DENVER -- Firefighters practicing ways to rescue victims of rollover crashes put their skills to good use Saturday when they found a rabbit trapped inside a wheel of the truck they were about to carve up.

The Black Forest firefighters used a hydraulic saw to free the bunny, which became stuck when the crew flipped the truck over, said Black Forest Fire/Rescue spokeswoman Kathy Russell.

The crews used decontaminants from their hazardous materials kit to clean engine fluids from the animal's fur before releasing it.

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Russell sent us this account of the discovery:

Saturday was supposed to be a routine day at our fire house. The plan was to spend the sunny morning practicing ways to rescue victims of rollover traffic crashes.

We turned a junk pickup truck onto its side, to practice bracing it. We rolled it onto its top, to brace it some more. We experimented solving problems we might see a year from now – or tonight.

Then one of us looked up into a wheel well, and saw two shiny brown eyes staring back.

“Dudes, you won’t believe this. There’s an animal stuck in here.”

The little cottontail apparently had the hare-brained idea that this old truck would be a warm, safe place to spend the day. Then we came and turned his world upside down.

His wide-eyed expression said that one of us had made a terrible mistake.

“Is he alive?” We crowded around to look.

“Seems to be. He’s breathing. Nose is twitching.”

Having assessed the patient’s vital signs, we huddled to plan our rescue strategy.

We agreed that we had a clear duty to act. This victim, in mortal peril, was a legal resident of our fire district. More than that, he was our next-door neighbor. His family had probably burrowed here on the station’s property for fifteen generations.

Besides, he had been minding his own business, snoozing peacefully, until we ruined his day. We owed him.

Next, we evaluated our resources: Ten firefighters trained in vehicle extrication, wearing heavy turnout gear and helmets. One big, shiny rescue engine. Thousands of bucks worth of hydraulic extrication tools, electric saws, hand tools, and a new set of bracing equipment.

One twelve-ounce bunny.

Yeah, we could handle this.

Grinning brightly, we swung into action.

When we unknowingly attacked his hiding place, the rabbit had instinctively tried to burrow away from the noise and confusion. Now he was thoroughly stuck. We’d have to cut the fender to take him out.

Battalion Captain Kerry Smith called dibs on his tool of choice: an electric Sawsall with a rescue blade that cuts steel like cheese. He plugged the cord into one of the engine’s power outlets, switched on the built-in generator, and braced himself to cut.

“Hold up, Cap!” called one of the team. “Patient protection!”

When we cut wrecked cars, we cover the people inside with a plastic tarp to protect them from flying glass and metal. We pondered this for a moment. Then one of us slipped off his leather glove, and gently tucked it over the rabbit.

Sawing through a fender is quick, but the noise is terrifying. When we rescue humans, one of us crawls into the wrecked car to reassure the victim.

It’s a shame we couldn’t do that for this customer. We hoped his tiny heart wouldn’t stop from fright before we could get him out.

We gently pried open the cut fender. Smith carefully reached deep inside, to prevent the animal from struggling against the sharp metal edges.

As Smith lifted him free, his big brown eyes glared at us. The strong hind legs kicked wildly, trying to flee. Good healthy signs.

Then several of us saw the problem. “Engine fluids on his fur!”

We couldn’t release him like that. He’d naturally try to clean himself, and a few licks of antifreeze would kill him.

But from the back of the group, a voice gleefully offered the solution: “Decon!”

It’s been a few months since our last hazardous materials training, but we all remember how to decontaminate a patient. And this case was easy – we didn’t even need to take his clothes off.

After the rough day he’d had, we felt bad about putting our friend through a warm soapy bath. He endured it grimly, struggling now and then to express his disapproval.

Thirty minutes and four towels later, washed, rinsed and fluffed, our patient was ready to leave our care.

We took him back to the training yard, still in Smith’s big arms. He left us at the speed of light, diving under a pile of scrap lumber.

Down in the burrow, he probably riveted his young cousins with his lurid story of alien abduction.

Up here, we’re still smiling. It was a good rescue. The patient lived.