PET TRACKER
Chapter 9, Part 4: A Change of Direction (Part 2 of 2)
My dogs, to their credit, never complained for a minute about my inactivity due to my back injury.
Some dogs’ behavior is directly tied to the amount of exercise they get, giving credence to the theory that a tired dog is a good dog. But mine were wonderful. They seemed to understand that I wasn’t able to take them for the long walks, jogs, and training exercises they were used to. Rachel and Chase snuggled at my feet on the couch, sisters to the core. A.J. slobbered solemnly on a dog bed beside me, always keeping an eye in my direction, as if a missing person might crop up at any moment and jar us both back into our old, more exciting routine.
The other officers on campus often asked me when I would be returning to patrol, but I had no answer. I felt helpless, frustrated, and even guilty that my inability to work forced others to work overtime. At one point, about four months after my injury, I actually lied to the doctor and told him that I was “pain-free.” I wanted to return to patrol and to working my dogs badly enough that I was willing to endure whatever discomfort came with the job.
“Good,” the doctor said. “But I’m going to give you a physical performance test.” For liability reasons, he couldn’t let me go back to work just because I said I was pain-free. I would have to prove it.
The test involved walking, running, climbing, and lifting for starters. It was an eight-hour test, but I only made it to the fifth hour. I couldn’t perform many of the required movements. Climbing caused severe back pain, and running caused a sharp pain to shoot from my lower back to my left foot. I flunked the performance test. Five months after my injury, the insurance company finally agreed to pay for an MRI of my back. The MRI revealed that I had a herniated disc. I was put into physical therapy with the hope that I could rehabilitate my back.
Because of my injury, I had to turn down many requests to search for missing pets. At the next NCMP board meeting, the board members and I began to devise a new plan of action. I would train a group of volunteer pet detectives who could work Rachel for me. Because Rachel was fully trained, it would be simple for me to train someone else to read her body language. I would go along on the searches to observe and coach from a safe distance.
In October 1998, nine months after the night I had hurt my back trying to restrain the drunk driver, I received the news that I had feared. The doctor determined that the damage to the disc in my back was permanent. All attempts at rehabilitation had failed to get me to a point where I was pain-free.
The doctor recommended a medical retirement. I was devastated. Training and working bloodhounds to track criminals was my number one passion. Even though I loved my pet detective adventures, I had worked myself to the bone to make it as a cop, and largely defined myself by that accomplishment.
On December 30, 1998, I spent my final day as a sworn police officer. The police department staff gave me a nice going-away party where they presented me with a gift—they had a trophy shop suspend my duty badge in a block of clear acrylic. What once was a symbol of power and authority was now a paperweight. Although I appreciated the gift, I went home to my cabin, sat down with my dogs, and cried.
I hated to give up the career I had worked so hard for, and I was terrified to lose the security of a full-time job with benefits. Most of all, it was hard for me to swallow the fact that a simple twist of my back had ended my career. I thought it would have been a little easier to cope if I had sustained some type of heroic injury while saving a person’s life instead of being the victim of a combative drunk driver.
When I accepted that my time as a police officer was over, I knew what I was going to do next. It was time to throw myself heart and soul into my life as a full-time, bona fide, pipe-dreaming pet detective!
Starting later this week, I will take a short break from my PET TRACKER memoir posts and will write about my exciting vision to create a massive, amazing, companion animal memorial retreat site / tourist attraction. Trust me…it will be EPIC!
A back is a strange contraption. I had a boss once who became instantly and permanently disabled when all he did was pick up a batt of fiberglass insulation - which isn't heavy - and turn.
He never worked again.