent the money. It's long gone."

But as he talks, you can hear a certain tension in his voice. He points out that he didn't really need Penny in the first place.

"She's eaten me out of house and home. I've had little or no use for her," he says.

"I don't paint. I don't write. I find mold." He strokes her small back as Penny sits in his lap. "It's what I do. I'm very well-trained and I know what to look for. Penny's a tool like anything else, but I'd like to think I'm just as effective."

But just because you're frustrated doesn't mean you don't love someone — a person or dog, L'Hommedieu says.

Now he's looking forward to a wet hurricane season. If there are enough storms in Southwest Florida this summer, Penny might just be able come out of retirement.

"Slow-moving storms create tons of water damage," he says. "And that's good for business. The more storms we have, the better the chances Penny can go to work."

"I want her to get out there," he says. "This is what she loves to do."