How One Dog Became a Firefighter

Today was

Amazing.

It started out as a normal day—the same as any other.

I got let out of my cage.

I ate my kibble.

I pooped in the house (my guilty pleasure).

Then I remembered… it wasn’t a normal day.

In fact, it was my first day of work.

My owner said I was getting a little too out of hand and that I had to pay my own way through obedience school.

Obedience school—nonsense!

Before I knew it, my owner had dropped me off at the fire station.

I began a full day of intense training.

Everyone broke for lunch at 12.

I only get fed once a day and I was hungry.

The scent of everyone’s lunch was overpowering.

I couldn’t take it.

I sat beside a very tall man, waiting for an opportunity to lunge at his food.

Suddenly, he turned his head to talk to someone beside him.

This was the moment I’d been waiting for.

I jumped up onto the table, grabbing his grilled chicken breast in my mouth and gobbling it down as fast as I can.

Delicious.

Oh no!

The man turned back.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING???????” The grumpy man yelled as he picked me up and dropped me down on the floor, treating me like I was some type of animal.

As I was walking away, the alarm bells went off. There was a fire call to attend.

“You’ve shown real initiative today, Binky. We’re going to throw you into the fire,” the boss screamed over the alarm.

He told me to slide down the fire pole and hop inside my fire truck.

When I first got into the fire truck, I was the happiest I’ve ever been.

Forget the joy of delicious bones. Forget the joy of the park. Forget the joy of sniffing other dog’s butts. Or my own butt.

The joy of saving an entire family by putting out a fire felt like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

I would be the reason they were saved.

I would be a hero.

I’ve seen those dog heroes on the animal channel… but never did I ever think I’d be one.

I stopped daydreaming to realize that….

There was a small problem.

When I first got into the fire truck, I got a little confused about which end was the front of the truck and which end was the back.

You drive from the back, don’t you?

I didn’t know.

Maybe that’s what they teach you in obedience school.

Maybe I should go to obedience school after all.

My truck started driving away from the fire.

I was blazing mad.

I threw my paws up in the air.

Think quickly, Binky, I thought.

With all my five pounds, I pounced on the break.

The fire truck came to a screeching halt and I jumped back on the seat only to see that all the other firefighters had pulled over to laugh at me.

“We told you that fire fighting was no job for a dog,” one dumb-dumb yelled.

“You’re too tiny to even drive a truck. How do you expect to put out a fire?” another buttsniffer said.

I let out my loudest of barks.

With both hind legs on the gas and one hand on the wheel, I turned the truck around and drove towards the fire.

I promised myself I’d go to obedience school and learn how to drive.

I’d practice every night if I had to.

But I couldn’t simply give up just because some poopheads laughed at me.

A family was counting on me.

I parked the truck in the driveway and hopped out.

I made sure my breathing apparatus was secure. I had my axe handy in case I needed to break down any walls. I turned on the firehose and rushed towards the burning house.

I seen the family waiting outside. They seemed a little confused to see a dog.

“What’s your name?” a little girl said.

I pointed to my name tag on my fire gear: Binky.

I dashed past her and into the flaming house.

“GO BINKY, GO!” The family started cheering.

By the time the rest of the crew arrived, I had put out the fire.

That’s right.

All by myself.

The mother of the family ran towards me to shake my paw.

“You did it, Binky!”

That’s Fire Chief Binky, to you.

Barkya later,