Saying farewell to a beloved partner

On his last day, Scott Holmes took his partner Miro out for a cheeseburger and some ice cream.The old friends enjoyed their lunch before heading back to Holmes' house in Vermilion. Out in the backyard, family members stopped by to give their love. Even Diesel, the family's other dog, was there.The sun was shining.The pet bed was set up. Everything was ready.It was time to say goodbye.Dr. Janet Ranney, Miro's veterinarian, arrived, using her lunch hour to make a house call instead of waiting for Miro's appointment later that afternoon.He was going downhill faster than expected and Holmes didn't want him to suffer any longer than he should have to, he had explained when he called earlier.And so, while Holmes cradled the jet-black German shepherd in his arms, gently talking to keep him calm while Ranney injected the drugs to slowly ease him into death, Miro the retired police K-9 passed away Nov. 3.He would have been 12 years old Nov. 26.I made the mistake of offering my condolence to Holmes, a detective sergeant with the Vermilion Police Department, on the loss of his dog."My partner," he corrected me. "You're right. I'm sorry," I said.There's a bond between officers and animals that goes far beyond the workday or the boundaries of a paycheck."So many people have pets, and we love our pets, and they become family, but this is something only other K-9 handlers or search and rescue crews, or military handlers would know," he said. "It's really, really difficult to explain. Handlers know what you're talking about. I was with him more than I was with my family. He would go to work with me. He'd come home with me. Then you're put into positions, you know, stressful positions you wouldn't be put into with normal pets.""K-9 handlers don't call their dogs 'dogs,'" he said. "Out of respect for the dogs. They say 'This is my partner.' It's not just my dog."For years Holmes was the department's K-9 handler, first with Andy, a young dog that suffered a fatal accident during training in Sandusky in 2012. Andy died in his arms. It was considered a "line of duty" death, so area K-9 departments arrived in Vermilion and a small memorial service was held, befitting his stature.Then the department got Miro, who arrived at the Detroit airport in January 2013 in a big plastic crate from Germany. Holmes said he remembers going to pick him up, when Miro slipped his collar and darted into the dark hanger full of equipment, evading captors for 30 minutes or so.During the course of Miro's career, he made 10 apprehensions without having to bite anyone — his mere presence and barking was enough to convince suspects to surrender, avoiding injuries for both suspects and officers, police said.Miro was an invaluable asset to the department, trained to search out narcotics and in protecting officers and seeking out suspects alike, police said. K-9 units are very popular in the community, making public appearances and demonstrations and passing out cards to kids with the K-9's face, name and basic bio details. Handlers start considering retirement for K-9s at about eight years old, but Miro went a bit earlier, in 2020, because Holmes was looking to be promoted out of the K-9 spot and he wanted to make sure "Miro had enough life left to live out a good retirement."In Ohio, K-9 handlers are offered the first shot at buying the retired K-9 dogs for $1, in order to allow both dog and handler the option to continue that unique relationship. Holmes estimates that "99.9 percent of the time, that's what happens."You can't come to rely on someone that much and … just let go.Which brings us back to that afternoon of Nov. 3.When Holmes, looking at his best friend and partner, a member of his family, made the call and asked Dr. Ranney to come and help Miro leave this life."It's tremendous heartache but it's the price you pay, the contract you take out when you take ownership," he said. "It's the unwritten contract you sign when you take them on. If it doesn't happen naturally and you have to make that call it's almost impossible to make but you have to." Holmes tells me how, after it was all said and done, he called the local funeral home to come pick up Miro. He'll be cremated. A cherrywood container awaits his cremains on the mantle already, with a picture frame in it and room for a brass name plate. He waits a moment in silence."We wanted him to have his dignity, too," Holmes said. "They're amazing creatures."Contact Chronicle-Telegram columnist Rini Jeffers at rinijeffers@gmail.com.