Czar lay on the floor, basically, on our flight down—I don't want to recount that flight again. We arrived there, Czar worked tirelessly through the night in sleet and in rain, sucking freezing cold air up over his olfactory glands. His feet were torn up with volcanic rock and snow. Thankfully, a guide—Cliff Jones—and Pete Masters went back up in the helicopter and went ahead of where I was tracking. We found that two-year-old. I'll never forget the look in Cliff's eye when he came out holding her, and, you know what? Czar wanted to get to her. Czar's tail was waggling, and—for Mr Ricardo—he didn't want to bite her. He wanted to nuzzle her. He wanted to give her a lick because he'd been working for three or four hours to try and find her in very difficult conditions. A week later, he was down in Tūrangi confronting an offender with an axe who was on methamphetamine. 