Togo Goes to Fire Station #5

I have had a long-standing interest in fire-fighting. Well, to be perfectly honest, in my early years I was most interested in fire hydrants. And to be most perfectly honest, I am still very interested in fire hydrants. 

This one is on our street and it’s very nice and accommodating. But it’s about 1/8 of a mile from our house and on the other side of the street. Accommodating, but not readily accessible. That’s why when I saw this Garage Sale sign in front of Fire Station #5, I encouraged Daddy to stop by and see if they had any extra fire hydrants lying around. I was willing to forego my allowance for several weeks if Daddy would get me one and put it in our yard.

Daddy pointed out two things. First, Fire Station #5 wasn’t having a Garage Sale. One of the neighbors was just using that corner to advertise. Second, Daddy says that I don’t get an allowance.  It turned out that he was right about the first thing. And, on the second thing, it is obvious that he doesn’t know about my financial arrangement with Momma. I’ve decided to let him stay in the dark about that one as a “what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him” kind of a thing. Just like all of the stuff I’ve buried in the backyard.

I do really like the big red, shiny fire engines they have at Station #5. Daddy and I walk by there almost every day. If we time it right, the firefighters are washing the trucks and testing their equipment. Daddy says they do that so that they know that everything works and is ready to go if there’s a fire or other emergency. Sometimes they toot the horn or run the siren just a bit. I’m pretty sure that’s just for my benefit.

I’ve always wanted to get close and take a good look at those trucks. But Daddy tells me that the firefighters are busy doing their work and that we need to leave them alone. Daddy seems to be horribly deficient in the adventure gene. Luckily, I have a lot of that coursing through my veins.

Just the other day, Daddy wasn’t paying close attention when we were walking around the fire station. I nonchalantly pulled him closer and closer to the #5 Ladder Truck and the two friendly firefighters who were shining it. And before you know it, I had struck up a friendship. And soon, there were three more firefighters who came out to talk to me. Some even showed Daddy pictures of their dogs on their phones. 

While Daddy was preoccupied, I asked one of them what it would take for me to become an official firedog. (I already knew from looking on the interweb that I would have to dye my fur white and add black spots.) Apparently, they are not hiring firedogs right now. But he said I could come by and visit any time. 

At the end of our time, I thanked everyone — not only for greeting me and answering my questions but for their important work. And I left Daddy’s phone number in case there was ever a firedog opening or an extra fire hydrant sitting around.