No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone (31 page)

- Dave

I ran outside to find Bev hanging out with the dogs. When she saw the look on my face she groaned and said, "Please don't tell me we're stuck here until Christmas."

I couldn't keep a straight face any longer. "Pack your bags, partner. We're going to Dubai!"

Bev whooped and gave me a high-five before asking, "By the way, have you seen Patton?"

"He was in the ops center with me, but a guy walked out eating a bag of potato chips, and Patton followed him, hoping for a handout."

"I'd better go find him," she said. "We don't want him missing his ride to the airport tonight. Losing Burt yesterday was bad enough."

SLG's scheduled pickup of Burt, the two-timing cat, had not gone as planned the day before. When the team members had showed up at the designated location, they learned that Burt had escaped minutes before they arrived. The men stayed as long as they could, searching for the fugitive feline, but with several more pickups to do, they couldn't delay any longer. Burt would have to wait at the American outpost until we came back for our first fall mission.

In spite of continued efforts to locate Baby Leesa, we never found her either. Without time to arrange a pickup for two replacement animals, we'd be flying with twenty-six dogs and two cats that night-not the thirty we had hoped for.

The SLG convoy had left earlier to pick up three remaining dogs: Iraqi, Siha, and Samantha. On the team leader's last update he reported that they had collected two of the three dogs already. So far the day was actually going as planned.

Much remained to be done before we'd be ready for the evening flight to Dubai. I had managed to locate Aymen Almarrani, who was recommended by local Iraqis on the SLG team as someone who could administer the microchips. When Aymen answered his phone, I was relieved to learn he spoke English. For $25 per animal, plus the cost of hiring a car, he was willing to come to the compound and microchip each animal.

Aymen and his mother arrived in the late morning, so Bev worked with them to get all of the animals micro-chipped. After they were finished, Bev came in to check on Tom, who was not showing any improvement. Leaving Tom in Iraq meant leaving him to die. After careful consideration, Bev and I decided to bring Tom with us on the flight in spite of his condition. It was his only chance. We agreed to continue using the safety precautions we'd previously followed, keeping Tom isolated from the rest of the animals, thoroughly washing hands after handling him, and limiting Tom's nursing care to one person.

In order to move all the animals from our compound to the airport that evening, SLG arranged for a local national to bring his open flatbed truck. There would be no air conditioning, but we would load the animals at the last minute and make sure all their bowls were filled with water. The vehicle had metal rails on three sides plus a tailgate and was large enough to accommodate all the crates. Bev and I would bring the cats in the vehicle with us. The targeted time for our departure to the U.S. airbase at BIAP was 7:00 p.m.

I had my fingers crossed that the four owners, whose dogs SLG didn't need to collect, would be waiting for us at BIAP. Once we had Ralphie, Jolly, Buddha, and Moody, all the animals would be present and accounted for. I was especially anxious to meet Bryan Spears, who owned Moody. Bryan's mom, Janet, had originally contacted me by phone. After hearing the depth of emotion in this mother's voice as she spoke of her son, his dog, and the soldiers who rescued him, I would have moved mountains to bring that animal home.

Bryan's platoon was stationed in one of the hotspots of Baghdad where ethnic cleansing was still a major problem between Sunni and Shia neighbors. The platoon had been split into two teams: the Blue Team, which was Bryan's, and the Red team.

When the men heard from locals about a tiny abandoned puppy in their district, they formed a friendly competition called "Operation Puppy Snatch" and agreed that the first team to locate the puppy would get to name him. The Red Team won and decided to call the dog "Moody." A few days later their Sergeant discovered evidence of the contraband pup and told his men to get rid of him. When the soldiers went to get the platoon mascot, he was already gone, almost as if he had heard the command to leave. For two weeks there was no sign of Moody.

At this point in her story, Janet told me that Bryan had been her "smile" since the day he was born. Struggling through hard years, whenever she was at her wits' end, that boy's smile gave her courage to carry on. During her son's second tour in Iraq, he lost his best buddy to a grenade. After Bryan redeployed from that tour, she watched her son's smile struggle to surface and, each time, fail. Now, she said, he was on his third tour.

Two weeks after Moody's disappearance, the Red Team was on a routine patrol. An Iraqi man approached the soldiers and asked them for help. As they gathered around him with their interpreter, the Iraqi blew himself up. Five American soldiers and their interpreter died that day. Having lost so many of their buddies in such a horrific way, Red Team members, who survived the blast, and Blue Team members left behind all fell into a crevasse of sorrow. Things couldn't get much blacker. Bryan called his mom on the day of the military memorial service.

"All the life was gone from his voice," she told me, choking back the tears, "and for the first time since he'd joined the Army, I really feared for him. He said the military might want to send him home for R&R, but he was determined to stay and take care of his men. He said, `If it comes down to me staying and getting killed, or my guys going home alive, I just want you to know, Mom, I love you,' and then he hung up. Well, I dropped the phone and got down on my knees, and I prayed like I've never prayed before. I told God, `You've got to do something for my boy-right now-or I'm going to lose him."'

That night a mother's desperate plea was heard. Moody, the little mascot whose Red Team rescuers were now dead, walked back into camp and straight up to Bryan, as if he knew how badly the soldier was hurting. For the next few days Moody's body absorbed hugs of grief while his fur soaked up soldiers' tears. Moody didn't judge the men. He just loved them. When an officer discovered Moody's forgotten food dish and alerted his CO that the dog was back, he was told, "Let the men keep the dog. It's about the best thing we can do for them right now."

"I'll never forget when Bryan called to say that Moody had come back," his mom continued. "I could hear the smile in his voice again. That's when I knew my boy was going to be okay."

"The truck's here," Bev said, poking her head in the door of the ops center.

"Great. I'll be out in a minute."

As I packed away my computer, I took a second to say goodbye to Brent, the alternate ops manager who had taken over when Doug left for some well-deserved R&R the previous day. When I got outside I discovered that most of the men on the compound had come out to help us load up. I was really going to miss these guys.

"That's everyone but Roxy," Bev said, standing at the back of the truck.

"I'll go get her." I had left Roxy inside the shelter area, thinking a few extra minutes to stretch her legs would be nice. When I came around the corner past our wall of pallets, I stopped dead in my tracks. An Iraqi man, who had spent more time watching us care for the dogs than any of the other local staff had, was sitting on the steps. Our only communication up to then had been an occasional smile or nod. This man, who had feared and disliked stray animals before we came, was now sitting inside the shelter with Roxy by his side. Gently stroking the dog's ears, he spoke to her in soft Arabic, his mouth only inches from hers.

I waited a moment, not wanting to break the spell. At last I stepped forward, and the two friends parted.

When we finished loading Roxy, there were no shy handshakes. Instead, Bev and I were wrapped in burly-armed hugs. I looked down the line of men in their beige SLG shirts and cargo pants and saw a heart-warming blend of Americans, Europeans, Pacific Islanders, and Middle Easterners standing together like a lineup of heroes. In just three days we had become fast friends. Living in a war zone certainly sped up the bonds of fraternity and friendship. When the reality that each moment could be your last comes into play, you don't waste time.

"Hey, next time you come," said one of the men, "bring us all some earplugs, would you?" A couple of the guys woofed and howled like dogs, and soon we were all laughing. Car doors closed behind us while raised palms and a firm double slap on the roof of our vehicle sent us off on our journey with a soldier's blessing.

The ride back to BIAP took place while there was still light, giving us a chance to see our route through the city, but so many fifteen-foot concrete blast walls lined the road that we drove through a gray maze, unable to see anything except the turquoise and pink sky above. The incongruence of hard blast walls against the soft evening heavens made the sky appear small and pathetic, while the war remained giant and brutal. This was what Iraqis had to deal with everyday; monstrous reminders of the dangers jeopardizing and controlling their lives.

We cleared the last checkpoint and drove onto Sather, the U.S. air base section of BIAP. Despite being thousands of miles away, I felt like we were already home. The American flag on soldiers' sleeves greeted me with the confirmation, "We stand together; we are family." I felt so proud to be an American among them. At the same time, another feeling took me by surprise. Iraq had grabbed a hold of me and wasn't letting go. I knew then that one day I'd have to come back.

The location that Doug had chosen for staging the animals worked out perfectly. Out of the direct flow of vehicle and foot traffic, we blended into the perimeter of the dimly lit airfield. It was two hours before departure, so we unloaded the dogs' crates and lined them on one side of the truck and placed the cats on the other, out of the dogs' sight.

The fact that none of the dogs was barking was a big plus. We didn't know if they were too hot or just too tired. Whatever the reason, we hoped the quiet would continue since we didn't want to attract any attention. The only dog to grouse about the whole situation was Patton. His complaints were expressed by an occasional growl that ended in a self-pitying whimper.

We proceeded to check water dishes and make sure everyone was doing okay. We had just begun when an Air Force soldier ambled up. Although he appeared to move slowly, his stride was so long that he covered the ground in much less time than I expected.

"'Scuse me, ma'am ... Are these here dogs part of an Operation Baghdad Pups transport?" The soldier's southern drawl was as gentle as his walking pace.

"They sure are," I replied. Word of our program had certainly spread.

"Do ya mind if I help give 'em some water?" As the soldier squatted down to greet one of our charges, I imagined him at home in jeans and a T-shirt, working on a Georgia farm maybe, with dogs trailing behind him. Even stroking one soft muzzle for a few minutes must have felt like a little piece of home in his fingers.

"Glad to have the help," I said. "Thank you."

We finished watering just before a Humvee pulled up.

Is this friend or foe?

It had crossed my mind more than once that someone high up in the military might show up if he or she got wind of what we were doing and order us not to proceed.

A tall blond soldier with a lean body, and a dimpled smile that made me feel good just for looking at it, stepped out of the Humvee. He held the door open while his dog jumped out. I recognized Moody right away from his photo and Bryan from his mom's description. Moody sat on Bryan's boot giving me a worried look as he pressed his shoulder against Bryan's leg.

Thank goodness. One down, three to go.

"Hey, Bryan, it's so good to finally meet you." I extended my hand while Bryan approached half-dragging his frightened dog.

"I still can't believe this is really happening," he said. "How you pulled this off, I'll never know, but I'll be forever grateful to you and SPCA International. You've saved Moody's life, and, boy, this is one life definitely worth saving."

As Bev helped Bryan get Moody into an airline crate, another soldier with a dog on a leash appeared from around the corner. Again, I recognized Buddha from the pictures that Bob Mullen had sent me. This time I got a big hug in addition to a "thank you" from SFC Mullen.