By Eric Mathison

We were life-long cat owners. Nobody told us how much trouble it is having a dog.

Maybe it is just Otto, our Poodle mix rescue we’ve had for two years now.

There was the time he slipped his leash, ran into the middle of Ambaum Boulevard and disappeared for 10 hours. We hired a tracking dog who searched four miles around Burien looking for him.

Then there was that time he wolfed down a chocolate bar--foil wrapper included. We rushed him to the vet to have his stomach pumped.

Let’s not even go there about all those miles I’ve walked him, which contributed to my need for two hip replacements.

The incident last week started with our daily 10-minute walk from our condo in Burien down the woodsy path to the sewer plant and back. It’s Otto’s own once-a-day chance to run off leash. I didn’t even take my cell phone. I barely bothered to lock the front door.

Happily free, he romped down the path and veered off toward a part of the sewer plant.

Only a month removed from the latest hip surgery, I warned Otto, “You know, I can’t rescue you if get stuck in the brambles.”

I waited for him to finish his fun. After awhile it was time to go and I called him. No response. I kept calling and still no response.

Finally, I resorted to my tried and true tactic. I began walking away and remarked over my shoulder, “Bye, Otto. Have a nice life.” He was abandoned as a six-month old so is very sensitive about desertion. Not even that worked.

Despite my previous warning to him, bum hip and all I waded into the brambles. Otto was nowhere to be seen. But by the mournful sounds emanating from under ground and my discovery of an open 12-inch drainpipe, I quickly deduced what had happened.

Back to the condo for flashlight, doggie treats and cell phone. No need to panic. Otto got himself in there and it was simply a matter of luring him back out. But he had gone too far this time.

OK, now time to semi-panic.

I called Southwest Suburban Sewer District.

I blurted, “Mydogisstuckinyoursewerpipeandcan’tgetout.”

They sent out two guys immediately. They opened the manhole cover. Sure enough he was down there. But it was deep, there was an unknown amount of water and he was in a tight side pipe and too scared to come out.

By that time, Marge arrived from work and spent the next 90 minutes or so lying on her stomach on the other end of the drainpipe, cooing, “Come here, baby; it’s OK, honey.”

The sewer guys called North Highline Fire Department.

As darkness fell, about a dozen firefighters and rescue personnel materialized. They brought sophisticated equipment including generators and gas masks.

Sewer supervisors rushed over after hours with detailed photos of the drain system.

The battalion commander with assistance from a lieutenant mapped out the battle plan for “Operation Otto.” Roles were assigned: Guy to go down the hole. Backup guy to go down the hole. Guy to snatch dog from guy in hole. Spotlight holder. Safety officer. Backup safety officer. Etc.

I provided Otto’s dog treats, which the hole guy buckled to his rescue suit.

I kid about the detailed preparations but we really do appreciate how seriously the fire department took what was a very serious situation to us.

To anybody whose house in the North Highline service area may have been on fire while the considerable resources of the fire department were focused on rescuing my dog, all I can say is “Sorry.”

“Operation Otto” went very well. The backups and gas masks were not needed. Thanks to the guy in the hole (whose name I didn’t get) for being patient in winning Otto’s trust while they were both in a very cramped smelly place.

Surprisingly, Otto realized this guy was a helper and not a dangerous stranger. The guy carried Otto on his back instead of stuffing him in a duffle bag and having him hoisted out as planned.

Otto emerged bedraggled, dirty and maybe even a little bit chagrined. After a bath, he settled in at home as if nothing happened. But Marge and I will always remember the helpfulness and kindness of the sewer and rescue workers.

And I suppose like most dog owners we complain about our mutts but are so enamored we’ll do whatever it takes to save them from themselves.

Eric Mathison is a former editor of the Highline Times. He can be reached care of Ken Robinson at kenr@robinsonnews.com.