The Dogs Who Would Be King

The El Cerrito Police Department has a new recruit. Officer King has been hailed as our city's first official police dog and definitely has earned his badge with the arrest of a suspected felon this past February. Congratulations to Officer King and his human handler, Officer Leone. Well done!

El Cerrito has had a long history of "reserve officers" in its canine corps. To be more accurate, the city has had a long history of dogs who wanted to be employed as police officers but were never official cops like Officer King. These dogs simply volunteered their services, with varying degrees of success.  

During the 1950s, "Duke" spent many afternoons helping to patrol with the local police. He was owned by the Scharetg family, our neighbors. The head of the family, John Scharetg, eventually became the principal of Portola Middle School. I like to believe that it was Duke who trained Mr. Scharetg in the delicate art of managing young teenagers. 

Duke chased speeding cars down Colusa Avenue right along with the motorcycle police. Duke patrolled the high school grounds every afternoon. Although his arrest record never became public, he certainly got the attention of those who might have been considering carving initials in the grove of trees in the meadow behind his house. You might say that Duke left his mark.

The boxer-mix was much loved by the neighborhood kids who took John Scharetg's tennis lessons on a summer afternoon. Duke was excellent at retrieving tennis balls from the bushes near Mr. Mahan's house. (Mr. Mahan was the Dean of Boys and one did not want to incur his wrath by flattening his bamboo bushes.)

Duke helped put together the ECHS homecoming floats on Colusa Ave, and was diligent in guarding them overnight from the raids of rival high schools. No Richmond Oiler would have dared disrespect Duke. Berkeley's Yellow Jackets stayed far away. Only St. Mary's students stood a prayer, but they too, were unsuccessful. Duke was a formidable opponent when crossed.

By the '80s and '90s, other forces were at play along Colusa Ave. Dogs were seldom left unleashed in front yards. Cats had taken over the watch, but with limited success. Cats called Bootsy, Benny, Alfonso Begoya and Rupert Crittenden were no match for miscreant human behavior. (The last feline mentioned was named after a grey-haired Berkeley judge but to no avail.) Scofflaws remained undeterred from their acts of petty larceny. The cats may have acted as their lookouts.

Our vehicle was stolen from in front of our house as we prepared to leave for work one day. The car was eventually found in Berkeley but Rupert-the-cat played no part in its recovery. It is rumored that Rupert buried the evidence.

Mrs. Sooter, living next door, had her patio furniture stolen from her porch. Mr. Green, across the street, had his American flag shredded by a grazing deer herd. Some folks thought that humans had torn the flag down in an act of civil disobedience, but it was concluded that humans don't leave tiny poop pellets on the lawn.

These were minor events, but irritatingly frequent. We called the police when dark "fingerprints" appeared all over our bathroom, one evening. The culprit turned out to be a small bird who had flown down our sooty chimney and was trying to escape.

One could not call the police department every time a shadow passed through the back yard. Peace of mind and tranquility in the neighborhood required some sort of solution.

"You need a dog," said my friend Vicki, a San Francisco police officer.

"Dogs put a dent in petty crime."

Moses, her Rottweiler, lived with us briefly. Moses was a great dog, elderly but somewhat deaf. No one burglarized our little house, threw trash in front of it, or considered borrowing our car. 

Moses was efficient and thorough; my father came to visit once, but left in a hurry. Moses had the parting sally. (Vicki was able to place him in a somewhat larger home in San Francisco shortly after this incident. He lived to a ripe old age.)

"You need a smaller dog. Kind of a cross between a Dachshund, a Dalmatian and a Rottweiler. She'd better be small, smart, fast and formidable."

Samantha Francesca joined out household. Vicki approved her placement with us and helped provide transportation from San Francisco to her new home in El Cerrito. Restraints were necessary, but Sam adapted rapidly once released into our yard.   

A Canine Heritage DNA test confirmed Sam's origin. Her DNA suggested that she was a Dachshund /Dalmatian /Rottweiler mix which bundled into twenty pounds of black furry energy. No car thieves, burglars, or scofflaws ever messed with her. She was one feisty lady. Colusa Avenue, or at least our block of Colusa Avenue, became off-limits to criminal activity.

All good things come to an end, however. One summer afternoon, eleven years after Sam joined our household, she was gone. Even as an older dog who was blind and diabetic, she had served the household well. No petty crime had happened on our block during her tenure.

Smiley was yet another matter. He was born to serve. Like Richmond's Chief of Police, Chris Magnus, Smiley came from North Dakota. And like Chief Magnus, Smiley's intelligence and negotiating skills were important enough to have his name placed on the top of the A list. He was provisionally hired.

Smiley was flown as a VIP with Northwestern Airlines to El Cerrito. He passed his interview with flying colors and was installed into his new position as "Commander of the Colusa Watch" that very evening. Once again, the avenue would be safe from petty crime.

Unfortunately, no one had thought to do a background check on Smiley. His pedigree was flawless, his upbringing impeccable. His manners were perfect, and he was both orderly and neat. But, in one important respect, Smiley differed from his fellow countryman.

Smiley was a thief.

Smiley grabbed dollar bills from pockets. He ate donuts left on the bench by Fat Apple's restaurant. He was caught (or so we imagined) using an Alaska Airlines credit card to order twenty cases of smoked pig-ears from a farm near Hague, North Dakota.

In preparation for obedience school, we planned to have Smiley take a LiveScan at the police department. No noseprint was taken but Smiley's business-end was sent (live) to the US Department of Justice.

Well almost. But it's not really possible to exaggerate about Smiley's impact on our neighborhood.

The little pooch organized all of the local dogs into a canine confraternity. A network of local quadripeds conveyed information to each other on their daily walks. Dogs left their current material near the gate to our backyard. It was a success and Smiley was pleased with his organizational efforts to form a dog team.

Order would be restored to Colusa Avenue! Smiley, the Dogfather, was in charge!

The dogs made their daily rounds. Tinker to Evers to Chance, as it were.

Smiley spoke to J.O. who then spoke with Olive. Olive mentioned the info to Stanley in passing. Stanley contacted Rosie. And when Rosie completed her twice daily patrol, well, petty crime was almost nonexistent on Colusa Avenue. 

Duke, the dog from the 1950s would have been proud of the new recruits. He could have recognized their ability to worry the bone. He'd know that in each and every local yard, patch by patch, his old neighborhood was safe.

And the future? Well, Smiley's nephew, Emmett waits in reserve. Emmett's forte is a banshee bark that would wake the dead at Sunset Cemetery. (He tests his forceful scream periodically, rather like the weekly testing of the local disaster sirens. )

Hopefully, the canine reserve officers of El Cerrito will never have to act in unison. But they are ready to be unleashed should the situation require drastic action. King just needs to sound the call for reserve back-up and the pack will respond.

Officer King will never walk alone.

And that's the doggone truth.

Welcome to our town, King!