Fiery newsroom debate goes to dogs

THE wonderful story about a 20-year-old Roma man who risked his life and ran into a house on fire to save a dog has opened up a wider debate – if only for this humble newsroom. In what was nothing short of bravery, Ethan Dennis had been driving past a friend’s home last week when he saw it ablaze and stopped.

Not knowing if the occupants and their pets were still inside the home, Ethan kicked in the door and went in search.

Fortunately, all were out of the house but two dogs were tied up, with one under the house where its kennel was already on fire.

Ethan successfully retrieved the dog and got it to safety but sustained burns himself when part of the house collapsed while he was under the home securing the dog.

Wonderful story, but soon the question was raised by a young lady colleague: “Would you run back into a house on fire to save your pet?” It’s a question we could all ponder. Well, you can ponder it, I’d know the answer which would be a resounding “No!”

However, this particular young lady colleague, as well as a fellow young lady colleague beside her, said they wouldn’t hesitate to run back into the flames to rescue their respective dogs.

Unfortunately, both were left with a lesser opinion of my good self when I said: “No bloody way!”

However, in my defence, I don’t have a dog but have the care of just one cat, a second-hand cat at that, which I inherited when another young lady colleague left our newsroom some years ago.

I tried to explain that should my house catch fire I would immediately suspect the second-hand cat as having started it and rather than wake he who feeds it, would simply scamper out through his cat flap to safety while I slipped further into smoke-induced slumber.

“You’re kidding!” my young lady colleagues barked incredulously, “You wouldn’t run back into the fire for your pet?”

I suspect they were even less than impressed when I said that I probably would run back into the flames but not to save the second-hand cat.

I’d be running back to the fridge to save as many of my beers as possible, and by the time the fireys arrived I’d be perched on a deck chair in the yard with an Esky beside me.

Well, there’s nothing like having a beer around a fire, is there?

Touch wood, to date I’ve only once had to call the fireys, and it wasn’t for a fire.

One Saturday afternoon I had some friends around for a barbecue but before we fired up the grill, a very strong sulphur-like odour spread through the neighbourhood.

Suspecting someone was “cooking” up some meth nearby in a clandestine drug lab (at the time a house two doors up was a notorious bail address), I called the authorities.

The fireys turned up and checked neighbouring houses and workshops but no-one answered.

One of the fireys well known to me who, for sake of anonymity we will just refer to as “Buck”, came over for a chat.

“Buck,” I said, “I want to fire up the barbie but I’m a bit worried about flicking on a naked flame with that chemical smell in the air”. Buck’s response was classic. “Well, as you can tell it’s dissipating already but go ahead and light up the barbecue,” he said.

“If there is a flame, just follow it to the source and ring us back.” True story!

Hopefully, touch wood, I’ll be spared any fires at my home, but just as a precaution, I’ve hidden the matches from the second-hand cat.