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EXCLUSIVE from The Atlantic: Kash Patel’s security detail had difficulty waking him up on multiple occasions because he was seemingly “intoxicated,”according to DOJ and White House officials. Things had gotten so bad at one point that coworkers request requested “breaching equipment” to try and bust down his door because...

139,267 views • 5 months ago •via X (Twitter)

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The vet had been honest with the Hollands. Baxter didn't have much time left, and the kindest thing they could do now was make whatever he had left count. So on a warm Saturday in June , instead of a normal quiet day at home, they loaded the old Bernese into the back of the van and drove him two hours to the coast. Baxter had never seen the ocean. He was 13, and his whole life had been the backyard and the same worn spot on the living room rug. The kids wanted him to see something big before he went. He moved slow getting out of the van. His back legs weren't what they used to be, and the boys had to help him down onto the sand. For a second he just stood there at the top of the beach, nose up, taking in all that salt air and open water like he couldn't quite believe it. Then something in him shifted. He started down toward the surf on his own, stiff and determined, the way he used to trot to the door when the kids came home from school. When the first cold wave washed over his paws, his whole face lit up. He didn't run, he couldn't, but he waded in up to his chest and stood in the shallow water with the sun going down behind him, and the whole family just watched. Nobody said much. They didn't need to. They stayed until the light was almost gone, taking pictures, letting Baxter rest against their legs, giving him one perfect afternoon to hold onto. The vet was right about the time. Baxter left them a few weeks later, at home, surrounded by the people who loved him. But he saw the ocean first. And every one of them is glad they gave him that.

Gabriele Corno

119,678 views • 2 months ago

A dog waits for you all its life. Cooper had been sleeping by the front door for weeks, and nobody in the house had the heart to move him. Every time a car slowed down outside, his ears came up. Every time someone walked up the sidewalk, he stood and waited like this might finally be the person he had been missing. Emma had been gone longer than anyone expected. Her parents told the neighbors she was doing better, because that was easier than explaining every hospital night, every test, and every morning when the house felt strange without her voice in it. Cooper didn't understand the words, but he understood that her room was empty and her backpack still smelled like her. Her mom played videos of Emma once or twice, thinking it might comfort him. Cooper would hear her laugh through the phone, tilt his head, and then hurry toward the stairs. After a few seconds, he'd come back confused and lie down near the door again. That afternoon, Emma's mom pulled into the driveway and helped her up the front steps. Emma still looked tired, and her bag hung a little heavy on her shoulder, but she was smiling before the door was even all the way open. Cooper froze. He stood in the hallway staring at her, tail moving slowly at first, like his body was waiting for his heart to catch up. Emma covered her mouth and started laughing through tears. "Oh, I missed you so much, Cooper." The sound of her voice did it. Cooper ran straight to her, paws sliding a little on the floor, then jumped up into her arms like he had been saving every bit of love for that one second. Emma caught him around the neck and held on, crying harder when he pressed his face against her shoulder and made that little whining sound dogs make when they're too happy to stay quiet. Her mom stayed by the door and let them have the moment. Cooper kept his paws on Emma's shoulders, his tail hitting the wall behind him, while she buried her face in his fur and whispered his name again. He didn't need to know where she had been or why everyone had been so worried. The only thing that mattered was that the door finally opened, and this time, Emma was standing there. Has your dog ever waited for someone like they knew they were coming home?

Gabriele Corno

31,835 views • 27 days ago

"I'm a K9 officer in central Ohio. Five years ago I drove down to the training facility to pick out my dog from a litter of twelve German Shepherd puppies. By the time I got there, eleven had already been claimed by other officers. The one left was the smallest. Nobody had wanted him. I took him home anyway. Last spring, that dog dragged me 47 feet across the asphalt of a gas station parking lot with three rounds in my vest, and bit a man who was walking up with a handgun to finish what he had started. I'm alive because of the runt of the litter. I'm Officer Brennan Vasiliev. I'm 38 years old. I'm with the Franklin County Sheriff's Office in central Ohio. I've been a deputy for 13 years. I've been in the K9 unit for the last six. I want to tell you about how I ended up with Hero. In April of 2020, our department was rotating two new K9 officers into our existing unit. I had finally moved up the waiting list after four years of trying. I had been a patrol deputy with a clean record, an above-average pistol score, and the kind of dog-handling background — I had grown up on a working farm in southeast Ohio with two working dogs my whole childhood — that made me a reasonable candidate. I was the junior of the two new K9 handlers. The other handler, a senior deputy named Sergeant Marcus Holloway who had been with the unit before and was returning after taking time off to recover from a back injury, had first pick. The selection day was on a Tuesday in late April of 2020. We drove down to a working-line German Shepherd breeder in southern Ohio called Riverstone Kennels, run by a woman named Petra Linde who has been training and supplying police K9s for 26 years. The litter she had for us was twelve puppies. Eight weeks old. Working-line stock, bred from imported European parents. All twelve had been pre-tested for trainability, drive, nerve, and structure by Petra and our department's training officer over the previous two weeks. Eleven puppies had been picked already by handlers from other departments who had come through over the previous week. When Sergeant Holloway and I arrived, one puppy remained. He was in a small grass-fenced play area by himself. The other puppies of his litter had all been collected and prepared for transport to their new departments. He was alone in the play yard. He was the smallest of the litter. Petra told us he had weighed in at the bottom of the litter every week of his life. He had been the last one to nurse. He had been the last one to walk. He had passed his trainability tests — Petra would not have offered him to a police department if he hadn't — but he had passed them at the bottom of the curve. He was eight weeks old. He weighed about eleven pounds. He had oversized paws and ears that were just starting to stand up. He had the standard black-and-tan coloring of a working-line Shepherd, with one small white spot on the tip of his chest. Sergeant Holloway looked at the file Petra handed him. He looked at the puppy in the play yard. He looked at me. He said, "Vasiliev. You came up the waiting list. You take him. I'll wait for the next litter." I said, "Sarge. You have first pick. He's yours if you want him." Sergeant Holloway said, "Vasiliev. I have two herniated discs and I'm 49 years old. I need a dog with a build that's already developed. I'll wait two more months for Petra's June litter. You take this one. Take care of him." I walked into the play yard. The puppy was sitting in the grass with his back to me, watching a butterfly. I knelt down about six feet from him. He turned around. He stood up on his oversized paws. He walked right up to me and he sat down on top of my left boot. I want to tell you what happened next, what I named him on the drive home, and what he did five years later when three rounds came through my vest in a gas station parking lot in central Ohio."

Crazy Moments

79,185 views • 2 months ago