Tag Archives: German Shepherd Dog

Super cool!!!!!!!

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Rosalie wants to join the WPD Vice Squad – for reasons other than crime-busting!

By Rosalie Tirella

I tell ya, this past week’s drug bust in the house next door to mine, in Worcester’s lower Vernon Hill neighborhood, was a blast! Not a bust! But a blast! All we gawkers/rubberneckers who watched the 15, maybe more, super cops converge on 48 1/2 Ward St. early one pretty spring morning quickly got sucked into the cool cool show and realized the Worcester Police Department Vice Squad and the Mass State Police vice crew are da bomb. Creme de la creme. A #1. Top of the pops. The BEST – ever. Super-Fly-Shaft-Popeye-Doyle deelish! The stuff of early Sly Stallone movies!

Cocky, happy warriors cuz they know they’re the good guys who are out to defeat the bad guys – the whore masters, drug pushers, machine-gun-packing post-pubescent pukes who destroy lives, families and (mostly) our Worcester inner-city neighborhooods.

The kind of men and women (EMTs and fire fighters included!) who pulled America through 9/11.

Trust me: They are worth every cent we taxpayers – mostly cowardly, out-of-shape losers who love to grouse about squandered dough tumbling down the fed/municipal government rabbit hole – pay them.

They’re our inner-city heroes! Never forget that!

You always read about the bad seed – the trigger-happy cop suffering from PTSD. You seldom read about the rest of the troops, the mostly good guys, who are in peak physical and mental shape. Agile of mind and body. The guys who enjoy the freedom and excitement of their jobs, the camaraderie of the investigation – and the raid.

The adreneline junkies!

Out to apprehend the junky junkies!

Like the Worcester vice squad cops who were outside my house a few days ago… They looked so freakin’ AMAZING in their basic tee shirts and jeans, their uniform of the streets. Their clothes fell so beautifully on their bodies because their bodies were beautiful – not an ounce of fat anywhere I could see – hard, sculpted muscles that were worked at and on in THE GYM. EVERY DAY.

Six pack abs, bulging pecs and biceps. Spring in their steps. Shaven heads, too. The guns they wore on the waistbands of their jeans were compact, hard-edged, stream-lined – just like they were. Everything about these guys was urban tough. Cuz they know what they’re up against.

Swoon …

I’ve seen these vice squad guys (and gals) and their German Shepherd and Belgian Shepherd drug-sniffing dogs do their work before, usually in our inner city, where poverty, despair, anger, depression, ignorance, emotional, sexual and physical abuse and exploitation of every stripe come together in relentless waves of bad luck and bad happenings.

Most people here never catch a break. They hurt and hurt … and kill each other mindlessly, pointlessly …

You drive through places like my Worcester neigborhood and witness the drug houses, dumped garbage, unemployed young men, obscenity-laced shouting matches playing out in the streets, the condemned buildings, abandoned property, undernourished little kids and feel … oppressed.

There’s beautiful stuff here, too – don’t get me wrong. I live on Ward Street for the beautiful stuff … like the poor parents who dress their little kids up so cute and adorable – transcending the badness … the kids who walk the family chihuahua after coming home from elementary school, in the ugly concrete parking lot, yet they look so happy as they trot alongside their feisty wee pet … The retired lady who picks up the trash strewn on the sidewalk, outside her front door. … My awesome 90-year-old apartment with its high ceilings, solid, heavy dining room doors that come together to slide shut, the original 90-year-old woodwork that is stained dark brown and looks so lovely against my creamy walls. I look out my top floor window at night and see the city lights twinkling like millions of little white flowers cast out onto a deep purple sea. I remember my late mom who grew up near by and her goodness enfolds me like the purple night enfolds the white city flowers …

Back to singing the praises of the Woo PD vice squad!

I’ve seen their Belgian shepherd dog go through a car on Canterbury Street sniffing for drugs. Nothing languid about that dog! A model of tough, lean, intrepid, single-minded thoroughness. With just the slightest prompt from his lean, cool cop handler the dog jumps into the car’s trunk to run his nose over every square millimeter of trunk space. Then jumping out of the trunk, always on lead, he leaps into the back seat sniffing wildly, then lithe paws straddle the front seat sniffing madly – then onto the dashboard. Finally, the car hood is popped open and the dog – smaller and more agile than a German Shepherd dog with an edgier temperment – crawls on top of (the now cold) engine! And he is losing himself in the car’s innards. To get at the drugs. This all happened in around five minutes.

Back to the raid next door to my place! Like I said, watching the Worcester PD Vice Squad or any of the cops and state police who pursue drug dealers and other vice is like watching a big budget cop movie in the cineplex. Only it’s happening in real life, real time, yards away from you!

I watched the show on Ward Street a few days ago: the cops opening up a drug dealer’s car and pulling stuff out of it. Paper work. Floor mats. Clip boards. Some of the guys were taking gulps from their bottled water. All were talking loudly, boisterously. The hood was theirs! The arrests had been made earlier, at a different drug house. There were several houses involved located in two states – there were a bunch of young men involved – all, sadly, in their mid-20s. Thousands of dollars in cash were recovered – and a machine gun, too! (thank you, NRA!) But no one had been hurt. The guns, heroin, cocaine, drug dealers are now gone! Poof! Out of my Ward Street neighborhood! Just like in the movies! (Or, some of them are gone, at the very least)

Our urban cavalry road in and saved the Woo day! Women and children are now a little – maybe a lot – safer when we walk down Ward Street.

And I’ll always remember the playfulness in the voice of one vice squad cop who said good bye to the young lady who had been watching him do his job from HER apartment window: “See ya later, Sweetie!”

Swoon …

TWEAKED: A morning spent with a German Shepherd Dog …

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By Rosalie Tirella

… is a morning well-spent!

The Old Injun Fighter and I went down to look at the female German Shepherd Dog, “Queenie”  (the name would be dreadful if it didn’t remind me of the Chuck Berry song)  and to drive her to his house to see if she’d get along with his German Shepherd Dog, Spark. We got her and drove her by his house but we did not introduce the two ‘pups” to each other on Spark’s territory – the OIF’s lawn, backyard, driveway porch. It all happened in a parking lot (I insisited!) on Park Ave. THE OIF walked to his house to get his dog. I stayed with Queenie in the parking lot.

Quite a lot of tension (both dogs are so stubborn and strong-willed!) (both humans are so stubborn and strong-willed!)

Rose to the OIF: If he hurts her, I’ll fucking kill you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Finally, after 20 minutes of Rose-OIF bickering and my refusal to put the two big together (fear of a big fight – they are both alpha’s), the OIF – being a real man and not a nothing-burger like the WPI kid in the parking lot who said he’d help but when I tried to give him Queenie’s lead, just shook his head and jumped into his expensive car with his girlfriend and drove off, laughing, of course – got them together!

That’s why, no matter what, I adore the OIF: He would never act stupidly like the WPI kid, who was bigger and maybe stronger than the OIF. The OIF is always a man. So …

OIF to Rose: Give me the dog!

Rose: No!

OIF: Give me the dog!

Rose: No!

OIF: Give me the dog!

I did, and the OIF, holding one dog’s lead with one hand and the other dog’s lead with the other hand, put the two canines together.

I shut my eyes.

Then I opened them to see Queenie wagging her tail and trying to lick Spark’s snout!

The chemistry was there – not between me and the OIF – but between the Spark and Queenie!

The OIF smiled. I heaved a sigh of relief and went over to the OIF and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he offered to me quite seriously.

When it was time to take Queenie back (the OIF is picking her up for good on the weekend), the ride back to her foster home was celebratory.

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I fed her Jett’s treats (Jett stayed home) and a bit of bagel and some Dunkin Donut’s half and half creamer, which she daintily licked out of its teeny cup. A few minutes later she licked my face as I was driving. Thank you, Mommy! she was telling me. The OIF was in the passenger’s seat, now complaining about one of his carpentry jobs and the human race in general (his way of being happy!). I chimed in with my opinions – and it was like old times: me, the OIF and a happy dog in the back seat of a vehicle! We both know we rescued a big, kinda sad GSD that has needed a forever home (for about a year).

These dogs look tough and big but they aren’t weapons! When I babysit Queenie, I am treating her like I treat Jett! Car rides, walks in parks, meeting half of Worcester. I took her to the Broadway Restaurant on Water Street (the OIF was fuming!!) to show her to owner Billy (a dog aficionado). He wasn’t around, so Queenie met the waitresses!

The OIF to Rose: I’m gonna need a tranquilizer!

Rose: BE HAPPY! THIS IS A GOOD DAY!!!!! She’ll love The Broadway!!!

Queenie savored the jaunt, the treats – her special day. She napped in the back seat … I got wicked attached to her and said to the OIF: I WANT HER!

But “Queenie” is the OIF”s dog now. Her life is with him – and will be “serious,” as he is a serious/tough (but good) guy. Queenie will not be driving around with him to job estimates or to the grocery store to pick up milk or maybe even to parks to romp (the way she would if I were her owner). But she will be fed great very expensive dog food, get excellent vet care, enjoy two good walks a day, and receive “serious”/low key affection from the OIF. She will stay at home, with Spark, “guarding” the Old Injun Fighter’s house. A working dog. Sigh … But not too bad a life …

I love you, Little Queenie! I will miss you, girl!!!

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