No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone (29 page)

As I turned into the K-9 facility, I couldn't believe my eyes. A wobbly Mama Leesa appeared in my rear-view mirror, trailing behind my vehicle. I jumped out to assist her, and she collapsed in the middle of the road. Carrying her into the K-9 facility, I bathed her and got her rehydrated. I have been taking care of her and the pup ever since while searching for a way to get them out of the country. That is, until I found SPCA International.

Knowing that Mama and Baby Leesa are going stateside is the best thing that's happened since I've been here. Even Rocky, the supervisor who was subsequently fired for assisting me, told me it was well worth it!

-Capt B

Bev and I sat in silence for a moment. These stories never failed to touch our hearts. People who went the extra mile to save an animal, often at personal risk, reminded us to keep believing in the goodness of people. And Mama Leesa's extraordinary courage and determination to save her pups inspired us to keep going despite all the challenges ahead of us, no matter how exhausted we were.

After checking on Tom one last time, Bev went to our room while I sent my last e-mail of the day to Linette, asking for microchips. Finally, at half-past two, I collapsed into bed.

The chattering of birds stirred me awake just before 5:00 a.m. How strange their sweet songs sounded in this city where war had torn apart so many lives, both human and animal.

"You awake?" Bev asked after a long yawn.

"I haven't decided yet. Do you want the shower first?"

"You go ahead. And don't forget to keep your mouth shut," Bev warned.

As soon as Bev and I dressed, our first priority was to take charge of the nine animals that had arrived at the SLG compound in the previous two days. The group included Tippy, Pooty, Francine, Diwo, Mama Leesa, Baby Leesa, Crusader, Patton, and our ailing cat, Tom.

There were no kennels or dog runs at SLG. By the time we arrived, the dogs had already scouted around the compound, picked the places where they wanted to hang out, and no one had argued with them. Diwo and Crusader were the smart ones. They resided in the office of Dutch, SLG's fleet manager. This room, lined with spare tires and assorted car parts, was air conditioned. I'd have to remember that later when the heat was taking its toll. It was not quite 7:00 a.m., and already I was sweating.

Tippy had chosen territory outside the kitchen where Bandola, the Filipino cook, prepared meals for the entire SLG staff. Doug said Tippy had taken less than ten minutes to locate where the food was prepared, and he was not budging from his station. Tippy earned the nickname "Houdini" after several attempts to lock him away resulted in his quick reappearance outside the kitchen door. Out of mutual respect, Bandola the cook and Tippy the Houdini soon became fast friends.

Francine resided in our villa's courtyard, where a good-sized swimming pool offered high-class accommodations for a former Iraqi stray. When the thermometer hit 120 degrees in the afternoon, we figured that Francine would go for a dip, but she wanted nothing to do with the water.

Pooty, a purebred German short hair, hung out in a cordoned-off area adjacent to the ops center. She had been found as a pup by SSG Michael Beardsley, and her origin remained a mystery. He figured she must have been someone's lost pet, but Iraq had no system for reuniting lost and found animals with their owners.

The one dog I couldn't locate was Patton. From his photo, I knew he was short haired and mostly white except for black and brown markings on his face and ears and the dark freckles that splattered across the legs and belly of many dogs' coats in Iraq. I ran into Doug on his way to breakfast and asked if he had seen the missing puppy.

"Oh, he's around here somewhere," he said with a snicker. "Patton knows he's got a good thing going. He already acts like he owns the place and does whatever he pleases. I can't tell you how many times we tried to confine him yesterday, and the little bugger kept finding a way to escape. He is one determined puppy."

When Harry had gone over the compound rules with us the night before, he had asked us to make sure we kept all the animals outside and not to bring them into the villas. "If it were up to me," he said, "they'd all be allowed indoors, but we have local people working for us who are terrified of dogs."

After searching high and low in all the discreet places an Iraqifearing puppy might hide, I returned to our villa worried that we'd lost Patton. Entering the large, air-conditioned foyer, where staff members constantly came and went, I stopped in my tracks, not quite believing my eyes. Smack dab in the middle of that cool marble floor lay Patton, sprawled out and sound asleep. Rules may be rules, but Patton didn't think they applied to him. Every time people crossed the room, they lowered their voices and stepped over the puppy, careful not to disturb him. Patton certainly lived up to his name.

"How's Tom doing?" I asked as Bev collapsed into the ops center chair. I had just returned from putting Patton back where he belonged and was scanning my morning e-mails, hoping for some word from Lynda or Dave about the French connection. They were desperately trying to convince French authorities to ease the regulations for this one special mission. So far nothing from them had come in.

"Tom seems better, but we have another problem. I can't find Baby Leesa. I've asked every English-speaking person if they've seen her, but no one has. I'm really worried."

We hurried outside to where Mama Leesa and her puppy had been sleeping the night before. Mama Leesa was lying in a scraggly patch of brown grass, but Baby Leesa was nowhere in sight.

"Let's split up and look for her. She couldn't have gotten far; the compound is completely fenced in. Don't worry, Bev, we'll find her."

For the next forty-five minutes we turned the SLG compound upside down, eliciting the help of anyone willing to join the search. I suspected that Baby Leesa had found a shady spot to hide in because the morning temperature was already unbearable. With no luck from our first search, Bev and I decided to walk in opposite ways down the street that ran in front of the villas.

"Terri!" Bev hollered a few minutes later. I ran to find her pointing at the base of the perimeter fence.

"Look. There's a hole. Do you think she might have squeezed through?"

"I sure hope not."

For the rest of the day we kept watching for the puppy, hoping she'd return to her mother after the hot sun went down and hunger took over, but she never did. Baby Leesa's disappearance remains a sad mystery.

Until that morning I had witnessed only the last stage of SLG's role in our rescue efforts. When I descended the Gryphon plane stairs, SLG men would appear from the dark like magic, escorting another dog or cat to the waiting aircraft. It wasn't until Bev and I came to their compound in Baghdad that I grasped what hazards these men faced each time they collected the animals.

"The team is just about ready to head out for the next pickup," Doug said at 8:00 a.m. He walked into the ops center with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other, carrying his tool of the trade as naturally as a carpenter would a hammer.

"Great. I'll go and see them off," I said.

Looking ready to charge into battle, five parked vehicles faced the main gate of the compound. Men dressed in bullet-proof vests, Kevlar helmets, and goggles milled around the heavily armored trucks and SUVs. Their shouldered weapons were a stark reminder that, before the day was over, any one of these men might kill somebodyor be killed himself.

I had met the American team leader on several occasions at BIAP. Each time he had handed over another animal, he had said what an honor it was to play a part in sending the animals to their new homes. Now, as I witnessed preparations for the animal pickup that day, I realized that the honor was mine to work with such brave and kind-hearted men.

The first dogs on the day's collection schedule were Beatrice and her pups. I had been working with SSG Roberta Green to get the dog home on a mission planned for late March. At the beginning of March, I had received the following e-mail from her:

Terri,

You won't believe what has happened. About four days ago SSG Thornton was playing video games and heard a strange noise coming from behind the game console. She investigated and found Beatrice giving birth. None of us have ever been around a pregnant dog, so we had no idea-we just thought Beatrice was fat.

Does this mean Beatrice has to stay here? We're at our wits' end with worry. There are people here, including some officers, who would like to adopt the five pups once they are weaned. What do we do, and how does this work now? We need your guidance. Thank you.

-SSG Roberta Green

Rather than take Beatrice off the list, we merely pushed her rescue date back a few weeks. Now that the puppies, Abibi, Taji, Hause, Rocky, and Chewy, had reached three-months, they complied with airline regulations and could fly with their mother on this mission.

The next animal scheduled for collection that day was our second cat, named "Caramel." After the security team picked her up, they would make four more stops to collect the dogs: Roxy, Rosie, Stubbs, and Charlie.

All of the animals had a story, some more touching than others. Charlie's story involved one of the saddest tragedies a person can experience. Charlie had come into one civilian contractor's life at such a perfect time that one wonders if divine intervention was involved. When Kenny's wife, Jolene, contacted me, I was unprepared for her heart-wrenching story.

Kenny had been working in Iraq for an American company that repaired and serviced mine resistant ambush-protected (MRAP) vehicles. These had been brought in to replace the Humvees, which gave soldiers no chance of survival when they drove over an IED. A strong V-shaped framework was installed around the sides and body of large military trucks and tanks. This barrier deflected the explosive force of any IED out to the sides and away from the vehicle base, protecting occupants from the full effect of the blast. Kenny's job saved many American soldiers' lives.

After long months of steady, hard work, Kenny took R&R and flew back to visit his family. The day he arrived, his two-year old grandson suffered a tragic death. Kenny was devastated. The child had been his pride and joy, and his death had taken its toll. As soon as the funeral was over Kenny went back to Iraq, still reeling and was unable to recover from a deep depression. Soon after he returned to work, Kenny's workmates approached him and asked what to do about a stray female dog they'd found while he was away. Kenny took one look at the five- or six-week-old puppy and thought how his grandson would have loved her. "Leave her with me," he said and named her Charlie.

By adopting Charlie, Kenny suddenly felt closer to the boy's spirit. He poured his love into that little dog, keeping her constantly at his side. With such a faithful companion supporting him, the pain of grief seemed more bearable. Kenny's wife, Jolene, had written to me saying, "I didn't know if I'd ever see my husband again. He was so consumed by our grandson's loss, I feared it would take away the edge that kept him from getting killed before now. Having Charlie with him has been a great comfort for me because when he looks out for her, he's inadvertently looking out for himself"

A story like Kenny's made me ever more aware of just how important our mission was. As the SLG team drove out the gate to collect Charlie and ten other animals, I silently wished them all Godspeed.

Still anxious to hear from Lynda or Dave on the French issue, I kept myself busy with Bev, constructing our temporary kennel. We needed to house as many dogs as we could in one area. With the assistance of Dutch, SLG's fleet manager, we scrounged through the compound's junk pile looking for any suitable building materials we could find. The discovery of a dozen wooden pallets proved to be the shelter builders' bargain of the year. One by one, we hauled them to the ops center building, where a courtyard fence connected two villas, creating a three-sided enclosure. We made a fourth wall by binding the pallets together with zip-ties. Dutch then produced a large section of camouflage netting, which we strung over the shelter area, giving the dogs at least some relief from the unrelenting heat of the Baghdad sun.

During the construction Iraqi nationals walked by with bemused looks on their faces. Several stopped to watch the extraordinary women from America. By the time we finished our construction project, we wouldn't win a prize for beautifying the neighborhood, but we sure could have won something, hands down, for ingenuity.

It was time to gather the dogs and settle them into their temporary home. We decided to leave Francine in the pool area, where she was safe and comfortable, and Tippy, who had no intention of moving away from the kitchen, stayed put as well.

"The only thing we need now is dog food," I said to Bev. "Some of the owners provided dry food they had left over from stateside care packages, but it won't be enough for the number of stomachs we've got to fill."

"I'll go see what I can scrounge from the cook," Bev said.

A short time later I found Bev standing outside the kitchen next to a large metal tub of raw chicken, beef, fish, and other leftover scraps the cook had set aside for the dogs. Using a waist-high courtyard wall as her worktable, she began to chop the meat and divide it among a row of paper plates. Bev's hands, covered with blood and grease, were useless for wiping the sweat that ran down her face. She gritted her teeth, wiped each cheek with a shrugged shoulder, and carried on chopping.

Staying cool in the Baghdad shelter Terri Crisp