By Chris Lorenz
During one of our first flights together, he made eye contact with a woman at our departure gate. I always knew when he locked onto someone because the tip of his tail would start wagging. She asked if she could say hello, so I let go of his leash. He went straight to her, maintaining eye contact the entire way. She hunched over to greet him, and just as they met face-to-face, quick as lightning, he nose-dived into her travel bag and emerged victorious with her sandwich. The entire gate area erupted in laughter. She was a good sport, and I bought her another sandwich. His nose could be used for good, or for his personal hobby of reuniting lost food with his stomach.
That nose was why we were partners. After nearly two decades as a firefighter and SWAT medic, I’d transitioned to deputy fire marshal — a position that required attending the police academy. An ATF special agent asked if I’d be interested in working a K9 for the Seattle Arson Task Force. It took close to two years for the gears of government to move, but on Dec. 7, 2019, I graduated with K9 Hansel.
A nose for service
Hansel held the distinction of being the largest federal Arson/Explosive K9 at the time — 85 pounds of long, big yellow lab.
He’d been born and raised to be a guide dog for the blind, but he had one small personality quirk they couldn’t train away: He loved chasing leaves. When the wind blew, he was off to the races, and if you weren’t expecting it, he’d nearly dislocate your arm. His puppy-raisers noticed something else, though — he was exceptionally odor-motivated. His big head and long neck kept his nose on the ground, constantly exploring scents. The federal K9 trainers tested him and agreed: phenomenal nose, phenomenal temperament, minus the leaf obsession.
Federal K9s are food-reward dogs, which means you work your partner seven days a week, 365 days a year. There are no breaks. If you go on vacation, your K9 is coming with you. Because the Seattle field office covers Washington, Idaho, Oregon, Alaska, Hawaii, Montana and Guam, there was considerable travel. And if you think traveling with toddlers is challenging, try an 85-pound yellow lab whose dream job is being the greeter at Walmart. Hansel loves people, especially kids.
As a federal K9, Hansel was considered an officer and flew with me on the plane. I didn’t have to buy him a seat, but I always did — he was too long for it to be comfortable otherwise. Those flights provided their share of memorable moments.
After the sandwich incident, there was Salt Lake City. While I waited at the oversized carousel for his travel crate, I hooked his leash to my suitcase. It was partly cloudy, and suddenly a ray of light reflected off the carousel onto the floor. Hansel saw it, and he was off — running full tilt with my luggage bouncing behind him the entire length of the luggage claim area. Everyone was in tears laughing. He’s like a cat with laser dots. Once, at a federal training class at Redstone Arsenal, an instructor used a laser pointer. Hansel woke from a dead sleep and charged to the front, jumping at the screen trying to catch the dot.
But when Hansel was on odor, he was all business. His primary job was identifying potential areas with accelerant remnants at fire scenes. We worked together on countless investigations, and his nose never ceased to amaze me. Once his work was done, though, he’d usually be found with the firefighters or law enforcement officers, getting loved on. On large incidents, he’d camp out in the command or forensics vehicle, keeping everyone company.
Hansel’s unofficial role
What I didn’t anticipate was his unofficial role. Although not specifically trained as a therapy K9, his demeanor was perfectly suited for it. Countless times he comforted firefighters, law enforcement, medical examiners and members of the public at tragic scenes. His heavy head found many welcoming laps. When I came across injured people, Hansel would lay at their side, resting his head on their leg while we rendered aid. Between demonstrations at the Washington State Fair and countless community events, he easily interacted with over 100,000 people during his career.
During those years, Hansel assisted over 50 separate agencies and played major roles in felony arson homicide cases. He left positive impressions everywhere we went. Unfortunately, Hansel was forced him into early retirement due to forces beyond my control. I think he could have worked at least another four to five years.
Shortly after that, I began feeling something wasn’t right. It turned out my instincts were correct. I’d been severely injured at an apartment fire in 2013, with damage to my neck, back and heart that took nine months and half a dozen surgeries to overcome. I’d made it back to the line and worked for two more years before the promotion to deputy fire marshal. My cardiologist kept me on a short leash with quarterly check-ins. In January 2024, I told him I was feeling off. The echocardiogram showed I was in heart failure. One cardiologist described my heart movement like “a white guy dancing on Soul Train — just no rhythm.”
The doctors were baffled. After numerous tests, including a psychiatric evaluation, I was diagnosed with PTSD. Cardiac patients exposed to repeated stressors are 50% more likely to develop heart failure. Brain imaging showed changes consistent with chronic traumatic brain injuries, which overlap with PTSD symptoms.
The emotional toll was significant. My doctors suggested repurposing Hansel. We’d been together 24/7 since 2019, so they made him my service K9. It’s amazing how these dogs know when you’re not doing well. He just drops his big, heavy head in your lap, and the tension melts away.
I find myself distancing from people now, but Hansel helps bridge that divide because people love interacting with him. I wouldn’t describe myself as a people-person anymore, but it makes me happy to see him make others happy.
A year of medications improved my heart function enough to narrowly escape heart failure. Then one evening, walking down my hall, I passed out and crumpled to the floor. The fall caused significant damage to both knees, and I’m likely looking at bilateral knee replacements.
But here’s the thing about Hansel: He was brought up to be a guide dog to help people. He changed trajectories to help society as a working K9, comforting thousands while doing his job. Now he’s circled back to helping people again — me. Life is about adapting to the trajectory changes thrown at you.
Hansel taught me that from the beginning, starting with those leaves he couldn’t resist chasing. Some things are worth pursuing, even when the wind changes direction. And sometimes, the path you’re meant to take brings you right back to where you started — only this time, with purpose you didn’t see coming.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chris Lorenz started his career in the fire service as a firefighter/paramedic and served a large portion of his career as a SWAT medic. He also taught nationally and internationally on auto extrication with Puyallup Extrication Team (PXT) and tactical combat casualty care with Blackheart Instructional Group. Most recently, Lorenz was a commissioned fire investigator, ATF Task Force officer and K9 handler (K9 Hansel) for the Seattle Field Office Arson Task Force. Read more from Lorenz on his Substack, From Turmoil to Triumph A Memoir of Emergency Services and Finding Purpose.
