No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone (13 page)

Five adult camels preceded us through the gate. "Oh my gosh," I cried. "They're real!"

Brenda laughed, explaining that the camels were frequent visitors. She gave me a tour of the well-kept shelter, where large, outdoor enclosures and air-conditioned accommodations kept the animals comfortable. Ending our tour in the office, she proudly pointed to a partially completed mural, an ongoing project for Kuwait art students.

"I have to make a couple of calls that can't wait, I'm afraid," Brenda said in her proper British accent. "I shouldn't be more than a few minutes. If you feel like painting in the meantime, you're more than welcome to add a dog or cat to our fresco. The brushes and paints are in the corner."

The artist in me rose to the challenge, and I proceeded to add a black dog to their wall. I had to laugh; here I was in the middle of a desert oasis painting pictures on a Kuwaiti animal shelter wall where camels stroll by on a daily basis. How much cooler could life get than that?

Later, Brenda drove us to the home of Linette Botha, another shelter volunteer who was originally from South Africa. Greeted by her seven friendly dogs and warmly welcomed into Linette's mas sive house, I found myself among like-minded friends and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon exchanging rescue stories. Before Brenda and I left, Linette told me how much she admired the work SPCA International was doing to help the dogs in Iraq. She handed me her card, saying if there was ever anything she could do to help, she was "just a call away." I put the card in my pocket thinking, you never know when you're going to need a friend.

Kuwait International Airport was now familiar territory. Loaded down with one bulging suitcase and two large, disassembled airline crates, I maneuvered my trolley through the congested terminal with confidence, dodging people like I was driving in a NASCAR race. I stood in line to clear security, aware of the looks on people's faces when they saw the dog crates. Considering how repulsed these people were by dogs, I hoped the crates wouldn't present a problem.

An elderly man who was two people ahead of me in line pushed a baggage trolley bearing a five-gallon plastic jug filled with liquid.

Despite posted security signs for the liquids-limit of three ounces, his jug was not confiscated, so I was ready to put up a fight if anyone hassled me about the crates. Clearing security without any trouble, I finally pushed my way to the Gryphon Airlines counter.

"Welcome back, Dog Lady," said the Gryphon agent. We laughed, and I felt proud to have earned the distinctive nickname. He looked at my crates. "Before I give you boarding passes, you must take those to the airport superintendent's office for approval stickers." He pointed to a door on the other side of the glassed-in ticket counter area.

"Okay," I said, a little puzzled. I couldn't help but wonder if the old man with the large plastic bottle had to get a sticker, too. My crates were much less of a security threat than a five-gallon container of unidentified liquid.

The open door of the airport superintendent's office revealed five seated men, all chattering in Arabic, smoking cigarettes beneath a "No Smoking" sign, and drinking tea. I stood unnoticed in the doorway. Finally I took a deep breath, put on a big smile, and said, "Hello," as enthusiastically as I could. It worked. All five men turned and stared at me.

"Stickers," I said, suspecting that these men spoke little or no English.

Two of them came over to where I was standing. One cautiously touched the crates as if afraid he might be bitten, while the other man inquired, "Where are dogs?"

"Baghdad," I said. "I take two dogs to U.S. for soldiers."

"You don't have dogs in America?"

"Yes, we do," I replied, trying not to laugh. "But these dogs are special." The other man disappeared behind the office door and opened what sounded like a metal cabinet.

Please, let him be getting the stickers.

He returned with the stickers and looked at me for a long moment. I maintained my composure and kept smiling. He finally bent down and put the stickers on the crates.

"Be careful in Baghdad. That is bad place."

"I will." Gripping the baggage trolley, I high tailed it out of there, before either of the men changed his mind and took back my stickers.

Although the flight to Baghdad was uneventful, when the wheels of the Gryphon plane made contact with the runway, the same excitement washed over me as nine days before when I had picked up Charlie. It struck me again how unreal it all seemed, being back in a combat zone.

The same man from SLG came aboard when we landed, only this time he began his "Welcome to Baghdad" speech by saying over the PA, "Passenger Crisp, please come forward."

He smiled as I walked up the aisle. "Welcome back! Your dogs are waiting. I understand you brought their airline crates with you. If you need any help getting the dogs in them, just ask."

I made my way down the portable stairs and spotted the security team waiting ten yards or so from the plane. I recognized two of the team members from my last trip. Standing between the men and secured with homemade, braided cord leashes were Liberty and K-Pot. Liberty, the older and larger of the dogs, was quickly recognizable with her coat of silver and beige, while K-Pot had a rich walnut brown and sand coloring. They both had charcoal muzzles and at least one `sock' paw, typical of the mixed-breed dogs from Iraq.

"Hey," I said to the SLG security guys, "I didn't expect to see you so soon!"

"Yeah, we were kind of surprised when we got the request to pick up two more dogs," the man holding K-Pot said. "But we're really glad to help again."

I squatted down to meet Liberty and K-Pot. Wagging tails indicated they were pleased to see me, but their faces registered looks that seemed to say, "We're not quite sure why we're here, so could you fill us in, please?"

"Is there any chance I could borrow two of you to help me put their crates together?"

Eager to do anything they could, the men jumped to it. It wasn't hard to find the crates even in the semidarkness. A mountain of suitcases and duffel bags waited to be transported to the Gryphon office. There, on top of the pile, the two crates stood out like lost penguins in the Iraqi desert. Assembling them felt like participating in a company retreat for developing team-building skills. On the wind-blown tarmac with sand attacking every pore of our bodies, we stood our ground. Using only the minimal light permitted by security rules, we were all but blind as we fitted and screwed the crates together.

After placing absorbent pads, food, and a water dish in each crate, we coaxed the dogs in one by one. It took each dog only two seconds to determine that he was not impressed and wanted back out. Pulling zip-ties out of my pocket, I secured both doors as an added precaution. The last thing I wanted to report to our soldiers was that a loose dog on the runway had been shot by authorities. With Liberty and K-Pot secured in their crates and ready to travel, I thanked the security team members before they loaded the dogs into the plane.

"It's all in a day's work," the man closest to me said, "except helping these dogs is a lot more fun than our usual round of duties."

As my head sank back against the seat, his words ran through my mind. I guess I could say the same thing, I realized with a growing smile. Bringing home a U.S. soldier's dog was one of the most gratifying experiences of my life.

During the return flight to Kuwait, I was allowed once again to visit with Liberty and K-Pot. The Gryphon flight attendants brought me a large bottle of water and helped to fill the dogs' dishes. After the dogs were settled, I joined the attendants in the galley. They treated me to orange juice and stories of their own dogs at home in Spain.

In just two trips to Baghdad, I'd formed a team that I wouldn't have thought possible only four months earlier. With my new friends at PAWS, the Plaza Athenee Hotel staff in Kuwait, the Gryphon Airline folks, and the men at SLG, I felt safe and at home in this foreign place. Operation Baghdad Pups had now transitioned from a desire to save one dog into a program I hoped would save many more.

After landing I approached the transfer desk at the Kuwait airport feeling confident about the next half of my mission. That was a mistake. In a few minutes I would be reminded of how quickly things can change when traveling in the Middle East.

"You're back!" The United counter man, who had run a marathon for Charlie the last time, recognized me instantly. "I assume you have a dog with you tonight?"

"Actually I have two." I handed over my passport.

He glanced up at the clock. His look of relief that he wouldn't have to run another marathon confirmed we had arrived in plenty of time. Everything should go smoothly now that he and I knew the routine.

"Terri Crisp," he called out a few minutes later, holding the weight slip. "The total cost for the two dogs will be 216 dinars." I handed him my debit card. As the receipt began printing, the agent's face fell.

"The card has been declined. I'm sorry."

Having double-checked my online bank balance before I left the hotel, I knew there were sufficient funds in the account. I had also informed the credit union of my travel plans so that it would recognize the Kuwait purchase as legitimate.

"Can you try running it again?"

The man ran the card a second time. Again it was declined.

By the time I could make alternative arrangements for payment, our flight would already be gone. My biggest worry was Liberty and K-Pot. Linette and Brenda had previously told me that bringing dogs through customs into Kuwait wasn't possible due to the government's fear that animals from Iraq would bring in diseases. The puppies certainly could not remain in the airport for twenty-four hours confined to their crates in the cargo area. People here would be too afraid to give them food or water, let alone to walk them.

K-Pot and Matt taking a break Matt MacDonough

"I assume you want to cancel your ticket and the dogs' reservations," the agent said as he handed a boarding pass to the last remaining passenger.

"Yes, go ahead." My voice trailed off to almost a whisper. He looked at me and hesitated.

"I have to go to the gate now and help board passengers, but I'll show you where the dogs are first, if you like."

I followed him to the baggage claim area, all the while trying to figure out what I was going to do. I kept coming to the same conclusion. Because going back to Iraq was no longer an option, somehow I had to get Liberty and K-Pot through Customs. But if the Customs officers discovered where they were from, the dogs' destruction was a very real possibility.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't do more," the agent said after he led me to the dogs. He surprised me by reaching out to shake my hand, a gesture rarely seen in this part of the world between a man and woman who are not related. After saying goodbye, he hurried off to the boarding gate where I was supposed to be. Even with my two traveling companions, I suddenly felt terribly alone.