Community Response Team deputy recognized alongside team of dogs
DOUGLAS COUNTY (KDVR) — Douglas County Deputy Sheriff Zach Zepeski calls his job the best job he has ever worked. He's with the Community Response Team for the Douglas County Sheriff's Office.
'Anyone who is in distress the first number they call is 91,1 and usually the cops are the first ones there,' said Zepeski.
Colorado's longest-tenured school resource officer builds special bonds with students
In 2017 the DCSO Community Response Team began. It started with one deputy and one clinician. Now there are nine teams throughout the county. Deputy Zepeski says that is a good thing.
'A lot of people don't really know how to access the mental health treatment that they need. After we talk to them and we determine what resources would be best for them. We continue to help them on the back end so they don't fall into distress again,' said Zepeski.
At the Highlands Ranch substation, you will find Zepeski and 12 other members of the CRT — make that 13. That would be Olive the golden retriever. She is a CRT therapy dog.
'She is here to help us comfort children,' said Zepeski. Children, adults, victims of crime and even those who commit certain crimes can benefit from the CRT.
FOX31 Newsletters: Sign up to get breaking news sent to your inbox
Recognizing and helping people get emotional support through a crisis is what Zepeski does. That's why he is this month's Support the Shield recipient.
'That is really cool. Thank you so much to whoever put me in for it. My son is going to think this is the coolest thing ever,' said Zepeski.
Deputy Zach Zepeski gets the award, and Olive gets a snack.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Yahoo
I Have A Degree In Critical Race Theory. These Things People Believe About It Are Especially Wild — And Troubling.
I just graduated with a Master's of Liberal Arts, where I used critical race theory (CRT) as a framework for understanding climate change and its impacts on communities. That's a mouthful, I know. But this also represents a degree I fought for — through late nights, towering stacks of books, and a growing sense that the world can be a more sustainable and equitable place for all. CRT has become one of this country's favorite villains — splashed across the front pages of newspapers, hurled like a slur by politicians, and blamed for everything from school board fights to the supposed unraveling of America. But here's the wildest part: despite all the shouting and panic about CRT, almost nobody who is disparaging it can actually tell you what it is. So let's get this straight: Critical race theory isn't some secret curriculum thrust upon grade school students. Developed in the late 1970s and early '80s by academics, it's a framework that examines culture, politics, the economy and more through the lens of race. It's used at the college or graduate school level — if one's lucky to have professors who dare to ask challenging questions. CRT asks why some neighborhoods get parks and others get landfills. Why disaster relief comes quickly to certain zip codes and drags its heels in others. Why, after generations, do the same communities keep getting hit hardest by COVID-19, climate change, and every other new crisis? Laws, policies, and institutions — even if everyone involved in shaping them thinks they're being fair — are put under a microscope by critical race theorists. That's because even with the best intentions, systems can still end up treating some groups of people better than others and making life harder for others, often in ways that are challenging to see unless you really look for them. And without critical race theorists, it's likely we'd have fewer people uncovering this veil that undoubtedly produces unequal lived experiences for non-white people. CRT provides us with the language and history to connect the dots — and the hope that if we see the system for what it is, we can actually make it better. Guided by this vision, I'm not interested in some abstract theory, but the lived reality of who wins and loses in America — and why. CRT gives us tools for tracing those lines. It's not about blaming anyone for things they personally did or didn't do. It's about refusing to accept 'that's just the way it is' as an answer. Still, almost every time someone hears about my degree, I get the same knee-jerk reactions, especially, 'Isn't that the thing that teaches kids to feel bad about being white?' and 'Aren't you just saying everything is about race?' I've heard these two misconceptions — and many others — from strangers in line at Domino's, from old friends, from people who seem genuinely scared. I get it. Politicians — including Donald Trump — have spent the last decade turning CRT into a boogeyman, right alongside LGBTQ history, both of which they want to use to scare school boards and corporations into erasing any perspective that isn't straight, white, and cisgender. They want you to think CRT is a threat. They want you to be afraid. But let's be honest: these attacks aren't just about misunderstanding — they're about power. The people leading this crusade don't want us asking tough questions about who gets what. They don't want to discuss the policies — written and unwritten — that skew things in one direction. They call CRT 'anti-American,' but what they're saying is don't look too closely, don't question the rules, and don't demand change. That's why CRT matters. If we can't ask why climate change is devastating certain communities more than others, or why once redlined neighborhoods are now the hottest places in our cities, then how are we ever supposed to fix these problems? It's not about shame. It's about honesty and the belief that honesty leads to action. And, yes, it is racist to try to shut down these conversations. It's racist to erase the experiences of Black, brown, queer, and other marginalized people from our classrooms and our laws. The same movement that wants to ban CRT wants to silence any group that complicates their version of America. I won't pretend it's easy to 'out' myself as having studied critical race theory. Universities are backing away from the theory, programs that utilize it are disappearing, and I genuinely wonder if I'll be one of the last people to graduate with a degree in CRT. It's no longer hypothetical that a university could be forced to bow to an American president's desire to shape what is taught in academic institutions — but that just makes this work all the more urgent. I didn't get this degree to hide. I plan to use it to ask hard questions, to work for policies rooted in justice, and to help communities demand more than the bare minimum. Whether I'm working in business, public policy, education, or environmental justice, I want to ensure that the problems we're all living with are acknowledged for what they are and get addressed. If you've been told to fear CRT, I get it, but that's what those in power would want you to feel. The real danger, however, is a country where we're too scared to ask why things are the way they are, or to imagine something better. CRT isn't a threat to America. It's a chance for America to live up to its promises for all its citizens. The only people who should be afraid are those desperate to prevent inequitable outcomes from playing out over and over again. We don't have to settle for silence or the status quo. We can ask, we can challenge, and we can change. That's what critical race theory taught me — and why I hope the questions it raises never go away. Charles Orgbon III's words have found homes everywhere from Disney, Marvel, the San Francisco Standard, and more. He holds a B.S. from the University of Georgia and an M.A. from Johns Hopkins University. He's fluent in Spanish, 'Will & Grace,' and Critical Race Theory. Follow his writing journey on Instagram @charlesorgbon. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ I Just Got Into Harvard. My MAGA Grandparents' 6-Word Reaction To My Acceptance Devastated Me. I'm Exhausted From Following These Unspoken Rules For Black Women At Work I Was 'Straight,' Then 'Gay,' Then 'Bisexual.' Now I Know Who I Really Am.
Yahoo
29-05-2025
- Yahoo
Driver clocks over 70 mph past elementary school: Sheriff
DENVER (KDVR) — A driver was pulled over after a Douglas County deputy reportedly caught them going over 70 mph past an elementary school. The Douglas County Sheriff's Office posted about the alleged speeder on Facebook, saying the driver clocked 73 mph in a 40-mph zone. The sheriff's office said this was right past an elementary school. Going 45 in a school zone is cause for jail time 'The driver claimed he was taking a passenger to get a bus pass… at this rate, he might need one himself if the tickets keep piling up,' the sheriff's office said. This comes during 'Colorado's deadliest days,' which mark the deadliest days in the summer for driving. In 2024, there were 71 deadly crashes in the stretch between Memorial Day to Labor Day. 'Slow down. Obey the speed limit. Drive smart, it's not worth it,' the sheriff's office said on a Facebook post. In Colorado, fines for speeding 1-24 mph over the speed limit vary from $35-$200. However, driving over 25 mph can have a minimum sentence of 10 days in jail and a maximum sentence of one year. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
29-05-2025
- Yahoo
From MAHA to TACO: A Guide to the Acronyms of Trump's Second Term
President Donald Trump at the White House in Washington, D.C., on May 28, 2025. Credit - Chris Kleponis—CNP/Bloomberg/Getty Images You may be familiar with POTUS (President of the United States), MAGA (Make America Great Again), and GOP (Grand Old Party), but there's a new acronym that President Donald Trump isn't a fan of. Short for 'Trump Always Chickens Out,' Financial Times columnist Robert Armstrong coined the phrase shortened as 'TACO' to describe the President's pattern of making major disruptive policy moves, such as levying hefty tariffs on effectively every country in the world, before reversing course after the moves cause panic and economic shock. The shorthand, which has been picked up by others, has clearly ruffled Trump's feathers. 'Don't ever say what you said, that's a nasty question,' Trump shot back when a reporter asked him about 'TACO' on Wednesday. 'To me that's the nastiest question.' 'You call that chickening out?' Trump said. 'It's called negotiation,' adding that he 'usually [has] the opposite problem—they say, 'you're too tough!'' Trump's apparent sensitivity will likely only ensure the acronym's longevity among critics. 'I want to be famous for my dumb joke, definitely, but I also don't want the President to ruin the U.S. economy," Armstrong told Axios. 'And so I'd like to have both of those things, if at all possible.' But TACO isn't the only acronym to take off in Trump's second term. Here's a guide to some of the others to know. 'DEI is DOA,' Trump's son Don Jr. posted on X in March, referencing the medical acronym for 'dead on arrival.' It's a common refrain among Republicans and supporters of the President's push to dismantle diversity-related policies across the federal government and private sector. Whereas Trump's first-term Administration focused most of its attacks on 'CRT' (Critical Race Theory), his 2024 campaign and current Administration have made 'DEI' a main target and scapegoat. What started in the 2010s as a nickname for an internet-viral shiba inu and morphed into a 'meme coin' became an official initialism in November when then-President-elect Trump announced the Department of Government Efficiency, an advisory body spearheaded by tech billionaire Elon Musk. The initiative, aimed at slashing federal spending, has overseen mass layoffs and sweeping cuts to government programs in the early months of Trump's second term. Musk, who announced on Wednesday that he is exiting the Trump Administration, has long hyped up the Doge meme, including naming a SpaceX satellite 'DOGE-1,' and boosted the cryptocurrency, including when he changed the then-Twitter logo to the dog-image meme. Amid a dispute over deportations with Colombia's President Gustavo Petro in January, Trump posted on his Truth Social platform an AI-generated image of himself wearing a fedora with the letters FAFO in red on a sign next to him. 'This is awesome,' Musk said, resharing the image on X. Trump had previously reshared a post by right-wing internet troll that said '5 days until FAFO' alongside an image of Trump, on Jan. 15, five days before Trump's second-term inauguration. The acronym, which stands for 'f-ck around, find out,' has been adopted 'as a slogan' by far-right groups, according to Merriam Webster, but is also widely used across the ideological spectrum 'as an expression of schadenfreude' about someone receiving negative consequences for their actions. The Times of London dubbed it 'Fafo diplomacy' when Trump pressured Colombia to quickly reverse its opposition to accepting deportation flights after Trump threatened to hike tariffs on the nation's exports. MAHA is a spin on Trump's tried-and-tested slogan 'Make America Great Again'—only with a focus on health. It took off in 2024 after Robert F. Kennedy Jr.—known for his fringe and sometimes disinformation-based views on health including vaccine skepticism—suspended his presidential campaign and threw his support behind Donald Trump. Trump nominated Kennedy to be Secretary of Health and Human Services, and Kennedy has since continued to use the slogan for government initiatives. 'Are you or your loved ones suffering from illnesses such as TDS, also known as Trump Derangement Syndrome?' begins a satirical ad released by Kennedy's former running mate, Nicole Shanahan, in late August, days after Kennedy suspended his presidential bid and endorsed Trump. (Trump even promoted the video on his Truth Social platform.) 'It's a horrible, horrible terminal disease. It destroys the mind before the body, but the body eventually goes,' Trump said of TDS at a Moms for Liberty event in Washington, D.C., on Aug. 30, 2024. While the phrase originated during Trump's first presidential campaign in 2016, TDS has become an increasingly popular diagnosis Trump and his supporters like to give his critics. Five Republican state senators in Minnesota introduced a bill in March to codify TDS and categorize 'verbal expressions of intense hostility toward' Trump as a mental illness. The bill defines TDS as 'the acute onset of paranoia in otherwise normal persons that is in reaction to the policies and presidencies' of Trump. It also lists symptoms as 'Trump-induced general hysteria, which produces an inability to distinguish between legitimate policy differences and signs of psychic pathology in President Donald J. Trump's behavior.' 'This is possibly the worst bill in Minnesota history,' Minnesota Senate Majority Leader Erin Murphy, a Democrat, said. 'If it is meant as a joke, it is a waste of staff time and taxpayer resources that trivializes serious mental health issues. If the authors are serious, it is an affront to free speech and an expression of a dangerous level of loyalty to an authoritarian president.' Rep. Warren Davidson, a Republican from Ohio, on May 15 also introduced a bill in Congress to direct the National Institutes of Health to study TDS. 'Instead of funding ludicrous studies such as giving methamphetamine to cats or teaching monkeys to gamble for their drinking water,' he said, 'the NIH should use that funding to research issues that are relevant to the real world.' Contact us at letters@