Isabel George - The 9/11 Dogs. The heroes who searched for survivors at the Twin Towers

Lower Manhattan, New York, March 2002. I stood on the waterfront just a stones throw from Ground Zero. Inadequately dressed for the bite of a New York winter, I clenched the short stack of press packs I had been carrying for the past two hours closer to my chest. That morning, the CNN weather reporter announced that this would be the coldest day of the year so far, yet I had still managed to leave my hotel room without gloves and a scarf. I quickly discovered that a bundle of slim paper folders and my thin English wool coat were no match for a minus-twenty wind chill.

Trying hard not to visibly shudder, I looked into the crowd ahead for a distraction. There must have been around 300 people gathered to watch this unique medal ceremony. Television crews and photographers were taking up their positions by the stage, where the soon-to-be-honoured guests included City of New York police and fire officers, alongside search-and-rescue teams and their counterparts from all over the United States. As they mingled with the dark-suited civilians, including representatives from the British Embassy and the Mayors office, the gold braid on their dress uniforms glistened in the flashes of winter sun. And at their feet, the canine heroes of the hour obediently sat, wondering what all the fuss was about.

German Shepherds, Labradors and spaniels accounted for the majority of the four-legged guests. Some of the dogs were in their dress uniform too, with coats bearing the emblem of the organisation they were representing. For two Golden Labradors Salty and Roselle six months earlier the walk into Lower Manhattan would have been a daily part of their routine. These two guide dogs knew this place well, as their masters had worked in the World Trade Center and the dogs had accompanied them into the city every day. If they had any memory of the last time they were in this part of town it would have been a traumatic recollection of leading their owners down over seventy floors of the North Tower and running through a cloud of thick, grey ash surrounded by screaming people fearing for their lives.

That day they were meeting colleagues, police and rescue workers they had not seen since 9/11, and the dogs were enjoying the praise and attention of everyone around them. This was, after all, their day a presentation ceremony devoted to acknowledging the courage of the dogs who played a vital role during and after the terrorist attack on 11 September 2001. Dedicated search dogs now stood beside devoted guide dogs, and the canines who came to offer comfort and solace to the exhausted and the bereaved. Warm breath rose from the dogs damp muzzles and drifted into the icy air. Everyone gathered that morning was there to see one thing the dogs honoured for their loyalty in the face of human tragedy.

As the British High Commissioner took his place on the podium, the handlers checked that the dogs were forming a straight line behind him. With military precision they stood tall. Even Salty and Roselle took the hint that this was a time to sit rather than lie down. A hush fell and all eyes turned to the line of dogs on the stage and the small table where three large bronze medals had been arranged for presentation. In my elevated position at the back of the crowd, I had a full view of the stage. As part of the team involved in putting this presentation together, I knew the stories behind all the dogs and their people. I had worked on the speech that was about to be delivered and knew I would be mouthing every word, but still the enormity of this occasion, which had brought so many people together to honour these incredible dogs, hit hard. Despite the location and the normally bustling time of day, nothing stirred to break the tranquillity of that moment. Cutting clearly through the cold air, the speech was a sombre commemoration of all that was lost that day in 2001, and a celebration of the animal courage and exceptional devotion displayed by the guide dogs who remained devoted to their duty and the search dogs who stepped onto the smouldering pile. Even the dogs listened intently, unaware that they were the centre of everyones attention.

The old man of the NYPD K-9 unit a German Shepherd named Appollo looked to his handler, as if to ask, Whats going on here? His big feet restlessly pawed the ground and his huge pink tongue licked around his greying muzzle. He looked nervous on the stage, but for a police search dog with more than eight years experience, sitting still was not likely to be a favourite pastime. He was not alone. Just along from Appollo sat another German Shepherd, Charlie, who looked more like a golden-coated bear than a regular search dog. He was also trying to encourage his handler to move along and get working. It was taking all the female officers powers of persuasion to hold her playful canine companion in check, much to the amusement of her colleagues.

Standing still against the wall of cold air, I sensed someone at my side, and as I looked to my right I raised my eyes to meet the gaze of a handsome man wearing a yellow hard hat and a red chequered shirt under a reflective jacket. At his feet a German Shepherd sat looking forward into the crowd, but every now and then he exchanged glances with the man. Maybe he was trying to tell his master that he wanted to join the other dogs sitting on the stage. He certainly looked excited, and his bushy ginger-and-black tail wagged as he sat patiently on the cold ground. The big dog shivered, the cold penetrating his thick, damp coat. I knew how he felt. Then, without a word, the man reached across and gently prised my right hand away from the folders in my frozen grip. Opening my hand, he placed a small thermo heat pad into the palm and closed my fingers around its instant warmth. Then he took my left hand and repeated the process.

Thank you, I said.

Thats OK, maam, he replied.

Quickly switching both heat pads and the bundle of papers to one hand, I reached down to pat the dog, a big warm nuzzle meeting my cold fingers. As he pushed his head into my coat I noticed that he, too, was in his working gear. His reflective jacket was spattered with globs of hardened mud and his paws were as dirty as his masters boots.