Mush! Huskies hit the trail
Even when this 10in blade was plunged into his side by a violent thug, police dog Finn refused to let go. Here his handler tells the full dramatic story – and of the battle it’s started to get heroic animals the justice they deserve
PUPS Delta and Echo, above, were among hundreds of huskies from all over the UK who ventured to the Highlands yesterday for the biggest event in the British dog-racing calendar.
Sled dogs of all different breeds, shapes and sizes took part in the event as the Siberian Husky Club of Britain celebrated its 35th annual Sled Dog Rally in Aviemore.
Teams of between two and eight dogs are challenged to pull their ‘musher’ – or driver – on a sled around the picturesque forest trails of Loch Morlich. Despite the recent snow being washed away by heavy rain, the race still went ahead, with teams using special wheeled vehicles. There are two kids’ classes and eight adult classes so ‘mushers’ of all ages – even children as young as eight – can take part in the annual event.
THE target ran full pelt from the alley. Was this the suspected armed robber? ‘Police!’ I yelled. ‘Stop!’ He ignored me – but my eight-year-old German shepherd Finn now had him in his sights, a young man, slim and athletic with his right arm hanging oddly, as he was holding something that looked like a police baton. He was armed.
‘Police officer with a dog! Stop or I’ll send the dog!’ Again my warning was ignored. I let Finn go. As the man tried to scramble over a fence, Finn took hold of his lower leg in his mouth and pulled until he was face-down on the grass.
Suddenly the man flipped on to his back. I took hold of Finn’s collar and told him: ‘You need to listen to me. You need to stop fighting my dog.’
Immediately, something caught my eye – a massive piece of dark metal which he appeared to be pulling from Finn’s chest, covered in blood. It was a knife, ridiculously huge like a hunting knife, the blade at least 10in long.
‘You’ve just stabbed my dog!’ I gasped. ‘You piece of s***!’
Now the man lunged at me. I had no time to react, but Finn did. He tugged harder on the man’s leg, shaking it violently. All the suspect managed to do was slice open Finn’s head – and, as my hand was close by, he sliced that open, too.
Still Finn refused to let go, pulling on the man’s leg as I lifted the suspect before slamming him back on to the ground. I had to do it again before he dropped the knife.
When back-up arrived, I finally told Finn to let go. His belly fur was slick with blood. My first thought was to check him over. I lifted his leg and heard the blood-curdling noise of air being sucked into his body through a hole that shouldn’t be there. Blood was pouring out of him, all over my hands and trousers. Was my brave boy dying before my eyes?
FINN and I had been partners at Hertfordshire Constabulary for seven years. During that time, he’d tracked more than 200 people: murderers and rapists, burglars and missing persons, car thieves and assault suspects.
Finn was just nine months old when I picked him up from his foster family. He was by far the naughtiest puppy they had ever fostered, destroying eight pairs of slippers, one rug, one chair leg and one dog-training bite sleeve in the space of seven months.
When I collected him one Friday in January 2010, it felt like all my Christmases had come at once. I was a 32-year-old father-of-two, yet I felt like a kid in a sweet shop.
We would come to forge the closest of human-canine relationships. When my colleagues weren’t looking, I was down on the floor with my new mate, having my face licked, my ear chewed, my pockets raided, my arms clamped and munched on, my heart melting.
Of 32 police dogs on our force he topped the league table for arrests in three out of seven years. It was his phenomenal tracking that really marked him out. He once picked up a scent that was two hours old and managed to follow it to find a woman with dementia who had wandered from her care home.
We had been doing a spot of training in the early hours of October 5, 2016, when the radio crackled, alerting us to the armed robbery of a Stevenage taxi driver.
First I checked out the location. Then I ran back to the van, where Finn was spinning in his cage in excitement to be released. He had studied my body language. I didn’t need to say a single word.
Now he was dying before my eyes. I scooped Finn up in my arms and ran back to my van.
Luckily the nearest 24-hour vet was only a couple of miles away. ‘Has he lost very much blood?’ one vet asked as I carried Finn inside. His breaths were fast and shallow as, with his chest full of air, his lungs wouldn’t inflate.
Every time we moved him, more air whooshed into his chest. Davies Veterinary Specialists, one of the few centres that had the facilities Finn urgently needed, were based in Higham Gobion, a 20-minute drive away. It was almost 4am when a police van arrived to take us there.
Despite or because of the morphine, Finn became agitated. To keep him calm I tickled his ear and whispered soothing things. The 20-minute drive felt like a lifetime.
Once we arrived, the team set about immobilising him, ensuring he had sufficient oxygen and morphine, and fitting a mechanical chest drain. Luckily it seemed the injury was confined to Finn’s lung.
‘But there’s nothing further you can do for him now, Dave,’ said Ronan, the senior vet. ‘Get your own injuries properly seen to, then go home and get some rest.’
Leaving Finn broke my heart. ‘You can do this,’ I whispered, crying into his fur. He responded with a weak wag of his tail. ‘Please save my boy,’ I pleaded with Ronan. ‘He saved my life.’
I had a vision of the knife, that flash of metal as it slid out of Finn’s chest, then another flash as the suspect lunged a second time, aiming for my upper body, and Finn moving to protect me.
At the hospital, I told my wife Gemma of Finn’s condition and she burst into tears, too. Finn had suffered a punctured lung and needed emergency surgery. There was no guarantee he would survive.
It was past 3pm when we got the news he was out of surgery. Surgeon Rob Adams, who had taken over Finn’s care, said the knife had missed his heart: ‘He really is the luckiest unlucky dog in the world.’
When I was finally allowed to see him, linked up to all sorts of machines and breathing aids, I was shocked. All I could see was my big, brave boy so horribly diminished. But as news spread, there were messages of support from all over the world.
When I next saw Finn, he started squeaking and wagging his tail as hard as his body would let him. A couple of days after he came home, I posted a picture of him asleep by the fireplace, showing his shaved torso and his enormous scar.
IT launched a campaign for Finn’s Law, to punish those who harm service animals. After 130,000 signatures on an online petititon, MPs agreed the current law needs reviewed. The young man who attacked Finn was found guilty but sentenced to only four months for the assault on me, possession of the knife and of a gas-powered pellet gun.
He received no penalty whatsoever for what he did to Finn. How could that be?
We’re a nation of animal-lovers. We should do more. I really hope we don’t have to wait for another attack on one of these courageous animals before something happens. Before we finally have Finn’s Law.
Fabulous Finn: The Brave Police Dog Who Was Stabbed And Came Back From The Brink, by Dave Wardell with Lynne Barrett-Lee, is published by Quercus on February 8 at £16.99. Offer price £13.59 until Feb 4. Pre-order at mailshop.co.uk/ books or call 0844 571 0640 – p&p is free on orders over £15.