In the Marshall Fire, trained bloodhounds were deployed in the search for pets that had gone missing.

LOUISVILLE, Colorado (AP) — While the cleanup after the Marshall Fire has begun in Louisville, the search for lost pets continues.

Justice Takes Flight, a local non-profit, has joined the search with a unique tool. The organization enlists the assistance of bloodhounds in its search.

The sound of falling trees may be heard all around the Coal Creek South area. It's a tranquil region, yet it's covered in smoke and snow. When a car door opens, you hear the pitter-patter of tiny paws.

Britney Hartman and Alan Duffy walk their dog past a burned-out truck up a driveway. In the wind, the dog's nose twitches. She's picked up the scent and is on the prowl. Amber, a 5-year-old bloodhound, is on the job.

Duffy continues, We're literally across the street from where the dog used to reside.

Justice Takes Flight is on the lookout for a lost pet in the neighborhood. Amber, the working bloodhound, rushes up the hill and into the alley. Along the way, you'll pass across rows of grey houses.

Violet, Jason Herrington's black and white Chihuahua, has gone missing. Violet, he claims, was hiding and his family was forced to escape before they could find her. The family was forced to leave by the fire marshal because residences across the street were on fire.

We simply tossed our belongings into the car. Our two- and three-year-old boys were napping, according to Herrington. We roused them from their slumber and hurled them into the car. We couldn't find our dog, you know.

Following their departure, the family relocated to Texas, where they are currently residing. He doesn't know if they'll be able to rebuild in Colorado. Harrington, on the other hand, has returned to look for Violet since he left.

His proof may be seen all throughout the area. His work can be seen on every other tree, every porta-potty, even mailboxes and tailgates of automobiles parked in the driveway: missing dog signs.

Herrington said it's sad to think she could have been within a mile of me at the moment before I had to fly back. I couldn't get my hands on her, either.

This takes us back to Amber's hunt. Since the Marshall fire, Justice Takes Flight has conducted over two dozen of these searches. Some cases have been resolved, while others remain unresolved due to the belief that the pets escaped the fire and are still alive. It's similar to the assumption that Violet is still alive.

On this particular day, the snow aided in the hunt. According to Hartman, having water in the air actually helps.

This smell is more concentrated in water. As a result, it aids in getting into the nose, moving back further, and just holding more of that aroma, Hartman explains.

This is the group's second visit to the area in search of Violet. The findings of their prior search were the same. They did, however, take something with them. Hope. Violet is still out there, hidden, and hopefully waiting to be caught, according to Amber's trail.

Violet hasn't been seen or heard from since the Marshall Fire. If you have any information, please call or text 626-372-2889.

In the front yard of the Herrington house, a plastic bin has blankets, food, and snacks. Jason's sock is hidden beneath a game camera in the hopes that the Chihuahua will follow the scent back home.

Amber mutters to herself on the driveway of the Herrington house. According to Hartman, the totality of the searches is taking its toll on her.

Hartman stated that she is depressed at the end of the day. When she gets home, you can just see the small tear ducts and tears are streaming down her face.

Hartman simply wants to find Violet as a pet owner. She wants Violet to be found by anyone. She is unconcerned with who she is with. All she wants is for Herrington to get the phone call that Violet has been discovered alive, which he has been waiting for.

It would be a game-changer if we could have our dog back. I'd never cry over my possessions. Herrington stated, I'll tell you this much: we've definitely sobbed a lot over our cat.

Who could blame him, after all?

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