Family night. That’s what I call it when the five of us are home, my husband, Randy, tinkering around upstairs like always, me snuggled up on the couch with our three daughters, vegging out together with our cat and two dogs in front of the TV.
I love nights like this, I thought. Outside, a cool Oregon rain was falling and a thin fog had wrapped our house like a gauzy blanket. It was pitch dark, making our basement entertainment room feel like a cozy little island.
All of a sudden, Crystal, my 14-year-old daughter, bolted upright. “I smell smoke,” she said. I smelled it too. “See where it’s coming from,” I said. Crystal headed around the corner to the laundry room. I heard her gasp. “It’s a fire!” she shouted.
Randy heard the ruckus. He clattered downstairs with the kitchen fire extinguisher. “Stand back,” he said, and headed to the laundry room. One look, though, and he changed his mind. “Get out of the house!” he shouted. “Right now! Go!”
Crystal grabbed four-year-old Dani by the hand and hustled her up the stairs. I awakened Alissa, nine, and pushed her toward the staircase. We weren’t more than a few seconds behind Crystal and Dani, but by the time we reached the bottom step, smoke had started to envelope us.
Coughing, half blinded, I dragged the two of us up the stairway and out the nearest door. Randy was right behind us.
Thank God we’re all safe, I thought, looking around. That’s when it struck me—we weren’t all safe. The cat had made it out safely, but where were Fawn, our miniature pinscher, and Peke-a-Boo, our Pekingese?
No time to grieve. We ran through the heavy rain to a neighbor’s house and dialed 911. By the time the firefighters arrived, the flames had already engulfed our home.
We stood on the neighbors’ porch and watched the firemen swing their axes and chop through our roof. That’s when it struck the girls. “Fawn and Peke-a-Boo are still inside!” Alissa wailed.
I didn’t know what to say at first. Those dogs meant as much to me as to them. “The firemen know they’re inside, and they are going to do everything they can to get them out,” I assured them.
But that didn’t mollify the girls. Those dogs were their playmates, their confidants. “Mommy, tell the firemen to find them,” Alissa cried.
“Pray for them,” I urged. I didn’t have the heart to tell the girls that the chances of their pets being alive were slim to none.
For the next several hours, we watched firemen tramp in and out of our ruined house. Finally, the flames receded, till only smoke remained.
A fireman emerged from inside. He was carrying a small, dark object. Is that Fawn? I wondered. Is she alive?
I raced into the rain toward our home, followed by the rest of my family. The fireman cradled her. She lay limp in his arms. “She’s still alive,” he said. “I found her unconscious in the family room.”
Another firefighter rushed over with an oxygen tank and mask. He slipped the mask over Fawn’s tiny face and turned the nozzle. Long seconds passed. Then she began to breathe.
I looked over at the girls for their reaction. Each one was holding her breath. Eventually Fawn’s breathing grew stronger, till she was able to do so on her own.
Tears fell down all our faces. But Peke-a-Boo was still missing. I asked the firemen in turn if they had found his body. They all told me no. I pulled one aside, away from the children. “If and when you find our Pekingese, please dispose of him humanely. We don’t need to see him,” I said.
It was another hour before the firefighters deemed the house safe enough to reenter. Randy wanted to search for some keepsakes before we left to check into a hotel. The firefighters led the way. As they approached the house, they turned on their flashlights.
The soot and smoke were still heavy. Randy opened the door. A small white creature leaped toward him. Peke-a-Boo!
When Randy came out of that house carrying our little dog, I thought my heart would burst through. The girls were all in tears. Peke-a-Boo was fine.
It took a moment for me to stop and wonder: How could that be? He had survived a three-hour house fire without a speck of soot on his snow-white fur.
Peke-a-Boo is as white as an angel, I thought. I smiled and turned to the sky. That’s what we’ve always said about him, I thought. It must be.
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