Chapter 1
1) Götterdämmerung, or the Ride of the Valkyries, or simply: How I Went to the Dogs.
There are sentences that change your life. For me, it wasn’t a marriage proposal, but the final verdict of my construction boss: “You’re not getting more than ten euros an hour. The Polish workers don’t get more either.” Boom. Welcome to the economic dead end. My bank account just shook its head in exhaustion at the mere thought of master craftsman or technical school. So, what do you do when you’re too old for the real police, too out of shape, and visually nowhere near a fitness magazine? You start your own one-man special forces unit. Since working with dogs had always been my dream, I traded the bricklayer’s trowel for a leash. I went into private security. Today, I am a dog handler. Modern term: K9. In reality: a dachshund pusher or Land Shark Pilot.
So there I stood. My first job: patrolling an industrial estate with a car and a dog. Problem number one: the dog. At the time, I only owned a Jack Russell. Eight and a half kilos of concentrated madness. He had the heart of a lion and had even been successfully involved in a pub brawl with me once, but due to his stature, he was anatomically more into ankles and calves. For duty, he simply lacked the biological threat potential. So, without further ado, I borrowed reinforcement from my relatives: Stela. A Boxer-Bouvier crossbreed. Large, massive, visually absolutely imposing – though character-wise miles away from the lion’s heart of my Jack Russell. Never mind. We went on patrol, and I was bursting with pride. Translated in hindsight: I was wet behind the ears and didn’t have a clue.
My very first deployment wasn’t long in coming. It was a stormy, rainy night with a proper thunderstorm. Perfect Hollywood weather. I was patrolling an industrial warehouse, partly in the car, partly on foot with Stela on the leash. Suddenly, I froze: at the loading dock, an exterior door was hanging completely crooked and pried out of its frame. Instantly, the adrenaline shot right up to the tip of my nose. Don’t make any mistakes now! Ringing my boss out of bed and calling emergency services felt like they happened simultaneously and in absolute record time. Less than five minutes later, all hell broke loose – or rather, the company gates did. Three patrol cars rounded the corner with screeching tires. In the glare of the flashing blue lights, whipping rain, and rolling thunder, I gave the officers my report. I was no longer on a dull industrial estate in the middle of nowhere. I was right in the middle of an episode of CSI: Miami. Live. When the police officers then asked me to lead the way with Stela and secure the break-in site, my happiness was complete. Everyone kept a respectful distance from my borrowed K9 special forces unit, visibly impressed by her stature. I almost exploded with pride. The formation was set: me at the very front with the beast, behind me fanned out in a tactical wedge formation the authorities with drawn flashlights. All backed by the strobe effect of the blue lights. Arriving at the alleged break-in site, an officer cautiously edged past me. With his flashlight drawn, he examined the demolished door. In my mind, Stela and I were already deep inside the dark warehouse, catching the Eastern European gang of burglars all by ourselves, and collecting the praises of the police chief. I dropped slightly into my knees, tightened the leash, and whispered: “Stela, watch out!” The officer pushed the broken door open, stepped resolutely through, and disappeared into the darkness. I held my breath.
Exactly three seconds later, the officer reappeared. However, not inside the warehouse. But five meters further to the left. Outside. At the end of the building. It was an exterior door. It didn’t lead into the warehouse, but simply onto the completely open, freely accessible part of the loading dock. The door was just broken. And I had triggered the biggest police operation of the month because of a crooked weather shield.
My boss and the police officers involved are probably still laughing about it today. I stood there in the pouring rain, the adrenaline evaporating by the second, and my painstakingly built Hollywood ego instantly shrank to the size of my eight-and-a-half-kilo Jack Russell. At least the response time of the squad was excellent. And Stela had survived the entire operation completely relaxed. Welcome to the everyday life of a dachshund pusher or Land Shark Pilot.
