第6章 真正的天使

The Dog Who Dialed 911

珍妮·玛丽·拉斯卡斯/Jeanne Marie Laskas

当莉娜·比斯利为她的新服务犬起名字的时候，她想到了《圣经》中她最喜欢的一句话：“信念是希望的物质载体，是未见之事的证据。”

“信念，”她抱着这只罗特韦尔小狗说道，“以后我就叫你信念吧。”

那是在2001年，莉娜已经46岁了，她离婚后和她20岁的儿子——迈克尔住在华盛顿州普吉特湾的一处居所。她承认，要适应一只新的服务犬是有些困难。莉娜与轮椅为伴，并患有癫痫病。近10年她一直依赖着她的第一只服务犬布朗森，他帮她处理一些日常琐碎的事情，严格说来，是在她癫痫病发作的时候给予帮助。布朗森从服务线上退休了，成了莉娜和她儿子的普通宠物狗。

从内心来说，莉娜有些疑虑，不知她自己能否像信赖布朗森那样再去信赖另一只狗。在她的心目中，布朗森就是她的守护天使。

“好吧，信念，”她对她的新狗说，眼中流露出那种急切的眼神，“我们还有好多工作要做，那么让我们从现在开始吧。”

据科学家推测，有些狗有着极其敏锐的嗅觉，可以发觉病人病发之前体内产生的极其微小的化学变化。不过，只有少数的狗知道在危险来临的时候将嗅觉转换成相应的警报。

信念最终被训练成功，能够理解并回答150多种命令。但是直到2004年9月6日的那个晚上，莉娜才真正了解到信念能够做什么。当时，莉娜和她的儿子住在华盛顿州的里奇兰德。那是一个很普通的夜晚，迈克尔到当地的杂货店上晚班，莉娜在上床休息前，感到有些不舒服，像是感冒了。她看了看在起居室躺着的布朗森，然后回到自己的卧室。信念一直寸步不离地跟着她，并没有在床边的篮子里躺着，只是一直站着，看着莉娜……还说着话。听起来就像是人们在谈话，发出一种“噜噜噜噜”的声音。

“你在说什么呢？”莉娜问道。就在这时，信念以她那85磅重的身体跳到莉娜的床上——这是她的禁地——并转着圈儿。她不理会莉娜要她下床的要求，而这些完全不像平时那只温顺的小狗。

莉娜想起训狗师说过的话：“相信你的狗！”如果一只狗的行为有些异常的话，可能是因为她知道一些你不知道的事情——但是你需要知道的。

“好吧，信念，我相信你，”她说道，“我这就起床。”她坐到轮椅上，检查着房子，并没有发现与平常有什么不同，于是决定喝一杯热巧克力。

她来到炉子旁，试着去拿那个空水壶，就在这时，世界变得漆黑一片。她从轮椅上摔了下来，头撞到橱柜门上，倒在地上失去了知觉。这是疾病的突发状况，尽管不是由于她的癫痫病直接引发的。莉娜患有肝功能衰竭，事后医生告诉她，用药的副作用使得她几乎丧失了肝功能。

而摔倒时的碰撞又使得莉娜的癫痫病立刻发作起来。就在这个时候，信念的英雄气概表现了出来。这只狗将无绳电话衔在嘴里，用鼻子按着狗专用的911快速拨号键，她受过识别这个键的专业训练。当接线员珍妮·布坎南应答的时候，信念在电话里狂吠着。她一遍遍地叫着。大多数的911接线员没有接受过翻译狗叫的这种培训，但是在本托县东南的交流中心，对所有的来电都必须作出反应。布坎南发现狗叫的规律——听起来好像是在她说完话之后才发出声音，就像是那只狗在回答她的问题。肯定这个声音不是背景音乐而是一个求救电话，布坎南派出了警察。当电话里的声音消失后，信念又回到莉娜的身边，为她做着癫痫病的复健工作，将她推到“恢复姿势”，侧躺着，这样可以使病人的喉咙畅通。

斯科特·莫雷尔警官到达现场，打开了走廊上的移动探测灯。信念和布朗森透过窗户往外看，他们都受过识别警察、消防员以及医护人员制服的专业训练，可以辨认出他们不是闯入者，而是朋友。信念用鼻子将她的小狗专用门把手顶开，让莫雷尔进来，叫着向厨房跑去，让莫雷尔跟着她。

莉娜在医院住了三个星期，信念有时候会陪着她。但是莉娜对于自己是怎么获救的一直不是很清楚。直到她回到家里，联系上莫雷尔警官和布坎南之后，她才将信念救了自己这个不可思议的壮举拼凑了起来。

“这一定是爱与奉献，”莉娜说道，“从那晚起，我们的关系就发生了变化。我想信念一定是找到了自己的生活目标，同时我也发现她是一个真正的天使。”

When Leana Beasley wondered about a name for her new service dog， she thought about one of her favorite Bible quotes："Faith is the substance of things hoped for， the evidence of things not seen."

"Faith，" she said， cradling the rottweiler puppy. "I'll name you Faith."

That was in 2001， and Leana， now 46， who is divorced and lives with her 20-year-old son， Michael， in a house in Puget Sound， Washington， admits she found the transition to the new dog difficult. Leana is wheelchair-bound and suffers from epilepsy； for nearly a decade she had come to depend on Bronson， her first service dog， to help her with chores and errands and， most critically， to assist her in the event of epileptic seizures. Bronson was retiring from service and evolving into a regular pet for Leana and her son.

Deep down， Leana doubted she'd ever trust another dog as deeply as she did Bronson， the creature she had come to regard as her guardian angel.

"Okay， Faith，" she said to her new dog， a brindled bundle of energy with eager eyes. "We have a lot of work to do， so let's get started."

Scientists speculate that some dogs， with their supremely sensitive noses， might be able to detect subtle changes in human body chemistry that occur just before a seizure. But only a select few know how to interpret that olfactory information as worthy of alarm.

Faith was eventually trained to understand and answer more than 150 commands， but it wasn't until the evening of September 6， 2004， that Leana would learn what， exactly， Faith was made of. Leana and her son were then living in Richland， Washington. It was a typical evening： Michael had left for his night shift at the local grocery store， and Leana headed to bed， feeling a little sick， as if she were getting the flu. She checked on Bronson， asleep in the living room， and went into her bedroom. Faith wouldn't leave her side. She wouldn't lay down in her basket next to the bed， but instead stood there looking at Leana and… talking. That's how it sounded， like a kind of chatter "Roo roo rooo rooo".

"What is it？" Leana said. Soon enough Faith， all 85 pounds of her， jumped on Leona's bed—a forbidden territory—and ran in circles. She would not answer Leanne's command to get down， which was completely out of character for the obedient dog.

In her mind Leana heard the voice of the trainer："Trust your dog？" A dog behaving strangely probably knows something you don't know—and need to.

"Okay， Faith， I'm trusting you，" she said. "I'm getting out of bed." She got in her wheelchair and investigated the house and， finding nothing unusual， decided to make herself hot chocolate.

She reached across the stove for the empty water kettle， and that's when the world went black. She fell out of her wheelchair， hitting her head on the kitchen cabinet door， and lay unconscious on the floor. This was a medical emergency， though not directly caused by her epilepsy. Leana was experiencing liver failure； doctors later said that an adverse reaction to her medication made her liver nearly shut down.

The contusion suffered during the fall caused Leana to immediately go into a grand mal seizure， and at that point Faith's heroism kicked into overdrive. The dog retrieved the cordless phone with her mouth， and with her nose pushed the dog-friendly 911 speed-dial button she had been trained to identify. When the dispatcher， Jenny Buchanan， answered， Faith barked into the phone. She barked and barked. Most 911 operators are not trained to translate the woofing of dogs， but at the Benton County's Southeast Communications Center， all calls must be acted on. Buchanan detected a pattern to the barks—they seemed to come after she spoke， as if the dog were somehow answering her. Deciding that this was not just background noise but a plea for help， Buchanan dispatched police. When the voice stopped coming out of the phone， Faith went back to Leana and did her seizure-response work， pushing her into the "recovery position" on her side， which cleared throat.

When the police officer， Corporal Scott Morrell， arrived， tripping the motion-detector light on the porch. Faith and Bronson watched from the window. Both had been trained to recognize the uniforms of police， firefighters and medical personnel not as intruders but as friends. With her nose， faith unlatched the special doggie lock on the door and let Morrell inside， barking as she ran to the kitchen， urging him to follow.

Leana was in the hospital for three weeks， accompanied by Faith for part of the time. But Leana never had a clear idea of her rescue. It wasn't until she returned home and contacted Morrell and Buchanan that she was able to piece together the story of Faith's amazing feat.

"It must be love and devotion，" Leana says. "After that night our relationship changed. I think Faith discovered her purpose. And I found out who she was： a true angel."