Dogs to the Rescue

My hot date on Friday night was as a volunteer victim. Yes, it's the latest craze, voluntarily stuff yourself into the corner pantry of an old womens hospital and stay there for two hours while you get 'rescued' by no less than eight dogs of varying breeds and sizes. I'm a party girl.

Why would I do this? I could give you all kinds of reasons but, really, it was the free pizza dinner beforehand.

As a writer, you get all kinds of ideas but often never a firsthand look at how things are done. Far be it from me to pass up an opportunity to hang out in a creepy, dark, freezing place for a little story fodder. I'll suffer for my art.

So, having donned several layers of clothing, I joined a few other nutty folks, now officially victims-in-need-of-rescue, to aid the brave men and women and furries from the New Zealand Urban Search and Rescue. They needed us, and when we all froze into little woolen-hatted popsicles in a few hours, we would need them.

The old Christchurch Women's hospital looks a bit like a mental ward, sinister, dark, cordoned off with fencing...oh, wait, can't forget looming. All old, abandoned buildings should loom, that's the rule. Apart from a few lights in the lobby, the place was black. Perfect for a people hunt. Err...volunteer victim hunt with lots of pretty hearts and pink bows and doggie treats.

I brought along a digital camera, but only took a few shots, only one of which actually came out. I haven't quite figured out the night setting on the thing. Anyway, as we were supposed to be strangers, we weren't allowed to hang out with the furries and I thought taking pictures of the dogs and their handlers would be rude. They were there to work. Plus, approaching any strange dog without permission is a lot like poking a sleeping Grizzly in the eye. Bad idea. Not that these dogs are dangerous, 'cause they aren't, just focused.

First things first. Hide. We were supposed to be hidden in twos, meaning two victims would be in the same general vicinity as each other in different spots so the dogs have more than one person to seek out in any one area. Our hiding place: the kitchen.

Remember the kitchen in The Shining? The one with Nicholson, not the mini-series. Think giant stainless steel surfaces gleaming under flashlights, ovens the size of small cars and huge mixers just sitting around waiting to be used in some sort of John Carpenter-esque bloodbath. All that was missing were the hanging racks of knives and tenderizers.

The only moment I thought about backing out was when they suggested putting me in one the hefty meatlockers. Dogs aren't usually adept at opening vacuum-sealed doors, so this was not optimal. Thank God. I don't mind tight spaces, but airless, soundproof ones, no thank you. Next.

It was agreed that I should take up residence in one of the larger walk-in pantries. I was to sit atop a counter and should remain still when the dog discovered me. Apparently, many rescue victims are unconscious. Who knew? Ahem.

Temperature outside: 39 degrees; temperature inside: maybe 33. Maybe.

With my back against the window, I tried to get comfortable and was awarded within about 15 minutes, when a glowing-collared German Shepherd rounded the corner and sniff-sniffed her way around the pantry to my hiding spot. Hopping up on hind paws, she let out a couple of nice booming barks and her handler came in to award her with her favorite chew toy.

Let it be said that if I'm ever in a real rescue situation and conscious when I'm found, I know those doggie barks will be like the sound of angels.

This continued for the next hour and a half. A few dogs needed some coaxing to find me, others were further along in their training and had no trouble locating my perch. Even so, there echoed a chorus of barking from the empty hallways in regular intervals. At one stage, one of the furries got a bit overexcited and I heard "I'll pick that up in a few mintues," from outside the pantry door. Let's say my cubbyhole became permeated with an 'aroma' not so pleasing for a few minutes. Good times.

Nearing the second hour, I felt the need to move or completely write-off my lower extremities. I was told that if I got too cold to come out, and I wasn't going to second guess my protesting muscles. In a non-Arctic situation, the coordinator would just come and get you when all the dogs had finished their rounds.

Emerging from the pantry, I wound my way through the now sinister and skeletal kitchen and joined the rest of the popsicle-like volunteers in the dilapidated lobby.

It seemed the evening was a success and all the furries performed as expected, finding all the victims. Most were now shut up in their crates, save a few (the dogs, not the victims). I gave in at that point and asked to pet one of the dogs, a beautiful Shepherd mix who gladly accepted a scratch behind the ears.

All in all it was an awesome experience and one I'll probably do again. I've heard tell of volunteers being strapped to gurneys and lowered out of windows several stories up.

Really, I highly recommend volunteering for this kind of thing if you can. Programs are everywhere and they can always use the help. Dogs are an integral part of all kinds of rescue operations, 9/11 to name a big one. The folks that volunteer their time to train and love these dogs are special folks in my book. And the dogs, well they live to please and love what they do, no doubt about it. Woolly hats off to all the furries involved, as they are real heroes.

Comments

[Mr. Fabulous]

That sounds like a really cool experience. Good for you for lending a helping hand. I never heard of such a thing before.

[kate]

GREAT idea--not only for the doggie practice--but as a writer-what amazing ideas one could come up with!!
love reading about your experiences.

[Fi]

Good on ya. Makes for a great read :)

[TC]

Excellent stuff! I never really thought about how they trained the pooches either.

Sounds like a great idea.

Presumably it all ended up in the pub.

Even better!

[Mr. Fabulous]

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