After 12 years of service at the Larimer County Sheriff’s Office, many people have stories to tell about Undersheriff Ern Hudson.
One story details how Hudson, who came to Larimer County after serving as a sheriff in Indiana, wanted to continue certain celebrations with his new co-workers, including an annual Christmas lunch that in Indiana usually meant feeding about 30 people.
In Larimer County, that traditional meal of turkey and noodles blossomed during the years to include feeding as many as 300 guests as Hudson and his wife, Judy, included more sheriff’s office employees and community members.
In other stories, people recount how Hudson worked with crime victims to ensure they were comforted and properly cared for after traumatic events.
If anything other than a little Toyota would’ve slammed into the back of Senior Trooper Don White’s squad car on the interstate Thursday afternoon, the 13-year Indiana State Police veteran said he might not have been back in uniform for a while.
Instead, White says he feels fortunate that he only suffered minor injuries in the collision. He was treated for pain to his neck and lower back and released Thursday evening from Ball Memorial Hospital, returning to his shift Friday morning.
“I can tell you 100 percent that if it were a larger vehicle that had hit me, it may very well have been a worse scenario,” White said. “I pretty much dodged a bullet.”
An adventurous pooch survived an icy swim in the Hudson Friday thanks to quick-thinking cops.
A harbor unit detective jumped into the 46-degree waters off of Pier 59 and saved 4-year-old Chloe, a rambunctious German Shepherd.
“I gave her a big hug,” said relieved owner Mark Stoss, 42, who lives aboard a catamaran docked near the Chelsea Piers driving range. “She was just petrified.”
Stoss said he was coming back to the boat this morning after successfully fighting a ticket for walking Chloe in Hudson River Park when he heard noises under the pier.
“I was walking down the dock, and I heard squeaking,” he said. “I just started to panic.”
He found the pooch under the floating dock, petrified. She must have fallen from the deck of his boat and swam toward the shore, Stoss said.
“Her head was just above the water,” he said.
Mike Brennan doesn’t do battle stories, even though he’s had his share.
Hanging in Brennan’s office is a photo of him in the thick of one of the Veishea riots (he can’t remember which one), thronged by rampaging students and holding one unruly youth in a headlock. But those kinds of memories aren’t the things that stick out for him.
“They all run together after awhile,” he said.
Instead, when Brennan reflects back on his career with the Ames Police Department, a career that began as an officer on the night shift and progressed to heading up the department’s investigation division, he remembers some of the cases he wishes he hadn’t been a part of, including fatal car accidents, incidents where someone was badly hurt and especially suicides. Brennan has taken suicide calls both as an officer and as an investigator, and even when the job had numbed him to the shock of seeing blood, these cases always had the power to get to him.