No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone (4 page)

"He's cute all right, but I don't think he's going to last long," Eddie said. He didn't want to encourage friendship with all those fleas that were crawling over the small animal, yet he couldn't help but pick the puppy up and cuddle him. "Poor mutt, you're a mess, aren't you?"

Smith reached out and scratched behind the pup's comical ears, then ruffled the fur on his head.

"We've got to get those fleas off you, buddy," he said.

"Take him out back and give him a bath," Eddie said with a sigh of defeat.

After two baths, the dirt and ticks were scrubbed away, but the fleas held their ground. One of the guys filled a bucket with JP8 diesel fuel.

"Here, dip him in this. Those fleas will be dead suckers in no time."

"Hey, you can't use that! You want to kill him?" Already SGT Watson felt himself getting attached to the dog.

"We've got to do something," said the soldier with the bucket. "It's not like there's a pet store around here. It won't hurt him if we do it real quick. We'll just dunk him."

So they did. And it worked.

SGT Watson feared that the pup's biggest problem was that they were breaking all the rules by having him there. Included in the U.S. Military General Order 1A is a prohibition against befriending animals or keeping pets. If an unsympathetic officer found out the men had this dog, he could shoot it or make the men dump the puppy somewhere far from the outpost. One way or another, this little guy had a death warrant hanging over his head.

"What are we going to call him?" Eddie asked.

"Let's name him after our company."

"Yeah, that's good." Eddie reached across the desk and stroked the puppy's wet chin. "Hey, little guy, your name is `Charlie,' and as of today, you've joined the Army."

"He's still shivering," said Smith. " Do you think we gave him too many baths?"

Watson grabbed a clean blanket. "Here, let me have him. He can stay with me while I'm on guard duty. I'll keep him warm."

Wrapping the pup like a baby, Eddie held Charlie in his arms and did his best to keep him warm. The pup studied Watson's face as if he were trying to memorize every pore, until a few minutes later, when he stopped shivering and fell sound asleep.

The next morning soldiers were running around like wet nurses, getting Charlie water, taking him out to pee, wiping up his accidents. The barracks took on a new life with everybody wanting to play with Charlie.

"What are we going to feed him?"

"Give me an MRE," Eddie said, referring to the military's selfheating meals-ready-to-eat. He opened the package, dumped it into a bowl and offered the food to the pup, but Charlie turned his nose away at the first sniff. The guys squatted around him, looking worried.

"Try another one. Maybe he doesn't like that beef stew."

Five packets later a soldier's buffet was spread in bowls across the floor. Charlie sniffed at each one, then backed up and turned his head to look at the soldiers as if saying, "You think I'm gonna eat that? Hell, no!" The men began to laugh.

"Looks like he's one of us already. He's about as fond of bag nasties as we are."

"He's gotta eat something. Maybe we can get one of the Iraqis to buy some meat scraps at the market."

The squad members had made friends with a few of the men with whom they shared the building, so it was easy to convince one of them to start bringing in bones and meat scraps for Charlie. That solved the food problem, but they still had to engage in "Operation Hide the Pup" so Charlie wouldn't be discovered by the senior officers.

Not many days passed before Charlie began to fill out. He was getting cuter than ever and a lot more active. Four of the men took turns doing pee and poop duty, and for Charlie's exercise they took him into the guard tower or up onto the roof, where he could charge around without getting into too much trouble. It wasn't long before Charlie knew which of the soldiers gave him the most attention, and he'd go looking for his favorites. When SGT Watson wasn't on patrol, Charlie always sought him out. Maybe that's why Eddie started thinking about Charlie all the time, looking out for him, as if they belonged to each other.

The second floor of the building was wide open and sectioned off for communications and other tasks. At the far end, a couple of smaller rooms were used by senior officers and Commanders, and a big room off to the side was crammed with enough bunks to accommodate about thirty men. In these close quarters the wrong person was bound to see Charlie at some point.

"Damn, hide him quick!" Smith whispered.

Before Eddie had a chance to grab the puppy, the Battalion's Command Sergeant Major (CSM) entered the barracks. Charlie ran up to him and stood there, wagging his tail.

"What's this dog doing in here?" the officer demanded.

"Sorry, sir," Eddie replied. "The puppy followed the squad home, sir, and he was starving."

"I don't care. Rules are rules. Get rid of him."

Before Eddie could obey the order, Charlie tilted his head from one side to the other and looked straight into the Command Sergeant Major's eyes as if to say, "You're a friend, right?"

"I don't want to see this dog or any other animal inside the barracks again," the CSM barked.

Charlie responded with a noise halfway between a growl and a woof as if adding emphasis to the Sergeant Major's order.

The high-ranking officer looked down at Charlie, surprised at the sound. Eddie could swear that the officer's stern face nearly cracked a grin. Watson couldn't help but smile. Just then the CSM squatted and scratched Charlie under the chin.

"He is a cute little guy. I guess he'd have a tough time on his own. If he was to find a corner in the courtyard to lay out his roll, I probably wouldn't notice him there." With that, the CSM stood and marched out, barking orders at someone else.

Sighs of relief flooded the room as if half of the platoon had been holding a single breath.

"I can't believe what I just heard."

"Me either," Eddie said, scooping up Charlie. "Sorry, buddy, but from now on, you're sleeping outside."

The police station that SGT Watson's squadron occupied was smaller than most military outposts. Fifteen-foot-tall concrete barriers, topped with rolls of concertina wire, surrounded the property. A guard tower and manned gate at the entrance had essentially created a castle keep. From that day forward Charlie became an outdoor dog and lived in the comparative safety of the walled outpost courtyard.

SGT Watson was surprised at how much he missed having Charlie in the barracks, and he hoped Charlie felt the same about him. When Eddie came back from patrol a few days later, Charlie hauled ass straight past the other guys, leaped into Eddie's arms, and licked him all over. That's when the soldier knew: Charlie had decided that Watson belonged to him.

The outpost was manned by three platoons on a rotating schedule of three weeks. Each time their week-long rotation came about, SGT Watson hoped that the replacement soldiers would look out for Charlie until he got back. He worried about his puppy the whole time he was gone.

Every time members of Watson's platoon returned to the outpost from their week away, they found Charlie waiting for them in his usual spot at the gate. It seemed as if he always knew when they were coming back. He'd snatch an empty water bottle and invite the soldiers to play, his elbows on the ground and butt in the air, wagging his tail as if it were wagging him.

When Charlie was about four months old, Watson's platoon came back from its three-week rotation. One of the men who belonged to a unit that had remained at the outpost came over and joined Eddie as he played with the dog.

"Did you hear what happened to Charlie while you were gone?" the soldier asked.

"No. What?" Watson stopped playing as a look of concern flashed across his face.

"We let him follow us on foot patrol last week, and he acted like a seasoned trooper. As we were walking down a street behind the market, a pack of dogs came after us, looking like they meant busi ness, and Charlie stood up to them. He didn't even stop to think they might rip him apart. He's one tough little mutt. At the end of the day, when we started walking back to the outpost, a soldier stopped and offered us a ride, so we climbed into the Humvee, but Charlie refused to get in. That's when the Sergeant sitting next to the driver told us to leave him behind."

Something in Eddie's gut gripped. He fought the urge to release the anger that was rising inside him. Why didn't one of them get out and walk with Charlie? Before he could say anything, the other soldier continued with his story.

"Two days later, guess who came marching down the street?" he laughed. "You should have seen him. Charlie's tail was down, and he kept looking over his shoulder, but as soon as he heard us shouting his name, he ran through that gate with his tail raised like Old Glory on the Fourth of July. Man, it was one hell of a reunion."

Eddie was madder than hell that the guys had left Charlie behind but felt relieved that he'd found his way back to the outpost. When American soldiers got to Iraq, they soon learned that many Iraqi people have different attitudes about dogs and cats, despite the Koran's bidding not to abuse animals. To them these dogs were a threat, riddled with disease and living in packs that roamed the streets, and they often chased after people who got too close. With no veterinary services to provide a sterilization program, the number of strays had multiplied quickly, creating a serious problem for city residents. A dog's rank in Iraq, therefore, was lower than that of vermin, and many people treated them as such.

American soldiers often intervened to stop groups of children from throwing stones at stray animals, and they saw Iraqi soldiers kicking dogs, torturing them, or shooting them. From the shocking scenes he'd witnessed, Eddie knew that if Charlie was left to survive on his own in the streets of Baghdad, he'd be dead in no time.

It was soon after hearing about Charlie being left behind on patrol that Eddie got his hands on the book From Baghdad with Love, which was written by a Marine who had befriended a dog in Iraq. Against impossible odds, LtCol Jay Kopelman had managed to bring his buddy Lava home. Eddie began thinking that maybe he could save Charlie. He started asking everyone at the outpost for ideas, and he started a blog called "Operation Bring Charlie Home."

Some people asked SGT Watson why he was determined to bring Charlie to the States when so many American dogs were homeless.

"You have to understand that being in Iraq is nothing like being in America," Eddie would explain. "In Iraq you can't relax. You've always got eyes in the back of your head watching for that surprise attack. The enemy here looks exactly like the friendlies. The Iraqi who works beside you in the day may be the enemy at night. And when you come back from patrol, the adrenaline that pumps through your body while you're under fire stays with you, so back at the barracks, you can forget about sleep. At the slightest crack or thump, you're up and armed, ready for an ambush. You tell your body to calm down, but it doesn't listen. When I get like that and can't sleep, I just go outside and hold Charlie. There's something about holding him that settles me down, and relaxes me enough that I can finally grab a few hours."

Watson wasn't the only one who took comfort in this little dog. During the summer the Baghdad thermometer hovers at around 120 degrees. When soldiers are toting full battle raffle, which means carrying nearly sixty pounds of gear and wearing a helmet, flak jacket, long pants, and boots, the heat is brutal. Despite their exhaustion, when they returned from those butt-busting patrols, the first thing the men in Eddie's platoon did was start yelling for Charlie. Their faithful friend was always there, wagging his tail and jumping up to greet them.

The soldiers would drop their weapons and gear, then get down in the dirt and play tag with the puppy. Charlie would dodge the soldiers, keeping one eyebrow arched in a catch-me-if-you-can expression. Before long the battle-weary men were laughing. Charlie provided the kind of innocent distraction that reminded the soldiers of what they had left back home. When they played with the puppy for a little while, they were just a bunch of guys fooling around with their dog.

Companionship and entertainment weren't the only benefits of having a puppy. When Watson got notified of his first tour to Iraq, he'd half-expected to be killed, and had accepted that he probably wouldn't be coming home. He hadn't thought about a future in America. He hadn't thought about anything beyond what he had to accomplish on any given day. But after Charlie came into his life, something inside Eddie changed. Now that he started thinking about trying to get his dog to the States, he visualized himself going home with Charlie-for the first time since he'd come to Iraq, he saw a future with himself in it.

As soon as Eddie set up Charlie's website, people began to respond to SGT Watson's plea for help. Several offered to send money toward the cost of Charlie's transport. Others sent dog food, treats, toys, and even an airline carrier. But when it came to providing the transport out of Iraq, nobody had any feasible answers. SGT Watson sent an e-mail to every animal welfare organization he could think of, asking each one to forward his plea to others who might be able to help Charlie. No matter where Eddie's plea landed, no one could help him. He wasn't having any luck. Logistically it's not easy to get a dog out of a war zone. Some say it's downright impossible.

Charlie in the outpost courtyard Eddie Watson
Charlie needed more than luck, Eddie realized. He needed a miracle.