Pals Hug Conny in Farewell

‘When a dog like this dies. . . . There is such an outpouring of grief.’

--Sgt. Raul Luna

Never mind the fancy name and European ancestry; Conrad von Biskirchen of West Germany will always be remembered as Conny the canine cop.

Make that Conny the heroic German shepherd who sniffed out the burglar hiding in the oven and once took a steel pipe to the head in the line of duty. Or Conny the lovable couch potato who had a sweet tooth for peppermint candy and liver-flavored doggie treats.

After a five-year career in which he helped to arrest more than 100 people, Conny succumbed to a crippling disk injury and was put to sleep Wednesday afternoon. He was 8 years old and died sedated and out of pain.

In human terms, that translates to 56 years, and “human” is how police officers are remembering “old Con” now that he’s gone.

“This dog has had one of the hardest tours of duty,” said Sgt. Raul Luna, head of the Santa Ana Police Department’s canine unit, who had known Conny since the dog arrived from West Germany five years ago. “He was under a lot of stress. I think you can say that (his death) was job-related.”

Not only did Conny assist in dozens of arrests, but he was called on to perform all those dirty little chores that no one else wanted to touch. Such as going into the dark house looking, or more accurately sniffing, for a burglary suspect while the other officers waited outside.

A year ago, in an incident that brought Conny national media attention, a robbery suspect clunked him on the head with a pipe. Conny’s nose was broken and he suffered a concussion, but he was back on the job within the week.

“We’d send him into dark buildings where no one else would go,” Officer Michael Fleet, Conny’s handler, said in recalling Conny’s career. “He went and did everything he was asked. He was like that. That’s how he was trained.”

Forgive Fleet if his eyes well with tears as he talked about Conny and the time they spent together. It’s just that Conny’s death was unexpected.

“We just had four days off and we were coming back to work,” Fleet said. “Conny looked really depressed, maybe sick. He was favoring his right hip. Then on Sunday he just lost control of his rear legs. You could tell he was in a lot of pain.”

Dr. Rich Yamaguchi, a veterinarian at Grand Avenue Pet Hospital in Santa Ana, said Conny suffered a disk problem “that compromised his spinal cord. He simply cannot move his rear legs. There really isn’t anything anyone can do for him now.”

Yamaguchi said it was not an uncommon ailment for a middle-aged German shepherd, although he noted the condition was seen more often in smaller dogs.

“It’s just one of those things,” he said.

Early Wednesday, Fleet, Luna and Sgt. Doyle Smith, who was Conny’s first handler, visited the black shepherd for the last time in a sad reunion at the pet hospital.

As Conny was rolled into a waiting room on a metal operating room table with his neck shaved and a plastic tube and syringe attached to a bandage, Fleet walked forward and put his arms around the dog’s neck. Then he wept.

“He’s a friend, a pal,” Fleet said. “I like to pick him up and play with him, like in the backyard. He likes to play in the snow when we go to the mountains.”

Fleet dabbed his eyes, gave Conny a kiss on the forehead and continued.

“You know, this has been the best job I’ve ever had, being with this dog,” he said. “He’s essentially part of my family. He sleeps at my house and eats there. He’s with me 24 hours a day.”

Like a father boasting of his son’s accomplishments, Fleet spoke proudly of Conny’s heroic deeds: the burglary suspect he found hiding in the oven, the car thief located in the dark basement, that nasty encounter with the lead pipe.

Fleet could have talked about Conny’s blue-blood credentials--the exclusive dog academies he attended, the European bloodline, the fact that he cost $4,500 five years ago--but he preferred to recall the little things that made Conrad von Biskirchen special.

“He just loved those peppermint patties,” Fleet said. “My wife gave him one and from then on, Conny knew when they were around. And--I probably shouldn’t say this--but I gave him a steak and a half can of Lite beer for his birthday last Oct. 21.”

“It’s funny,” Luna said, “but when you lose a police officer in the line of duty, it is a great tragedy. But when a dog like this dies, it touches people differently. There is such an outpouring of grief. It was like Conny was everyone’s personal pet.”

Although the Police Department plans some sort of tribute to Conny, perhaps a small plaque or a picture in the trophy case, Smith said Conny’s legacy would not soon be forgotten.

“He fathered two litters of puppies, 21 of them in all,” Smith said. “I’ve got one and he looks just like Conny.”

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF CONNY

Oct. 21, 1979--Conny is born in West Germany..

July 19, 1981--He finishes basic training in protection, tracking and obedience in West Germany.

March 27, 1982--Conny conducts his first search for a burglar in a department store in Santa Ana.

April 1, 1982--With Officer Doyle Smith, Conny makes his first arrest at 3:25 a.m., of two men for burglary.

April 27, 1985--Conny completes al narcotics course.

Aug. 3, 1986--A wife-beating suspect swinging a metal post holds police at bay until Conny attacks; the arrest is made.

Jan. 27, 1987--Conny is beaten on the head with a pipe while looking for a robbery suspect in an abandoned house.

Dec. 12, 1987--Conny makes his last arrest when he is called from a Boys’ Club demonstration to track a car thief.

Jan. 6, 1988--Conny is put to sleep.