A dog’s life : Fayetteville’s canine firefighters are bright spots in the department’s education efforts
Posted on Sunday, May 11, 2008
He gets noticed fast. The sharp contrast of his white coat and black spots against the red metal of the truck make him stick out.
"What's that dog ? "a preschool student asks, wonder in his voice.
"Look," says another, as several hands point in the direction of the dark eyes that are watching over the activities from behind the driver's seat of the fire truck.
"No," cautions Sue Butler, the Fayetteville Fire Department's education coordinator. "Sparky comes out later. He takes all the attention, and I get jealous."
So the 40 or so students at Living Faith Preschool in Fayetteville wait. Butler tells them about crawling under smoke, about stopping and dropping and rolling.
Sparky is whining now. There are new people to meet, and there is a sackful of bacon-flavored treats in the pocket of Butler's khaki work pants.
It's been long enough. The kids - and Sparky - can't take it anymore.
"Who wants to see Sparky ? "asks Butler, her voice matching the enthusiasm of the kids whose eyes are fixed on the animal.
"I do ! "the group screams in unison, hands in the air.
Sparky rushes in, pulling hard against a leash held by a Fayetteville fireman. He is greeted by a half circle of kids with bright shirts and clapping hands.
He zooms towards Butler, his handler. She has the treats.
"Sound the alarm," she tells him.
"Woof," he responds. "Sound the alarm," she echoes. "Woof," he responds again. "Feel the door," she asks of him. He presses his paw out, pretending as if he's touching a hot doorknob. And the kids scream in delight.
• • • Sparky III lives at Fayetteville's Fire Station No. 3, located on Crossover Road. His bed, a striped, square pillow, rests beside the treadmill in what serves as the building's living room. He stays with the firefighters while they wait for a call.
For several years, Sparky III stayed at Station No. 1, located on Center Street in downtown Fayetteville. Sparky, like other Dalmatians, loves to roam. Through the open doors of the fire station he would run, off to explore his neighborhood.
When the firefighters were out on a call, Sparky liked to sleep in their beds, several of them said. He's a beloved teammate, and none of the fire personnel have anything but kind words for him.
Amy Bailey carries a photo of Sparky III on her cell phone. Bailey, who has been with the fire department for more than four years, remembers when she first met the dog. She was the only female firefighter at Station No. 1 at the time, and was initially shy around her colleagues. Sparky was her first friend.
"Well, at least the dog likes me," she remembers telling herself in jest.
The Dalmatian Club of America estimates the average life span of the breed is between 11 and 13 years, and at 13 himself, age is taking a toll on Sparky.
Butler can tell when Sparky has worked hard because he seems to favor his back leg, as if his hip hurts, she said. He simply doesn't move around as well as he used to, although the two cars that struck him while he roamed the streets near Station No. 1 may be responsible for part of that.
He's in good health, but it's time for a break, those with the fire department agree. "He deserves that. He's worked hard," Butler said.
• • • Sparky is laying on his side. He doesn't move.
"See, he's a dead dog," Butler tells the children at the preschool.
Sparky is demonstrating what would happen to someone one if they didn't crawl below the smoke.
But he gets up, because after 12 years of doing this routine, he knows what comes next. It's time for his treats. Butler puts some on his nose, or tosses a few into the air for him to grab. Butler has a child practice the fundamental fire maneuver: stop, drop and roll. Now, it's Sparky's turn. He stops pacing the circle of children, then flops down on his stomach. Over his side he goes, belly up, now down, over another time. "Roll, Sparky, roll," a child gleefully yells. He does. Regardless of his hips, his age or anything else.
• • • When the Fayetteville Fire Department decided there should be a Sparky IV, they knew finding a dog with a gentle temperament would be key. A proven bloodline would be a must.
They knew exactly which dog should be the father. Sparky IV, 4 months old, is the son of Sparky III. He is the grandson of Sparky II and great-grandson of Sparky, the dogs that have represented the department since a Dalmatian first wandered around a Fayetteville fire station in the mid-1970 s.
None of the dogs have fought fires. Instead, the dogs are instructional tools used to teach children about what to do in the event of a fire. It will take about a year before Sparky IV knows his commands well enough to perform in his father's stead.
He will learn to sit, bark, crawl and do the stop, drop and roll routine, which is the most difficult of the tricks to learn, Butler said.
For their efforts, the dogs are rewarded with treats such as the ones Butler carries around, although Sparky III will eat about anything the firefighters at Station No. 3 give him.
Sparky IV will learn all the tricks his father knows, although he won't be sleeping on the firefighter's beds - Sparky III sheds too much hair for them to allow it to happen again. The younger dog will also be kept on a leash when outside, hopefully preventing another mishap involving an unsuspecting motorist. Sparky IV took up residence at Station No. 1 early last week. He too sleeps on a striped pillow bed, although his is directly in front of a refrigerator door. He's already as big as his old man. And he's already found friends, too - he naps with Bailey in a recliner every night she works. Like all the firehouse Dalmatians, Sparky IV is funded through fire department's annual pancake breakfast each autumn. No money from the city is used to feed or provide veterinary services for the dogs.
• • • Sparky III has probably eaten 20 treats. Maybe 25. As the children go back to their classrooms, Sparky walks around scratching his nose in some freshly cut grass. He's completed his duties for the day. It's time to go. From the back of Butler's SUV, he watches the world go by, staring out the back window until he reaches Station No. 3.
• • • The dogs are important to the firefighters as companions, but they serve a larger purpose. By Butler's own admission, Sparky often does her job as well as she does.
"I can talk all day," she said. "But that dog comes in, and they listen to him."
If Sparky is at a fire scene, its only because he was riding in the truck in route to an educational event when the crew was dispatched, Butler said.
And although he doesn't don fire gear, Sparky has saved lives, Butler said.
"Kids say [to firefighters ], ' I crawled under the smoke just like Sparky told me to. ' That's why [the dogs ] are so important."
Sparky III is used about three times per week in an educational setting. He will continue to do so until he isn't physically capable or his son is ready to replace him. He will then live out his days in retirement, under the care of firefighters, and will be buried at a station house, just like his father and grandfather before him.
• • • Sparky IV is sleeping. A gentle nudge stirs him. He gets up, walks in a circle, sees the legs of the people around him.
"Sit," a firefighter tells him.
"No, sit," he repeats, gently pushing the dogs hindquarters to the floor.
The young dog has other concerns. He chews on his leash. He jumps on his toy, a dirty, slobbered-on thing that was once a baseball.
He walks around. There are six firefighters at Station No. 1, and all of them dote on him.
He looks anxious, and one of the firefighters leads him down the stairs, away from their combined living quarters. Sparky explores a bit, sniffing the trees and running down the sidewalk as far as his tether will allow. Drivers' heads spin, eyeing the animal as he prances in the sun.
"That's a pretty dog you've got there," says a passerby.
"Thank you," says Jason Hood, the firefighter holding the leash.
Back into the firehouse, back up the stairs, back toward the friendly hands of the firefighters Sparky climbs. He could be petted, or play with his ball. Instead, he sees his bed.
He lies down.
He's fast asleep again.
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