Dog catchers. Garbage truck crews. Those who answer the phone when we have questions about our water bill.

How many of us give a thought to the anonymous folks who make up those byzantine city departments except when we want to complain or criticize?

No show of hands needed. While these workers make our cities run, they rarely make headlines for a job well done.

But one of those employees has been on my heart the last 10 days or so: Allen Maxwell Davis, a field officer supervisor at Dallas Animal Services.

Davis let me tag along Sept. 4 for a column I was writing about unleashed dogs in city parks. Riding shotgun that afternoon, I peppered him with questions, all of which he patiently answered — with a big helping of good humor. At Griggs Park, he used those same skills with wary dog owners.

“I was born and raised in Oak Cliff,” he told me. “All of us should have a heart for our city and its residents, but when you are born here, you just have a bigger heart for it.”

Dallas Animal Services field officer Allen Davis spent time working at Griggs Park near downtown on Sept. 4, just a few days before his death.. (Louis DeLuca / Staff Photographer)

He was proud of his team’s success rounding up loose dogs. He was proud to have graduated from Roosevelt High School. And he was most proud to be a husband to a wonderful woman and father of a terrific little girl.

Davis’ passion for helping the city’s animal population — and its humans as well — was so contagious that I was tempted to take him up on an offer to stay through the end of the shift. But I had been out in the sun for three hours and I had a column to write.

Three days after that interview, Allen Davis, known to friends and family as "Max," died at his home. He was only 30 years old.

His wife, Anesha Alexander, said Davis had been dealing with possible heart issues, and the family is awaiting autopsy results.

We all know that people die of natural causes every day. It’s part of the cycle of life. But none of that makes any death less grievous for the family, friends and co-workers left behind.

I suspect that same loss is felt by anyone who even briefly crossed paths with Allen “Max” Davis.

Dallas Animal Services field officer Todd McGehee (left) says he hopes he "can become half the man Allen Davis was." Davis (right) died this month at age 30. (Louis DeLuca / Staff Photographer)

At his wake and funeral service this past weekend, the binding refrain from his personal and professional life was “I’ve never met anyone like him. His spirit was just contagious.”

Davis, promoted to supervisor over field officers in 2017, generally worked deep-night hours. “Nobody wants to work that shift, but people were begging to get on it because they wanted to work with Allen,” said Ann Barnes, who oversees the department's field operations.

Todd McGehee, who has been part of the overnight crew since January, told me Sunday, “I hope that one day I can become half the man Allen Davis was.”

”When someone would fall on hard times, Allen would reach out to them daily to make sure they were OK. He was a true God-loving man,” said McGehee, 29. “When my father passed away, Allen was the man who brought me back to my feet and got me through the hardest part of my life.”

Whether mentoring his field officers at Dallas Animal Services or serving as a role model and coach for youth at his lifelong church, Metro South Winds Fellowship in DeSoto, Davis commanded respect.

He oversaw some of the toughest field work, assisting police at crime scenes. If pets are present, response time is critical in getting them into protective custody so cops can do their jobs. The deep-night crew is also responsible for trapping loose dogs that cannot be picked up any other way.

Dallas Animal Services field officer Allen Davis (right) handed out educational information about the city's leash law Sept. 4 at Griggs Park. (Louis DeLuca / Staff Photographer)

Catching dogs — sometimes extremely aggressive ones — in the middle of the night is not the hardest part. It’s dealing effectively and compassionately with the people behind those situations.

“Allen was the kind of guy [to whom] people would usually end up saying 'thank you' at the end of the incident,” Dallas Animal Services director Ed Jamison said. “When I can get people who love working with animals and with people — that’s what I had with Allen.”

And about the nickname they gave Davis at the city animal shelter — “The Rooster Guy”? Those birds are illegal to have in Dallas, and early morning is prime time to nab them. “We’d send him a call to find one and he’d come back with five,” Barnes said, laughing amid tears. “The running joke was that Allen always got his rooster.”

Shock over his death and gratitude for his service came from the animal rescue community too. Meagan Probus of the Dowdy Ferry Animal Commission posted: “He was always incredibly kind to us and any animal he came across. He always went above and beyond the call of duty when [we] called. We are broken-hearted.”

Just a few days before Davis' death, his five-year service pin was delivered to the animal shelter. Barnes presented a shadow box to his widow Friday night that contained the pin along with his now-retired badge, a patch from his uniform — and a dog leash.

Davis spoke powerful words from a tender heart. His death should remind us not just of life’s fragility, but of the extraordinary regular folks who serve our city in mostly anonymous roles.

I wish I had stayed for the entirety of Allen Davis’ Sept. 4 shift. And I hope I remember him the next time I start grumbling about City Hall.