memorial2001

Memorials to Fallen K-9s

2002 page 9
National Police Week May 12-18
F.A.S.T. Co. donates cards to all partners of all working dogs/horses

Dept. addresses available for those who want to send condolences to officers. See below

In Loving Memory
K-9 HALLE
SAR
November 6, 2001 - April 28, 2002

Handlers Jason and Dana Berry
Greater Houston Search Dogs
& Houston Fire Department
817 Dollins St Katy, TX 77493 281-391-9264

Our beautiful Halle who died on Sunday 4-28-02. Halle was a wonderful 48 lb. black female lab. She was a shining star for Greater Houston Search Dogs and will be missed by all who worked with her. She was born 11-6-2001 and her short life has touched us all. God decided that she had more important things to do. She is our angel and she will never be forgotten. She is with us, my parrot says "Common Halle" as soon a we walk in the door each day. We know she is happy and want to honor her life.
Dana and Jason Berry

One of the youngest members of our team fell several stories from an open window to her death on Sunday. This is the first loss for Greater Houston Search Dogs and a very heartbreaking loss for all our members. Hale was the perfect search dog--the one dog you wish you could find. Her handlers are the type of people you wish you had a hundred of on a team. I am announcing this to all so that Hale did not die in vain. Her handlers, Jason and Dana Berry want to try and prevent accidents such as this by increasing awareness among all handlers. Please look at all potential hazards in your training and search environments. Dogs do not always understand they can fall and hurt themselves. Jason & Dana are professional fire-fighters and understand safety issues, yet this happened to their dog--it was a freak accident. Dana watched helplessly as her dog fell to the ground. They performed CPR yet Hale died in their arms.

cards mailed 5/6/02 & received wonderful email.
New puppy to train.."Ellah" (reflection of Halle)
July 2003 - A friend of mine just lost her SAR dog yesterday from an intestinal disease and even though I know exactly how she feels I find myself struggling for words of comfort. So, I turned to your website once again for comfort and as soon as did I found those words I had been looking for. You bring out something very beautiful that is deep inside each of us. You are wonderful. When Halle fell from the window of a 4th story building a little more than a year ago, you were my strength. Thank you.

Halle (Nov 6, 2001 - April 8, 2002) spends her days serving the heavenly SAR world and waiting to cross the Rainbow Bridge. However, one year after God recruited her to heaven he delivered us another miracle. Halle's parents had a litter of 13 puppies and we have Hank, her little brother, picking up where she left off. Hank is one of Greater Houston's new shining stars and he, like Halle, amazes us more and more each day.
Sincerely,
Dana Berry and Jason Berry of Greater Houston Search Dogs

In Loving Memory
K-9 FANG
April 22, 2002

Partner:
Lt. Dan D' Annunzio
Trumbull County Sheriff's Dept. OH
150 HIGH ST WARREN, OH 44481 - phone: 330.675.2508

Officer Mike & K-9 Fang training

K-9 Fang's service

The policy of the Trumbull County Sheriff's Office is to utilize a professionally trained canine team to assist in the daily operations of the department. The canine team is a valuable law enforcement tool for use in criminal
apprehension, evidence location, narcotics detection, building searches, tracking, article search, search and rescue and promoting favorable public relations. The canine team went through rigorous training in Freemont, Ohio for six weeks and is certified by the State of Ohio in patrol and narcotics. The canine team is also certified by the North
American Police Work Dog Association. The dog "Fang" was imported from the Republic of Czechoslovakia.

APRIL 22, 2002, THE TRUMBULL COUNTY SHERIFF'S
On April 22, 2002, the Trumbull County Sheriff's Department lost our K-9 FANG. Fang was still on active duty; as he was for the last six years. He passed early in the morning from intestinal problems during surgery. Fang was a dog that loved his job. He gave his all every time he was needed. We did more demos than I can count and everyone loved him. Fang was also a member of the SWAT Team with the county. Fang's biggest bust was 2.25 million dollars wroth of cocaine. He tracked a 72 year old woman who escaped from a nursing home at night in 40 degree weather. Several people had been searching for some time before Fang was called upon. He found her in a short amount of time. She was taken to the hospital and treated for exposure. Without him, she might have not made it. That is just some of the things that Fang did in his time with us. My heart goes out to Lt. Dan. I was not his handler, but I feel a great loss now that he is gone for I was his decoy. We had a special bond and I will miss him greatly. Fang didn't like many people, but he liked me. I feel like I have lost a friend.
Officer Mike aka; Fang's Decoy

Cards mailed 4/3/02 & recd.

In Loving Memory
K-9 FLAME SAR
1995 - Feb. 16, 2002

Handler: Helen Young
Iowa Search & Rescue
710 West North St
Madrid, IA 50156

cards will be mailed 5/8/02 -2SARs
phone call from "remarkable Helen" thanking for cards.

Meet newest member being
trained for SAR, K-9 BLAZE

Helen Young with Iowa Search and Rescue recently lost her beloved canine partner Flame. Flame was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 7 and within two weeks left us. Flame was an ambassador for SAR canines, as you can see in the picture I have attached. (Flame and Helen were also in the Bridgeport Leather catalog this year) He was certified in Air scent wilderness, water and evidence. Flame gave ISAR 4 years of service and helped find closure for many families. The members of ISAR miss him almost as much as Helen does.

Submitted by:
Shirley Hadenfeldt and A.L.I.
Secretary
Iowa Search and Rescue
" I absolutely got lost in your web site. I spent the entire evening reading everything on it tonight. I think I have gone through a dozen Kleenex.
Thank you for what you have done! "

In Loving Memory of
LODD K-9 JIMMY SAR
May 17, 2002
result of - WTC

Rescue & Recovery K-9
Handler & Owner: David Vitalli
Owner: Dee Vitalli
1162 Union Ave. Newburgh, NY 12550-ph: 845.566.4417

Thank you DeeDee (mother) for your gracious phone call. I will try
to let others know that many SAR K-9s have died as the results
of their work on WTC in NYC, and the illnesses of their
handlers. (cards received 8/15/02) PLEASE LET ME KNOW OF ANY
FURTHER LOSSES DUE TO WTC, ETC. (lulu)

Jimmy, WTC rescue dog, dies
By Beth Quinn - Times Herald-Record

Newburgh – Jimmy, the search-and-rescue dog, died in his sleep yesterday morning. He was 8 years old. Jimmy's story appeared in the Record last October. With his best friend and owner, David Vitalli of Newburgh, the German shepherd dog searched for survivors at Ground Zero in the aftermath of the attack. For three weeks, the man and dog picked their way through the smoking wreckage, looking for survivors. Tethered to David's torso, Jimmy sniffed for the scent of distress – a sign that someone was alive. He breathed in the dust, the debris and the soot in a tireless effort to save someone. In the end, the man and dog found no one. And, in the end, death found Jimmy. "He breathed in so much of that bad air," said Dee Dee Hurlburt, David's mother and partner in the family's security business. "He developed respiratory problems about a month after the Ground Zero search." Jimmy's health gradually deteriorated. The breathing problems took a toll on his good heart until it gave out in the dark hours yesterday morning. "Thursday afternoon, I sat with him," said Dee, who takes care of the four dogs that form the backbone of their business. "I told him, 'You don't feel so well, do you, Honey.' I brushed him, and we talked for awhile." He was the best of their dogs, said David. At Ground Zero, he would nudge David on, even in the face of such defeat. "He tried so hard," said Dee. "He never gave up. David had to carry him out of the rubble to get him to leave." Yesterday, David carried his best friend's body away for the last time.

October 21, 2001
They were ready for rescue, not disappointment
   By Beth Quinn -The Times Herald-Record
Jimmy paced in his kennel as he watched David load the Hummer. Ice. Ropes. Respirators. First-aid kits. Boots. Dog food. Jimmy knew. He knew they were going to work.
   "Semmot! Kereshed! Semmot! Kereshed!"
   David said the Hungarian commands over and over to his 8-year-old search-and-rescue dog to prepare him for the job ahead. It is the language Jimmy learned as a pup in Budapest, before coming to David when he was a year old. "Rescue! Bark! Rescue! Bark!" It is shorthand for "Find someone who is still alive! Bark to tell me where!" Jimmy paced. It would be like before. Like the time he and David went to Oklahoma City to find the person who was still alive. To bark so David knew where to dig. Jimmy found the person. Many persons! He barked many times. "Nana la kausch! Nana la kausch!" David would say it, over and over. "Good boy! Good boy!" Jimmy stood by as his 32-year-old master, David Vitalli, said goodbye to his family at their Town of Newburgh home and the three other shepherds who would stay behind. Then Jimmy settled into his car cage as David drove the Hummer out of the driveway onto Union Avenue and headed south. They were going to New York City. They were going to Semmot! Kereshed! It was Sept. 11 at 7 p.m. They would be there by 8. Troop T of the state police had cleared the way for David and Jimmy, and for the thousands of other volunteer rescue workers pouring into the city to find, to save, to bark. For three weeks, the German shepherd would work, strapped to David's torso. For three weeks the dog would sniff and the man would dig with his bare hands. For three weeks they would go into holes where there was something, something! Could it be someone alive! Man and dog would push themselves, trying, trying. But in the end, there would be no nana la kausch. There would only be exhaustion and collapse and the salty tears on David's face for Jimmy to lick away. Jimmy is one of four search-and-rescue shepherds that David Vitalli uses in the operation of Vortek Corp., his Newburgh based security business, which provides guards for hire. But David and the dogs also help police agencies. They search for missing persons. The dogs sniff for bombs. They smell out drugs. But the World Trade Center wasn't business. This was volunteer work. David could help. And he knew that Jimmy was the most indefatigable worker. If there was a live person to be found, Jimmy would do it. He was trained for such jobs with the use of pseudo scents, made for such purpose. In New York City, he was to smell for the scent of distress. It's the odor of a chemical the body gives off in a high-stress or trauma situation.

award given to K-9s who worked against terrorism 9/11/01

That's what Jimmy seeks when David gives the rescue command. But when David and Jimmy arrived at Ground Zero, it was another smell that overwhelmed the shepherd: the smell of death. His nose was in chaos – the scent of distress from rescue workers competed with the scent of corpses. All this, on top of the fire smell he'd noticed way up town, as far north as the Harlem River Drive. He'd begun walking in circles in his cage, his nose in the air. What was this that David was bringing him to? David parked near Ground Zero, but it would be several hours before Jimmy was let out of the Hummer. The earth was too hot. Days later, the heat would still burn Jimmy's pads and would cause David's boots to melt to his feet. The broken glass and twisted metal were everywhere. Fire erupted from this hole, that hole. Piles of rubble collapsed without warning. Jimmy had no boots to protect his feet. His shaggy coat would catch fire too easily. He would have to wait until 2 a.m. Wednesday before David let him out of the Hummer to begin his job. But how to smell through all the debris in the air, the powdered concrete, the smoke, the dust? The dog and man stood in total darkness, in two feet of ash, of broken bits of things. Broken bits of bodies. David attached his dog's leash to a harness around his own chest. Dog and man were tethered together. The dog's ID is tattooed in his ear. He wears a metal tag on his collar. David wrote his own name and Social Security number on his arms, his calves, the front and back of his torso. Dogs don't care what happens to themselves when they're on a search mission. And Jimmy was on a mission. He didn't notice the cuts on his feet, the singed fur, the stinging eyes, the fires, the hoses, the sounds. So many dogs, so many men and women searching, searching. More than 1,100 dogs by one estimate. Labs, poodles, beagles, mutts, shepherds, rottweilers. The handlers took their dogs off the "bark" command. It was too chaotic. There was too much reason to bark. The scents of stress and death were everywhere. Instead, Jimmy just stopped and stood still when he came upon a scent. Every few feet, he stopped. Then David would go down, into a hole, to check. Is it? Is it? Body parts were sent out by the bucket brigade, who sifted through the debris – millions of tons of debris – with their hands, looking for something that could be identified as a child's father, a man's wife, a son, a daughter. The people with posters lined the site, just beyond the yellow tape. Time and again, David took his dog out of the debris to the street for a break, a sense of normal. But there was no normal. "Have you seen this person?" they asked David. My daughter wears an ankle bracelet, she has a barrette in her hair, my son has a red stone in his ring. Take this picture of him. Take my phone number. Call. Please call. David's pockets bulged with their posters, their pieces of paper. "Can I hug your dog? Can I pet your dog? I love him. Thank you, thank you for looking." On one of the days – who knows which one? – a little girl, no more than 6, wrapped her arms around Jimmy's neck. "Is your dog looking for my daddy?" she asked David. "Yeah, honey." "Will you come to the party we're going to have when you find my daddy? Will you bring your dog to the party?" Oh, God. The water brought into the site for the rescuers was often lukewarm, but the people behind the yellow tape made sure the dogs had cold water. Jimmy lapped their offerings, poured into David's respirator mask for the dog to drink from. "Thank you, dog, thank you." Veterinarians walked through the crowd of rescuers carrying oxygen, asthma pumps, IVs, gauze, sutures. Some dogs died, David heard. He doesn't know for sure. Booties were distributed for the dogs, sent down from a company in Canada. Leather to protect the feet, Velcro to hold them on. Jimmy wore them for a 12-hour shift – which one? which day? which night? – but the wet metal was slippery. He lost his footing, slid in the ruins. David removed them and Jimmy went back to work on his naked, sore, blistered feet. As the days wore on, the dogs grew depressed. They weren't finding, rescuing, barking. The living person is their goal, and it is also their reward. Jimmy was failing, failing. He was not nana la kausch. He was bad. Still, he nudged David back when they went out for a break. Try more. Try harder. The dog pushed himself to the point of collapse. David carried him out of the rubble to rest in the Hummer with the air conditioner on. Just a little fresh air. Just a little break. David heard that one of the dogs found a white pigeon alive in the rubble. The rescuers named the bird Hope, it was said. The man and the dog went back to work. Again. And again. And then they stopped. After three weeks, they stopped. Jimmy was sick. A growth on his back had gotten worse. The vet wanted to remove it, to test it. David knows the results. He isn't talking about it. But Jimmy knows. He knows his final mission was a failure. He didn't find. He didn't bark. He wasn't nana la kausch. And it is Jimmy's daughter, 2-year-old Nieka, who will be with David the next time he loads the Hummer and says, over and over, Semmot! Kereshed! Jimmy rests his head on his paws as he looks mournfully through the bars of his kennel door. His work is not entirely ended just yet. His David needs the tears licked away from his face once again.

Loosing Jimmy was as hard to me as if I was loosing a member of my family, though he really was a part of my family. No matter how large the task, or the type job we where on he was always ready to go. Even though I saw he health going at "Ground Zero" he wanted to keep searching. He did not want to stop. Many times he kept me going even with entering Hell as I saw it. I hope and pray that the poem on the back of the card is true. That some day I will see my best friend again.
Thank you again and God Bless.
David Vitalli, handler

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