Bobby D. Lux - Dog Duty Page 2

  The lights in the Elk’s Lodge came up just long enough for Chief Lennox, the evening’s emcee, to switch tapes. The VCR popped and cracked and the lights lowered once more. I looked away from the screen up to the ceiling. The string holding the middle section of my retirement banner had given way at some point during the previous video. The banner now draped in a depressed U-shape.

  A cheer came from the lodge full of officers when the familiar beat and opening “Huh!” from the “Cops” theme song charged through the speakers. It was the Grand City episode featuring my segment with Officer Hart.

  Fade in on Officer Hart behind the wheel as we patrolled north bound on Honor Drive. The camera whipped around to me in the back. I was all business now. No kids and no scripts for miles.

  “A lot of people don’t respect these dogs,” Officer Hart said, too loud to the camera as he balanced his attention on the road and the camera. As I looked up at that screen and heard what Officer Hart had to say, I really wanted to smile and let my tongue hang out, but I wouldn’t. If I smiled it meant that I accepted what they were doing to me. Not a chance. They decided that my days of riding in a squad car were over. Some piece of metallic tape playing in a machine was nothing to feel happy about. “Not just the criminals, but even some officers who think that dogs like Fritz are a prop or something, but not me. He’s my partner. He’s got my back, and I have his. People need to understand just how valuable these officers are. They can out run, out jump, out last, and sometimes, most of the time really, they can out think just about any suspect we’re after. They get to places we can’t and have no fear. And that’s just the run of the mill K-9. Now Fritz back there-”

  He went on for a bit more about me. I’m uncomfortable relaying word-for-word how good he thought I used to be.

  “Grand City units,” a dispatcher said, through the radio, “be advised on a confirmed stolen vehicle last scene travelling south bound on Honor past Marbush. Red, ninety-nine Ford pickup plate similar to four, India, seven, eight, five, one, three. Driver is a male white, thirties, possibly on meth.”

  “Here we go,” Officer Hart said, as he grabbed his radio and looked to the camera. “This is K32, we’re ninety-seven the area. We’ll be checking south bound.”

  No sooner did he tell me to keep my eyes peeled, did the stolen truck zoom by us on the other side of the street. Officer Hart spun the wheel hard and the cameraman fell back into the door. It made for a hell of a shot. While he cranked the wheel, Officer Hart uttered a few bleep worthy words that earned laughs from the audience in the lodge. We’ve all been there.

  “K32,” Officer Hart said, “I have visual on the vehicle, in pursuit south bound Honor approaching Highwater.” The lights, and unfortunately, the sirens went on. Contrary to popular belief, not all stolen car suspects took you on chases that spanned hours and hours and get news choppers flying above you. More often, they give up and pull over like this guy in the truck did. Officer Hart rolled down my window. “We’re stopped with the suspect vehicle on Honor, just north of Hightower. I have one at gunpoint.”

  “K32, ten four. One at gun point.”

  Two hands came out from the driver’s window with the fingers spread out. Officer Hart exited the vehicle with his gun drawn towards the truck.

  “Stay behind my car,” Officer Hart said, to the cameraman. “You, in the truck, keep both your hands out where I can see them. Now reach down and open the door from the outside. Slowly!”

  “Don’t shoot me,” the driver said, slurring from inside the truck.

  “Shut up and do what I say. Tell him you’re here too, Fritz. Speak.”

  I barked and snarled. They were always more scared of me than they were of a bullet. Bullets missed sometimes. I never did.

  “Is that a dog?” the driver said. “Okay, I’m coming out. I’m coming out. Keep the dog away from me.”

  He opened the door and slowly got out with his hands up. He froze when he saw me and the gun staring him down.

  “Get down on your stomach, face down, legs spread apart, hands behind your head!” The driver obeyed without a fight. “K32, I have the driver proned out.”

  Maybe it was the cameras, maybe it was fear, the meth, just plain stupidity, or a combination of all four, but suddenly the suspect hopped to his feet and made a run for it into oncoming traffic. Did he think he was going to get away? From us? From me? Officer Hart couldn’t safely get after him and was yelling foot pursuit into his radio. He didn’t have a clean shot on the suspect. I’d seen enough of this. I leapt out of the car and was across four lanes of highway like it was nothing. The cameraman cared not for his well-being and ran after me, forcing cars to slam on their brakes. By the time he caught up to me, I had the car thief face down on the center divider screaming in tears. Officer Hart pulled me off the guy and cuffed him.

  Jump cut to us stuffing the crook in the back of another squad car. What didn’t make it to the final cut:

  “I didn’t get a good shot of the bite,” the cameraman said, as he panted. “I was running after him and the camera was too shaky. That dog’s fast. Anyway, can we let this guy go and let Fritz get him again?”

  “What?!” the cuffed man cried.

  “A lot of guys will let us do that if we missed the shot,” the cameraman said. “We don’t have to, you know. Just if you want to make it more realistic looking, we can get a better shot, that’s all I’m saying. Tell him to take another bite at least. Let’s see if we can get the guy shaking or screaming real good before we take him in. This is about making people at home scared to mess with you guys. Come on, Fritz. Get some.”

  “I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear you say that,” Officer Hart said.

  “I would’ve ripped him up,” Nitro said, sitting next to me back at the lodge. “Look at you. The biggest show in the industry and you’re just standing there growling like some Chihuahua chasing a stuffed toy.”

  “There was no need to rip him up,” I said. “He was detained. Look how out of breath he was already. I didn’t need to do anything.”

  “Who said anything about needing to, Fritz? All I’m saying is that when I’m on that show, you better believe that the first chance I have to use full force, I will be all over that like Nitro on a car thief. Get my drift?”

  “Yeah. I get your-”

  “That’s a nationwide show, pops. You could’ve been the baddest dog in law enforcement. Instead, you look like a domesticated guard dog. Shame.”

  “I’ve used full force when the situation called for it and you know it.”

  “Yeah, like the other night? How’s that leg? You need a walker? Do we need to do a welfare check on you?”

  My blood bubbled. The fur on the back of my neck stood at attention. My tail thumped and my nails gripped into the tile floor. A rookie fresh out of the academy with the pre-packaged nerve to lecture me about police work. Me? The dog who pulled back-to-back twenty hour days when this pup was still climbing through a litter to get some attention from mommy.

  Being a cop is the highest calling a canine can seek. I know a few mutts who are into the whole Hollywood thing. You’d never catch me under the bright lights complaining about the catering. Not me. I was a cop and that suited me fine. I was happy with where I was and where I’d been. I had no want nor need to be anything more than what I was; I had everything I wanted and wanted everything I had.

  The clip finally ended with us processing the car thief back at the station, which thankfully brought an end to the video portion of the evening. Chief Lennox reassumed his position as the center of attention.

  “Well, Fritz, it looks like the years have been kinder to some of us than others,” Chief Lennox said. “You’ve earned your gray, my friend. Me, I sat at a desk and waited for mine. And when the day comes that they invent a proper dye that makes hair look natural without looking, and I quote you out there, Sgt. Lewis, yeah, I see you sitting out there, ‘like you spray-painted your head with badger color,’ well that’ll be the
day that I erase my gray hair for good. But Fritz here, he’s earned his. It distinguishes him, and he wears it well. We’re going to miss you around here, Fritz. So on behalf of the entire Grand City Police Department, I want to wish you a happy, healthy, and very long retirement full of relaxation.”

  Chief Lennox led a surprisingly decent applause in my tribute. That applause taunted me like steady rain on a day off. Slap, slap, slap on the concrete and across the face. Guess what, pal? You don’t have a say in where you’re going today.

  I looked up at a quartet of faces not shouting out at me. Not calling my name. Not showing any emotion whatsoever beyond a startled clam. Just four sterile faces staring off into the great big whatever. The four Elks heads mounted up on the wall directly across from and above me, overlooking the hall. They too had seen much better days.

  “Time for some new blood,” Nitro said, slicing through the ovation. “It’s been that way for a long time around here too.”

  “You think there’s room for one more up there?” I said.

  “Stop embarrassing yourself,” Nitro said. “You’re making me uncomfortable with all this boo-hoo nonsense. How about you do us all a favor and take it like a real dog, will ya?”

  There was plenty of room for me up there with the other heads. They wouldn’t have to rearrange the other fellas for me to fit. I could fit snugly between any two of them or off to either side. A trip to the vet, a quick shot in the arm, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I’d fall asleep and they’d pull out the sheers, or saw, or sword, and when my eyes awoke, I’d have the best seat in the hall, next to my new friends: Okie, Salmon, Mickey, and Reginald. I’d be all head with no body to worry about anymore. My leg wouldn’t hurt and I wouldn’t feel bad about resting. Aesthetically, the best place for me would be right in the center of the four, placed a foot or two higher than the rest so that we’d come to a slight point; a pyramid of mounted heads.

  Of course, these were the thoughts of a fool. They only succeeded in drowning out the cheers from my former co-workers. Of course there’s no place for a German Shepherd on a wall full of Elk heads. That’s a damn shame.

  “And because Article Twelve, Section Forty-Seven of the Grand City Charter says so, we are forbidden from giving away city property,” Chief Lennox said, “so we will now perform the informal ceremonial auctioning off of the dog.” Property? With a showman’s twirl of the arm, which revealed conclusive evidence of massive armpit stains, The Chief turned to me and gave a bow. The Elk heads looked down on me across their big stupid fat noses. Even their lips snickered in amusement. “On behalf of Grand City, I’m proud to offer a fine specimen up for grabs. A canine crime fighter the likes of which Grand City has never seen before.”

  “And one soon to be forgotten by canine crime fighter two point zero,” Nitro said. “That’s a computer reference. You know, for those of us that don’t count our kibble on our paws.”

  “And we’re going to start the bidding at one dollar,” Chief Lennox said. “Are there any takers in the house?”

  One hand went up.

  “Going once?”

  No other hands.

  “Going twice?”

  Still just one.

  “Three times?”

  Now this was insulting.

  “Sold. To Officer Peter Hart for one dollar. That’s quite a bargain you got for yourself.”

  “A dollar?” I said.

  “Would you give it a break?” Nitro said. “It’s the tradition and you know it. We all get sold off for a buck at the end. I mean, I figure I’ll net three or four myself, but that’s me. When you factor in inflation, I bet I pull in double digits, but that’s not gonna be for many, many years. But you Fritz, a dollar is about all the market can bear.”

  Nitro was right. They squeezed every cent out of me they could. We don’t earn a salary, but dogs on the force live better than just about every dog imaginable. Don’t waste my time with those pampered mutts who go to salons; that’s not being a dog. We were fed perfectly portioned meals at ten hundred, eighteen hundred, and ten hundred hours again the following morning on the dot (on holidays they gave us warm turkey and ham); all the fresh water we’d ever need; we were groomed often; our kennel was never anything but flea-less; and we were provided with every tool necessary to do our job to the best of our ability.

  I’ve been shot at. I’ve sniffed out bombs, drug paraphernalia, and crime scenes. I’ve chased killers and gang members in the rain. I’ve been punched and had my fur ripped out. I’ve rescued people from collapsed buildings. I’ve been attacked with all sorts of weapons, both blunt and sharp, and I’ve had to bite an incalculable amount of people who’d been who knows where. At the end of all that, I’m worth a dollar. It takes Officer Hart approximately seventy seconds to make that amount.

  Officer Hart stood up from the crowd and approached the stage. Like any police officer worth putting into a story, Officer Hart was taller than most and skinnier than nearly all of our fellow cops. He chose not to wear a mustache, which informally forever disqualified him from being a motorcycle officer. The stress of the job was starting to take its initial hold on Officer Hart. It gets to everyone sooner or later. If you’re not careful it clings to you. At first you think it makes you stronger. You’re carrying the load. Someday, it’s that load that’s going to make you buckle when you’re most vulnerable.

  Officer Hart’s hair was thinning, but not to the point where you’d say he was going bald. He kept up the last time we jogged together. I did have to slow my pace. Nothing noticeable to him. I didn’t want him to think I was taking it easy. If anything, he might have thought it was me who had lost a step. Confidence is very important for a police officer. Call me melodramatic all you want, but when it’s a matter of going back to your kennel at the end of the night or not, confidence in your abilities is all you have. I won’t take that away from anyone. Not anyone I cared about. Officer Hart reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet.

  “Do you take cash or credit?” Officer Hart said. More humor that fell deaf on my lone ears.

  “Cash only, Hart,” Chief Lennox said. “We’re old fashioned around here.”

  I nearly expected Officer Hart to appear with one of those giant checks they ambush unsuspecting senior citizens with at their front door. A few years ago we busted a ring of burglars who’d duped seniors with those checks. That was a fun operation. Our detectives found the website the crooks hooked their victims with. A crude design that promised the elderly a chance at millions and a comfy retirement. All that was required was a name, address, phone number, and an optional social security number. We supplied the information for one of our safe houses.

  They called a week later and told us that our entry was a finalist and gave us a date and time to be home at the address we provided. We hired an actress from the local playhouse to appear in the front window of the house when the nondescript unmarked van with no plates pulled up out front. The actress got cold feet at the last second and we made Norton, a baby face right out of the academy, dress up in a wig and a muumuu.

  The three crooks got out of the van with their prop check and cameras while Norton waved and welcomed them with a phony high-pitched voice. As soon as Norton opened the door, he pulled his gun and yelled “Freeze!” still using his granny voice. The rest of us swarmed on them from around the side of the house. One tried to make a run to the van, but I had him down before he was two steps off the porch. He split his jaw when his face slapped into the cement. Oh well, next time don’t be a scumbag.

  “Come here, Fritz,” Chief Lennox said, as he held Officer Hart’s limp dollar bill high like it was an unearthed chunk of gold.

  I popped up to my feet. My hip buckled, then my leg flinched, but it was nothing. Cops like it cold and the air conditioning was cranked up too high. I stood between Chief Lennox and Officer Hart for one final photo op for the department photographer and a guy with a hole in his pants from the local free paper, The Grand City Metro Review.<
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  The uninformed will tell you that dogs don’t smile. I didn’t when cameras were around because it was usually at a crime scene or a standoff situation. Neither is appropriate for mugging at the lens. But when our mouths are open and our tongues are draped out to the side, what do you think that is other than a smile? Next time you see a picture of a dog, look at the ears. Are they straight up, or out to the side? Check the eyes. Wide open or just regular open? Is the head tilted up? These things matter. I tried to work a smile, I really did.

  I saw the picture from the department photographer a few days later. The Chief and Officer Hart held the dollar up over my head, oblivious to how disrespectful it was.

  “And on a final note,” Chief Lennox said, “I also don’t want to forget to mention the work of Nitro, our newest K-9, who played an integral role of getting us closer to our suspect, a known dog fight operator.”

  “That’s my cue, old man,” Nitro said.

  I could do a lot of things, but I wasn’t going to stand around like a sucker while they paraded my replacement in front of my face. I left through the back door and no one noticed, not even Officer Hart, who already had returned to his seat. My tail wasn’t tucked completely between my legs, but it was too close for comfort. If anyone had seen me, they wouldn’t have noticed a tail drooping a few inches lower; it was just another tail to them. But not me. That was my tail.

  CHAPTER 3 - The Long Leash Goodbye

  The Grand City Police Department Kennel was my home for eight years. It was modest and that suited me fine. I’ve always stood firmly alongside the notion that a coddled officer was an ineffective officer. Some argue that having nice things to come home to is the motivation you need to get you through your shift. They’re wrong. That comfort makes you soft. My sole luxury was my bed. I could rest my chin on the side and my body would float on a cloud of cotton padding until the next thing I knew, Officer Hart was there with a treat and we were ready to go out on patrol again.