Fired

Between studying for a major business trip, teaching classes, doing my "real" job, watching the neighbor's house on fire and taking an unplanned camping trip, the Addiverse hoppin.' In fact, last week was so busy that I didn't have time to make my football pool picks. That's sacrilege.

Let's talk about the fire. It's a lot more important than getting stuck camping.

I wasn't supposed to be home--on a whim, I had left work to take a very late lunch and thus was on the premises at an unusual time in the afternoon. The wife was outside, doing something domestic while I sat on the couch. All of a sudden, she's flapping and yelling and screaming--something about the neighbor's house being on fire.

When you first hear those words, they don't make much sense. In fact, looking back, I'm guessing my first reaction was inappropriate, as in Sweet Brown saying, "Lord Jesus, it's a fire!" I stood up and realized the wife was serious. She was on the phone with 911, sounding desperate. I jumped into action, albeit without shoes or socks....

....because all I could think about was the dog that was stuck in the burning house.

Before I go any further, let me reassure you, no dogs die in this story.

The fire was spotted by sheer accident. One of our neighbors, a guy who is more likely to be drinking beer in his garage than anything else, saw the flames and yelled to the wife to call 911. He's the hero here. Without him, the house would've been engulfed and the dog would most certainly have died a miserable death.

When I got to the front door, I could hear the dog. It was barking nonstop. I started pounding and pounding and pounding. I didn't think anyone was in there except the dog, but one can never be sure. I tried using my shoulder to open the door, but I'm too wimpy and the door was too strong. I ran to the side garage door, with hopes this would help but it, too was beyond my strength.

That's when I heard it.

Have you ever heard fire? I never thought about it and I guess I've never heard it. I mean a real fire. Not some campfire. I'm talking about a house on fire. The crackling and popping is loud. Fire roars.

Roars!

I looked around the corner and could see the flames. Besides hearing the fire, I could literally see the fire crawling up the house. Fire is fast. I was stunned. It was consuming the house right before my eyes.

In the distance, I could hear sirens. I could also hear the wife pleading with 911. She was getting exasperated, tired of answering their questions. All she wanted to know if someone was on the way. "What do you mean, I'm sure the house is on fire? I'm standing here looking at the flames!"

I couldn't get the dog out. I started looking around to find something to use to break a window. The cracking and popping and whooshing and roaring was getting louder. The fire wasn't near the dog yet.  I couldn't find anything of use. As I'm frantically searching the front yard, two police officers walk up. I scream at them that there is a dog in the house.

To say they didn't look concerned is an understatement. Maybe they were assessing the situation. Maybe they were afraid of dogs. Maybe they were mad that they were missing their break. Maybe a dog in a burning building wasn't on the top of their priority list. I don't know. All I know is I was getting frantic and they were looking like Barney Fife. When the one guy finally turned to his partner and asked, "Should I break down the door?" I screamed YES!

Breaking down the door was harder than I thought. I knew I couldn't break it down with bare feet, so I was hoping for success with his big shoes. The guy took about ten big kicks to get it open. By this time, one of the engines was pulling up to the curb.

I rushed into the house. Yeah, yeah, I know you're not supposed to run into a building on fire. But, the fire wasn't where I was and there was no way in hell I was going to let a dog die in a fire. Any of you would've done the same thing. Smoke detectors were blaring, the dog is howling and shitting, and the two police officers and I are trying to catch the dog. Understandably the dog was scared shitless (literally and figuratively). I noticed it had a collar on and figured if I could only grab the collar, we'd have it made.

Little did I know I'd only have one chance. I squatted down and used my best friendly-person voice. The dog (I couldn't remember her name) was having nothing doing. She tried to bite me (a friendly-I'm-scared-warning snap), circled around, evaded the police and...

....shot out the front door.

I don't mean ran. I mean SHOT out the door. I have never seen a dog run so fast. By the time I turned around, she was already half way down the block, with no signs of stopping.

The neighbors and I did what we could to catch/stop/slow down/find the dog but she was so fast and we were too slow. Soon, she was out of sight. I hopped in my car, still barefoot, and drove to the area she was last seen. Twenty minutes later, I returned home. I felt so defeated.

The house was still on fire. There were fire trucks and squad cars everywhere. The news station and the newspaper reporter was there. Gawkers from around the block were there. And then....

...the owner of the house was there.

Can you imagine coming home from work to find your house is on fire and that all this commotion is about your house being on fire?

Her first words: "Oh my god, my dog is in there!"

I guess it was good and bad news. We were able to assure her that the dog was safe from the fire, had been rescued, no smoke inhalation known.... but, the dog had run away and no one was able to find it. She was crying, more about the dog than the house. I would be, too.

I called the Animal Services with hopes they could keep an eye out but they weren't having any of it--after all, "ma'am, I can't take a report on a dog that's not lost." Um, what? She added that they don't look for dogs. I tried to remain calm but she was pissing me off. I told her the dog had run away in the fire and that all I was asking was to leave word that the dog was missing. I didn't anyone to look for her. She repeated how she couldn't take a report because "there's nothing to attach the report to."

I thought of a few places she could attach it.

It was at that point that I realized we don't know our neighbors. Oh, we wave hi as we walk by and I could probably tell you who drives what car, but up close, I didn't know who was who. The lady whose house was on fire didn't recognize me. I didn't recognize the lady who drives the gold van. The wife didn't know what the husband might look like. You get my drift. We neighbors in location but not in spirit.

About the time her husband arrived, Animal Services called. They had found the dog. A good Samaritan reported that an injured dog was hiding on her porch. Animal services was able to confirm that this was the dog who ran from the fire. As the lady was understandably shook up, I drove with her to pick up the dog. All she knew is that the dog was hurt and that she was hiding on a porch...

...two miles away.

Upon arrival, I stayed back. The lady was sobbing, the dog was crying and the high school kid who found the dog was standing there smiling. The dog was obviously hurt. Animal services didn't know if the dog had been hit by a car or not, but it was obvious that there were some pretty significant injuries. I took a step toward the lady to offer help, but the dog growled at me. I'd growl at me, too. After all, I just scared the dog by pounding, screaming and lunging.

I called the Animal Emergency vet to alert them this dog would be arriving shortly. I had limited information--I didn't know if the dog was spayed or how old or even the last name. Hell, I couldn't tell them that the dog was or wasn't hit by a car. All I could tell them is that the dog escaped a fire, had run for miles and was now having trouble walking. I did the best I could.

To make sure the dog arrived safely, I followed her to the Animal Emergency Vet. They were waiting upon our arrival. The dog was taken back immediately. A friend had arrived, so I quietly backed away and returned home.

The fire was still going but was under control. About half the house was lost. The other half was water-logged. The husband was busy talking to the fire inspector/chief/big wig of some type. It was time to go home.

I don't know how this story ends. I know that the dog had to stay at the hospital, may or may not have been hit by a car and had burned off the pads of her feet, probably running so far, so fast. I did get to see a photo of her. All four paws were wrapped. She was wearing the cone of shame and had a tube in her noses. She was going to live.

I await word about the recovery process but it might awhile. The neighbors are staying elsewhere as they can't stay at their house. I know I will see them sooner than not. Until then, I can only guess. I pray there is a very happy t this story.

The cause of the fire is known. It was quickly discovered. It doesn't matter how the fire started but I'm glad they know. I'm glad no one's hurt besides the dog. I'm glad they had insurance.

So, if yo are around a fire, and I hope you are not, listen to the roar. Watch (from a distance) how quickly fire spreads. And know that you too would rush in to save the dog. If you see a neighbor, stop and say hi. At least know what they look like. A name is a bonus but start with a face. That way, we can help each other.

Crackling. Popping, Roaring. Consuming. Fast. May you never have the pleasure of witnessing or having a house fire. Happy thoughts to that fast pup and to the house owners. It'll take time but you'r home will be your home sooner than not. Here's to healed paw pads and healed body parts in general.