The Fireman Essay, Part 8: Climax Continued

So my loyal friend Firedog has come to my aid. “O Firedog,” I say, “my Firedog, thou art a good dog! Please take me away.” 

Now Firedog snarls and chomps on the wreckage that is confining me; and he chews through all the obstructions, leaving a trail of sawdust in his wake. — The rubble is now gone, and I can finally move about freely. However, the temperature inside the burning house has risen to 451 degrees Fahrenheit. Yet we do not let the inferno melt our courage: instead, we decide to head straight into the flames until we reach safety. That is the best plan of attack, if you find yourself in a firestorm of toxic combustibles: run directly through it — don’t stop, even if you begin to feel tired. 

So Firedog and I are now safe and sound. Neither of us suffered any burns or other fire-related injuries, because we raced so fast through the raging blaze and then leaped into some ferns.