K9 Keeps Barking at Hay Bales… Officer Turns Pale When He Cuts One Open

Ryan unclipped his shoulder mic and turned his back for a moment, striding toward the patrol car to radio dispatch for immediate backup. "Dispatch, Unit 4, I need secondary units at mile marker 42. High-value contraband concealment." Behind him, the sound of the pickup truck’s engine starting cut through the dust.

Carl had dislocated his left wrist, slipping his hand free from the steel cuff. He scrambled to his feet, sprinted to the pickup, slammed the door, and stomped the gas. Gravel sprayed everywhere as the truck tore back onto Highway 80. Ryan turned around in shock. "No, no, no!"

Above the roaring engine, Duke was still standing on top of the violently swaying, top-heavy load of hay. The truck lurched wildly back into traffic, the loose bales shifting dangerously over the pavement. If the trailer flipped or Duke fell at fifty miles an hour, the dog would be killed instantly.