I have mentioned before our “can do” reputation leads to our being called to solve a lot of problems. The problems might not even be in human form.
Every so often you see a story about a fire department somewhere rescuing a moose from a mud hole or a horse stuck in a pond. Most people in the business have rescued a dog or cat from a compromising situation at some point in their careers.
I was once involved in rescuing a cat from a tree in which a 70-something neighbor got out of a hospital bed to try to get fluffy down from the tree. He became stuck and it turned into an epic adventure involving the mayor and police chief. Ah, small town life.
However, I did see the FDNY rescue a well-meaning police officer who tried to rescue a cat in a tree a while back. I guess it happens in the big cities as well.
The cat whisperer
In another stellar moment I once resuscitated a cat on live television. During a primary search, a firefighter came across two cats. He brought them outside and dropped them in the front yard.
The owner, a middle-aged lady, dropped to her knees and began crying in front of the seemingly lifeless cats. I really didn’t want to watch, but before I turned away I saw one of the cat’s open its eyes.
I made the foolish comment that they just needed oxygen.
A district chief who was on the scene thrust a package into my stomach much like a quarterback would hand off a football to a running back and instructed me to get after it. I hooked the animal oxygen mask to a portable oxygen unit and put the cat’s head in the mask.
As news helicopters whirled above with tape rolling, the cat came around and even put his paws on my hands.
Naturally, I was summoned to the phone over the public address system as the cat whisperer for the rest of day. A framed, blown up photo from this day still hangs over my station bed.
Pets inside
I’m not one to commit interior forces in a fire situation for animal search and rescue. In fact, I hate to tell the people who have “pet inside” stickers on their windows that I don’t consider that a fireground priority.
If somebody comes across a pet and they can be removed safely, that is fine. But I am not going to commit personnel to a questionable situation for a parakeet.
Now before the cards and letters pour in calling me a heartless meany, I challenge anybody reading this to prove that their pets live better than ours. Our pets typically run the household.
Which brings me to another quality misadventure. I was sleeping soundly a month or so ago at the station. The medic unit hadn’t even woken everybody. Suddenly, the lights came on and the pumper was dispatched to assist a resident on a nonemergency response at the all-night veterinary clinic.
I chuckled as they left. However, my chuckling would stop a few minutes later when the ladder truck was called to assist the pumper.
Tails of woe
When we arrived, the officer on the pumper apologized but explained that more tools were needed and the truck had a better set. We now have a lot of resources on this scene. Of course had there been a fire or EMS call, we would have left and instructed the dog owners to be first in line at the car dealer service center in the morning
I surveyed the horrific scene and it took all my years of seasoning and training to remain calm in the face of this crisis.
As in most tragedies, a series of events lead to disaster. This was no exception.
A young couple had brought their dog to the all-night vet clinic. In fact I never did hear why. However, as they prepared to leave, a change in driver was needed for the trip home. Here is where things go awry.
The female driver adjusted the power seat to her liking — that’s when the seat and Rover became one. The comfort distance between the driver and the steering wheel is made by a threaded rod underneath the seat. Somehow Fido’s tail was caught up in the rod and twisted into the mechanism.
The patient was some sort of black Scottie with long hair including the tail. The dog didn’t seem to be in any discomfort and in fact looked like he was enjoying all the attention. His tail was so intertwined with the rod you couldn’t even cut the fir to remove the tail.
Vets, humor and stubby
The pumper operator, a long time co-worker of mine, lives on a large spread of land and has horses and cows. He commented to me that he in fact has a three-legged dog and a dog with a short tail wouldn’t be the end of the world. I agreed.
The vet medical staff, which by the way was in full emergency effect, didn’t seem to agree. They were hovering about the dog and had even hooked up the doggy pulse oximeter to monitor the patient’s well being.
The veterinarian on duty was a middle-aged woman in blue scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck. She was running laps around the soccer-mom mobile. I was entertaining the idea of timing her laps when for some unexplainable reason she decided to stop and talk to me of all people.
The fire department officers really don’t like for me to talk to the public. In fact, when my kids were of school age, I was not allowed to speak on “meet the teacher” night.
Anyway, the vet asked me if I thought we should try sedation. I, as politely as I could, explained that no, I was driving and that I should not use anything that might impair my judgment in operating heavy machinery.
It was at this point I learned vets don’t have a sense of humor. I thought it was funny.
Soon some of our more mechanically talented members removed the seat and carried Spot and the seat as a unit into the vet clinic where the tail was soon extracted. After the applause subsided the seat was reinstalled in the minivan and all ended well.
There you have it — another family with a positive contact with the fire department. Let me hear from you.
