Police were forced to smash a car window to rescue a dog from scorching 115F (46C) temperatures in Sarasota, Florida.
Officers were called to a car park on University Parkway on Tuesday following reports of a dog locked inside a car.
A dog, appearing faint, was found inside with no trace of its owner. According to police, the temperature inside was 115F (46C).
Matthew Grochowski, an officer for the Sarasota Police Department, was filmed smashing the window of the car in body camera footage of the incident, shared to Facebook on Friday.
“It’s panting and and drooling all over the place”, the officer says in the footage.
“Oh my god he’s starting to go down, that’s not good,” another officer, from the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Office Animal Services, adds.
With the backing of Sgt Louis Buck, the officer was filmed striking a back window of the car, and smashed it on the third try, with glass falling to the floor.
“It’s OK buddy,” the officer tells the dog, which appeared to be a form of pit bull. “Come on, good boy.”
The dog was taken from the back of the car, and into an awaiting kennel by Sarasota animal services.
Following the incident, the Sarasota Police Department issued a warning for dog owners not to lock animals inside cars.
“Please don’t leave pets in hot cars,” said the post, “[and] always remember to look before you lock for pets, children and elderly loved ones.”
The owner of the dog was issued with two citations by Animal Services, who returned the dog.
The pet I’ll never forget: Ella the puppy threw up on me, snubbed me and after 10 years decided to love me
Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
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