It didn't feel real, at first. But it was...I was there. Kneeling down and pumping on the passenger's chest. He was an elderly man, probably mid-80s or so. I remember it so clearly, but this was almost 25 years ago now. The car had left the roadway at a sharp bend and slammed into a tree, coming to rest in the front yard of an old farmhouse. Nobody was home, but it was estimated that the car and its occupants, an elderly couple, were there for at least an hour. I was a rookie volunteer firefighter. And now here I was helping to try and keep this gentleman from dying. His ribs cracked. And his breathing was fading. There was blood everywhere. We got him into the ambulance with the medics and off they went. Lights and sirens the whole way. We gave him a chance.
As I walked through the wreckage, I glanced down and went to pick up a personal item. I don't remember exactly what it was. But it was pretty much covered in blood. Still, I picked it up and, before I could wonder the value it had for that couple, my captain hollered at me to put it down...it was the early 1990s and in the middle of the era of AIDS. I dropped it immediately.
And that was it. That's how it all started for me. That car accident was my first critical or traumatic incident as a first responder. I don't think it really adversely affected me, but I remember it. Vividly. I stayed a firefighter for a couple more years before moving into law enforcement. By January 1994, I was hired as a county park officer in my home state of Pennsylvania. I was later promoted to supervision. It was during that time that I wanted to expand my horizons. Explore opportunities.
I submitted applications throughout the country and traveled to states like Utah, South Dakota, California, and Washington as I progressed through various hiring processes. And then in the early fall of 1998, I got the call. I was headed West to become a peace officer for a large western state. In March 1999, I graduated near the top of my academy class. I was euphoric. Proud of my accomplishments as I reported to my first station in the very busy, heavily populated southern part of the state. I began to assert myself and get recognized for my efforts, receiving citizen compliments, department commendations, and later a state Mothers Against Drunk Driving award. A few years later, a position opened up at another station within my district. It was something I had been dreaming about my entire law enforcement career.
For as long as I can remember, since I was a very young child, my family had dogs. There was Blackie, who, of course, was black. And then Dandy, who was given to me as a birthday gift, but was never really mine...he was my mom's baby boy. When I went to college in western Pennsylvania, one of my roommates "rescued" a puppy from a local shelter before wanting to return her a few weeks later. So, I took her in. Codi. She was my loving and faithful companion for almost a decade. She was later joined by Neshana, who was a muddy and matted yellow lab when I found her running alongside the road as I went to work one day. The girls traveled with me out West as I started that new chapter of my life. But within months of my academy graduation, Codi died. I came home from work one day and wasn't greeted at the door by the girls. Something was up. And then I found her. Lying on the couch, where we had spent so much time together. Her last act.
So, that available K9 handler position at the other station was my holy grail. And when I got it in the late fall of 2000, I felt like I had reached the pinnacle of my law enforcement career. A passionate dog guy to the core and a dedicated public safety professional...now a K9 handler?! I was on fucking cloud 9. My police dog and I finished first in our handler class. I was now headed back to my new assignment, in the busiest part of the state, full of renewed piss and vinegar, with a locked on German Shepherd at my side. Look the fuck out, I thought.
Before the end of August 2001, however, my shepherd was dead. My career, my whole world, crumbled around me and careened out of control...
And the old man from the car wreck? He didn't make it. Neither did the driver. His wife.
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