This is a post by one of OfficerResource.com’s forum members, SPD. -Xiphos
So, I was a narc defective. Me and my partner get a request from one of the guys on our department to help him do some buys with a CI. We like this officer, who is pretty new but has been a go-getter on dope stuff. We agree.
After a series of things go wrong, a BG takes off, and I chase him. My partner was out of position, and I was on our tac channel so nobody hears me call it out. Luckily, my partner sees me take off and calls it out on one of our repeater channels.
I chase this guy across a busy 4-lane road in traffic like an idiot, and luckily neither of us gets hit. I’m gaining on him as I’m passing an office building headed toward a residential alley when I hear from behind me “Stop or I’ll release the dog.” Oh shit. I’m in plain clothes and probably look even more like a chew toy than the BG. I imagine that nobody knows I’m in the chase, and the handler will release the dog. I just know I’m getting ready to be a milkbone.
I start to cry a little, and unsuccessfully try to climb the brick wall I’m next to. No dice – but I did put some good claw marks in it. I press myself flat against it and try to think bricky thoughts. “Be the wall . . . be the wall.” Luckily, the handler and dog go by. I sob my thanks a little and fall in behind them. Another warning or two, and off the leash the dog goes. Like a heat-seeking missile to a volcano. It really was beautiful. Poochy chomps on dude’s arm mid-stride, and the dog and BG start struggling. Me and handler (apparently the only ones who can run under a 15 minute mile) are the only ones around it seems.
Well, pooch and BG are still discussing things, but it looks like the dog really only has a sleeve. The handler says something in a language I don’t speak (it’s not English, German, or redneck, so I’m out). The dog immediately lets go and starts backing up, looking at the BG and barking in a strong foreign accent. I figure it’s my turn to jump in, ground the guy, and throw the cuffs on.
I bowl over BG (very gently, of course). After an instant on the ground and the BG still struggling, I feel a terrible pain just to the right of my crotch . . . it feels like someone showed up and is stomping on me with their full weight on my upper, inner thigh. The cavalry shows up, and convinces the BG to stop struggling with gentle persuasion. But the crushing on my leg is still there.
I look down – and there is a K9 attached to my crotch. The dog and I make eye contact. He looks at me. I look at him. And then he starts shaking his head from side to side furiously. It’s dark out, and I guess the handler doesn’t see that poochy is gnawing on me right next to my junk. Keeping a level head, I scream like a girl (maybe higher – maybe a bit out of human hearing range) that the dog is biting me. I don’t think the handler realized it was me screaming like a little girl at first until I said his name. By the way – the dog still has his original grip, and is still shaking and pulling. I’m trying to go with him, wanting to make the dog happy.
The handler says he immediately called the dog off. From my perspective, I think he read a short novel, got a pizza, then called off the dog. The dog backs off. The BG is in cuffs, and has been educated on the errors of trying to escape custody.
Well, this is really my fault since I don’t speak whatever dog speak our K9 guys speak. I mistook “OK – this guy has stopped and had enough – stop gnawing on him” for “sick balls, killer.” My bad for putting my balls in the way of BG’s balls.
I stood up, and I look like I’m having my first period. At like 33/34 – guess I’m a late bloomer. Some idiot calls an ambulance for me (I tell them to cancel, and have my partner take me to the ER). Well, of course everyone hears the radio call. So I go to the ER, and have to strip down and have the wounds cleaned up – a bit of torn up skin removed. Oh – and like two shifts of cops come to the ER while this is happening so they can make fun of me. And of course since my wife is a nurse at that hospital, all her friends also come by. I think they called in a few officers in from out of state to come by and give me shit about getting my sack crunched (even though they really weren’t – a near miss). Of course, I can’t sit down comfortably, but I’m providing loads of entertainment for everyone.
Sadly, the dog that bit me died about six months later of “heart failure.” I think it was poisoned by biting me so close to my ass, and it took that long for it to finally give in.
My supervisor took a pic of the bite (which was surprisingly clean) right after I got done at the ER. It bruised badly over the next few days (like down to my knee), but healed with no infection.
So – here’s what I learned from this: if you don’t speak dog handler – stay the hell away from them. Let the dog do its thing. If the dog is released – go home. Or to the other side of town. Or go on dinner break somewhere else. Just stay away.
Stay tuned next month for “SPD gets his tooth knocked out by a retard.”