Springer Spaniel Saves Lives

[Estie]

Here's a great story -


denver & the west
Family member has nose for heroics
By Rich Tosches
Rocky Mountain Ranger
Denver Post Staff Columnist
Article Last Updated: 02/04/2007 01:46:45 AM MST


Leadville

They sure don't make carbon monoxide detectors like they used to.

Take the one owned by Debbie Bailey and Jay Roberts. It still works flawlessly despite being 11 years old. Today's detectors have a life span of only five years or so. But this one, well, it most definitely saved the couple's lives a few weeks back, awakening them at 2 a.m. as their home filled with the lethal gas.

Roberts jumped out of bed, called the fire department and opened the door of the 19th-century brick home. And the carbon monoxide detector raced down the hall, dashed outside, ran in circles in the snow and would not come back in.

With today's models, of course, all you get is a loud siren.

The couple's carbon monoxide detector on that frigid early morning of Jan. 19 was Bebe, their brown-and-white, floppy eared Springer spaniel.

"She started making whining noises and pacing back and forth in our bedroom from my side over to Jay's side, over and over," Bailey said. "She never behaves like that. I woke up. And I had a terrific headache."

The couple, accompanied each step of the way by Bebe the wonder dog, gave a visitor a tour of their beautiful home last week, a three-story house built in 1890. It is nestled among shops and businesses along Colorado 24 - the main street through this village that rests in the mountains at a lung-whacking 10,200 feet.

Nice kitchen. Quaint bathrooms. Majestic living room that looks out over the historic town. Cozy bedroom.

"And up there," said Bailey as she opened a door that led to a set of narrow stairs, "is our casket-viewing room."

Perhaps we should have mentioned that Bailey is the Lake County coroner. And the couple's home in this old mining town is part of the Bailey Funeral Home.

They almost became customers.

In the tiny cave-like basement of the home sits a boiler system that heats the house. A natural-gas fire beneath a tank of water sends hot, moist air upward through ducts into each room. The colorless and odorless fumes from the burning gas are vented into a chimney to the outside.

The brick-and-mortar chimney was built with the home in 1890. Unlike today's chimneys, it was not lined with metal. Over the decades the porous chimney decayed from the inside and crumbled to dust, slowly sealing off the escape route for the killing fumes.

New detectors not plugged in

At about 6 a.m. on Jan. 18, the electronic carbon monoxide detector in the home sounded. It was several years old. Roberts thought it had malfunctioned. His wife bought two new detectors that day.

The next night they settled in to sleep.

The two new carbon monoxide detectors, unopened, sat on a desk downstairs.

"We didn't think to plug them in," Bailey said.

After midnight Bebe's pacing grew more intense. Her whining grew louder. Bailey and Roberts awoke with headaches. They took Tylenol. Roberts let Bebe outside. She did not want to come back in.

"I'm telling her, 'C'mon in. It's 10 below zero,' " Roberts said. "She was acting strange."

A moment later he remembered the previous morning's carbon monoxide alarm. Roberts rushed downstairs, opened one of the new detectors and plugged it in. The siren went off. The digital readout stopped at 999 (parts per million) - the detector limit.

Carbon monoxide at 800 ppm can cause convulsions within 45 minutes and a coma within two hours.

Roberts called the fire department. Downstairs, near the boiler room, the department's carbon monoxide detectors soared to 1,200 ppm, a level that can cause death within three minutes. The firefighters, Bailey and Roberts rushed outside where Bebe still sat. The couple had raging headaches and nausea.

The utilities company shut off the gas. Firefighters opened windows and doors. A gigantic fan blew the gas outside. The chimney was cleaned and later that day was able to safely vent the gas up and out of the home. This week a stainless steel sleeve will be fitted into the chimney.

Hero gets prime rib

But at 4 a.m., just two hours after Bebe awakened them, Bailey and Roberts were down the street, lying side by side in St. Vincent's General Hospital. They spent several hours breathing oxygen until the carbon monoxide levels in their blood dropped to a safe level.

During those hours Bebe was curled up in the cab of the couple's pickup truck in the hospital parking lot.

"A nurse kept going out and running the truck for a few minutes and bringing heated hospital blankets to keep her warm," Bailey said.

That night, with the house safely vented, Bebe ate prime rib.

In between all the patting.

"We had another Springer spaniel. Bonny. She was 13. She died more than a year ago," said Bailey, who was elected last November to her second term as county coroner. "She and Bebe were best friends. Since Bebe has been alone she sleeps with us. Most of the time right on the bed."

Said Roberts: "She'd been breathing the carbon monoxide most of the day and she must have been sick. I think at 2 a.m. she said, 'Enough is enough.' "

The couple sat on a sofa in their living room the other day, framed by the huge old windows that have brought the sparkling light of the Rocky Mountains into the home for 117 years. Bebe sat between them.

"It took us a while to think about it. Maybe a day or so," said Bailey, her right hand resting on her dog's back. "But then it scared us. It hit us that without Bebe, we really could have died that night."

Staff writer Rich Tosches writes each Wednesday and Sunday. He can be reached at rtosches@denverpost

[SmilingDogs]

What a wonderful story -- and I have to say, a very gifted writer as well!! (Tosches)
Thanks for posting :>)