BUCK'S SECOND CHANCE

Last week, in Buck the Druggie, we introduced Buck, the drug-sniffing
police dog who had become addicted to cocaine. Buck was "adopted" by
the local school: to ease the cost of providing Buck with his
medication, a number of fund-raisers were organized by the school, the
local police and a number of church groups to raise money to buy him
his medication.

It was on a Tuesday, just after the "shipment" from a place not unlike
Campbell River was delivered by a dark-haired stranger named Dave,
that the story about Buck took a dangerous twist.

The Principal was the first to notice. The package had disappeared
from the green metal file holder in the main office of the school that
said "Incoming Mail." The Principal asked if anyone had moved Buck's
"shipment." No one had even touched it.

The principal asked some of the members of the student council if they
had taken the package. He asked the nurse and the school councilor. He
even asked the custodian who seldom cleaned desk and counter areas at
the school because of union regulation # 821. All swore that they
didn't touch the package.

The Principal looked pro-actively around the office. Then, in one
swoop, he picked up the microphone in the front office.

"This is the Principal," he announced throughout the hallways and the
classrooms on the intercom. "We have a problem. Somebody has taken the
bag of cocaine that rightfully belongs to the school."

Theft affects everyone, he continued tightly. It is the blight that
eats the roots and drops the strongest of trees. It is the reason why
food markets are reluctant to have salted cashews in their bulk food
bins. It is the reason why homeless people aren't allowed to dumpster
dive. It is a malady.

"If the bag of cocaine isn't returned to the front office in 20
minutes, I will call the police," the Principal warned. "No questions
will be asked until then."

No one came forward. So the questions had to be asked. Soon enough,
the police arrived at the school. A theft at school isn't usually a
big deal, they confessed. But because the entire community was
fund-raising to help Buck maintain his addiction, this particular
theft reverberated into the community.

One police officer compared it to stealing charity coin boxes at the
coffee shops or the charity coin boxes at the counters at the drug
stores.

The police were efficient and calm. They wore their bullet-proof
vests. They were determined. They decided that they wouldn't interview
all the students. Instead they made two plans. One, they would
interview all the people they suspected of torching the school a few
years earlier to see if they might have taken the bag of cocaine. Two,
they would call in the drug-sniffing canine unit to check all the
lockers. The dog they brought in, ironically, was the dog that
replaced Buck.

"He's good; but he's no Buck," they acknowledged.

"It might be a tough assignment," the school nurse commented. "Because
of all the running shoes."

"Not one student at the school ever eats the lunch from home," added
the nutritionist from the class on cafeteria. "You will have to deal
with lockers that have 10 months of green fungi build-up."

"Who burned down the school?" the principal asked out of the blue. "Or
is it one of those things, like the death of Elvis, that will go
forever unresolved?"

The principal was, of course, ignored.

The canine unit from the drug squad arrived at the school. The new dog
was let out to sniff all the lockers and all the corners and all the
chairs and the tables and the desks and even the teacher's tables. It
uncovered the following items: a box of candles, two small fire-bombs
without fuses, 37 pictures of Kelly from Saved by the Bell, eight
vodka coolers and 400 overdue library books.

The chemistry room was taken apart completely. The teachers of
chemistry, in all the grades including honours classes, were appalled.

"Why can't the police nuke the English classrooms," one chemistry
teacher said. "They do more harm than we do."

But the bag of coke for Buck couldn't be found anywhere. One officer
said she would go undercover at the Thursday market and see if anyone
would approach her to buy a bag of cocaine. One young entrepreneur
with dark hair said she would use part of her jewelry booth at the
market to display a poster-picture of the small bag of cocaine. "If
you see this, please phone the school," the poster read in both
English and Spanish.

"I also just returned from Mexico," she added. "That's why I added the
Spanish."

Meanwhile, Buck went from a healthy, happy dog, to a very sad dog. He
stopped chasing balls. He stopped eating. He put his head down and
stared suspended at the dust his nostrils raised from the small mounds
of dirt on the driveway. The boy patted Buck's listless head. He knew
he would have to do something.

"Why don't we just take Buck to the school and see if he can sniff out
the coke," a friend suggested. The girl told her brother and his
friend to mind their own business. So, they phoned the liaison officer
with the school and got permission to let Buck sniff the halls and the
lockers.

The theory was simple. If Buck's nose couldn't find the medication,
nobody's nose could.

Buck was in the school within days.

"Find the cocaine," the officer directed. Buck's eyes seemed to
glimmer. His dry nose became wet. He started to shake happily. "Find
the cocaine." It was just like the old days. Buck's rigorous training
kicked into gear.

Away Buck went. Back and forth. Up and down. Again and again. Hour
after hour. Just when everyone gave up, Buck stopped in front of a
locker. He puffed and pointed. He let out a small whine.

"He's got something," the police officer said.

"It's my sister's locker!" the boy exclaimed.

The principal unlocked the door to the locker with the special pass
key.

Buck immediately stuck his mouth around a Harry Potter hardcover and
pulled the book from the locker. He looked wistfully at the boy. The
boy reached down, opened the cover. Six hundred of the pages had been
removed: in their place was a little bag.

"The school has found it's bag of cocaine," the principal sighed
happily.

"He's the best drug-sniffing dog on the force," the officer exclaimed,
and let Buck get a little lick of the medication.

"My sister stole," the boy cried. "We were told never to
steal."

The girl was charged with possession of an illegal substance for
purposes of trafficking.

"I just wanted my money to go to Disneyland," she sobbed. "I gave all
my savings away to buy Buck his medication. It's not fair."

"You'll get 10 years," her father replied in his best police voice
because he was, after all, a police officer. "You are my daughter -
but duty comes first."

Buck was given the "Special Badge of Honour" from the Ministry of
Education and "The Keys to the School" from a very satisfied school
board.

And, because of the circumstances, he was allowed an extra lick every
day for one week. He deserves his special treats, somebody said.

The girl went to court.

She was found guilty on all accounts. That wasn't quite all, though.
The story isn't yet over.

As you might recall from last week's column, this is the story line
for a movie put together by Grade 10 students at a local school during
a guest workshop on writing screen-plays. The class happened a while
ago. Next week: the final installment. The Hollywood ending. Does the
little girl go to jail? Does Buck kick his addiction? Is the story too
silly to be true?

During the workshop, some of the students who didn't get free candy
bars got free calendars.