Overcome by the sudden loss, and that primal howl, Vierig held his dog, telling him how much he loved him, how much Duc meant to him. Eventually he covered Duc with a brand-new 4-by-6-foot Marine Corps flag. He lay it over Duc’s body. “He had done so much for me, I wanted to do right by him.”
Within moments, four dogs Vierig was training for police and private companies entered the room. They were all energetic working dogs—a golden retriever, two Malinois, and a German shepherd. They’d revered Duc in life. They would run around and nip and chase and tackle one another, but they would leave him in peace. Now the dogs—every one of them—lay down quietly in a semicircle next to Duc’s flag-draped body. They were not sleeping, but lying attentively, calmly. They stayed like this for twenty minutes. These independent-natured dogs never would lie next to each other—much less Duc—like this.
“They were paying respects to a dog who was deeply respected. That’s not anthropomorphism,” Vierig says. “If you’d seen it, you’d know.”
Vierig wanted Duc’s grave to be near the river, where fishermen walk by, so others would remember his friend, even if they had never met him. He wanted them to know that here lay a great dog. He dug a deep grave in a tree-filled area across the river and came back for Duc. Vierig wrapped Duc’s body in the marine flag, picked up the ninety-pound dog, and hoisted him across the back of his shoulders. He walked him out his backyard and crossed the chest-deep water of the Weber, making sure to keep Duc dry. He lay Duc on the ground under a big tree with lots of shade.
Then he placed Duc in the grave, buried him, and covered the site with big round stones from the riverbed to help keep other animals from digging down. Earlier in the day he had attached to the tree Duc’s old military kennel sign with his name on it. To this, he attached all of Duc’s medals and ribbons. There were about thirteen, but since military working dogs don’t officially rate ribbons and medals, they were actually all Vierig’s, for anything he earned while Duc was his dog.
Vierig has since moved, but he still goes up to visit his dog and replaces ribbons when they wear out.
54
WHO NEEDS MEDALS OR STAMPS?
Duc got his ribbons the way many dogs do: unofficially, and because of someone’s great admiration and respect. Dogs in the military are not officially awarded ribbons or medals from the Department of Defense. America’s canine heroes can save all the lives in their squad and get injured in the process, but they will not receive true official recognition.
When you hear about dogs garnering awards and decorations, it’s usually because someone higher up at a command knows how valuable these dogs are and wants to award their valor, their heroism, their steadfast dedication to their mission. And the dogs get the awards, but the awards don’t have the blessing of the Department of Defense. One former army handler I spoke with says he has seen dogs get all kinds of honors, including Meritorious Service Medals and Army Commendation Medals. Some dogs have also received Purple Hearts and Silver Stars. The ceremonies look official. But these are simply “feel-good honors,” says Ron Aiello, president of the national nonprofit organization the United States War Dogs Association.
For the last several years, Aiello and his group, which helps soldier dogs and their handlers, have been among a few organizations trying to get more official recognition of military working dogs. So far, the Department of Defense hasn’t budged.
Aiello’s group has been told medals and awards are only for human troops, not animals. Aiello is sensitive to the fact that giving a dog the same award as a person might be a touchy subject for some. So he proposed a special service medal just for dogs. That didn’t work, either. Finally, “because the DOD had no interest in awarding our military working dogs for their service,” explains Aiello, the group simply asked for official sanction of the organization in issuing the United States Military Working Dog Service Award. You can guess the result.
Because he and his team knew how much it meant for handlers to have some recognition for their dogs, they went ahead and created the United States Military Working Dog Service Award anyway. It can be bestowed on any dog who has actively participated in ground or surface combat. It’s a large bronze-colored medal on a red, white, and blue neck ribbon. It comes with a personalized certificate. There have been about eighty awarded so far, and Aiello says handlers greatly appreciate their dogs being recognized like this.
The move to see dogs get some kind of official recognition is gaining support from those inside, as well. In 2011, Master Chief Scott Thompson, head of military working dog operations in Afghanistan at the time, spoke at a biannual conference at Lackland Air Force Base. He said that these dogs absolutely deserve medals. “Some veterans may say it’s degrading to them, but it shouldn’t be. Most commanders have given dogs Purple Hearts, but it wouldn’t have to be the same awards. I think most people would agree that dogs have earned the right to this. There needs to be some kind of legislation to recognize what dogs do, and we need to do the right thing.”
There was once a German shepherd mix who received an official Distinguished Service Cross, a Purple Heart, and a Silver Star. His name was Chips. He performed many feats of courage and loyalty while serving in World War II, but one event in particular shows what this dog was made of. In the dark of early morning on July 10, 1943, on a beach in Sicily, Chips and his handler, Private John P. Rowell, came under machine-gun fire from a camouflaged pillbox. Here’s how Michael Lemish describes it in his book War Dogs:
Immediately Chips broke loose from Rowell, trailing his leash and running full-steam toward the hut. Moments later, the machine-gun fire stopped and an Italian soldier appeared with Chips slashing and biting his arm and throat. Three soldiers followed with their arms raised in surrender. Rowell called Chips off and took the four Italians prisoner. What actually occurred in the pillbox is known only by the Italians, and, of course, the dog. Chips received a minor scalp wound and displayed powder burns, showing that a vicious fight had taken place inside the hut and that the soldiers had attempted to shoot the dog with a revolver. But the surrender came abruptly, indicating that Chips was solely responsible.
That night, Chips also alerted to ten Italian soldiers moving in on them. Rowell was able to take them all prisoners because of his dog’s warning. Chips was lauded for his heroism and highly decorated. But William Thomas, national commander of the Military Order of the Purple Heart, was not amused. “It decries the high and lofty purpose for which the medal was created.” The War Department rescinded the dog’s awards, and the medals were returned.
Major General J. A. Ulio would go on to decree the following year that “the award of War Department decorations to other than persons, that is, human beings, is prohibited.” (You’ve got to love the clarification of “other than persons.”) But he also wrote that “if it is desired to recognize the outstanding services of an animal … appropriate citation may be published in unit general orders.”
The latter clause left the door open for an official medal or award specifically for war dogs.
It’s been nearly seventy years.
So this is how it looks if you want your dog to have a Purple Heart these days:
Air Force Staff Sergeant Brent Olson received a Purple Heart and an Army Commendation Medal for what happened the day he and his dog Blek (whom we met earlier in Part Four) were involved in an explosion in Afghanistan. Blek received nothing. At a ceremony where Olson was awarded another medal, he wanted Blek to receive his due recognition. He leaned over and pinned his own Purple Heart to Blek’s harness.
“Everybody was like, ‘awwwww!’” remembers Olson, “but I wanted to make a statement. Dogs are soldiers, too. They give up their whole lives for this. Sure they do it for the play and the fun, but the reason doesn’t matter. They work so hard and save so many lives. Not to be recognized officially is a slap in the face.”
If not a medal—at least not just yet—how about a stamp? All kinds of stamps come out every year. Among the 2012 selec
tion are several flag designs, the ubiquitous love designs, some weather vanes, and some good-looking stamps featuring baseball greats and film directors. The year before brought a stamp featuring Owney, a really cool postal service dog from the late 1800s.
Sounds like at some point, stamps honoring military working dogs would have been a natural. That’s what Aiello thought. He and his organization have been at the stamp issue since 2000. The last petition he sent with his official request had ten thousand signatures.
Connie Totten-Oldham, manager of stamp development for the U.S. Postal Service, recently wrote him saying, “I certainly can understand your interest in such an important subject and your frustration over your long campaign without seeing an actual stamp.” She said she appreciates the many letters and petitions he has submitted through the years and that, as always, the matter is under consideration.
She suggested Aiello look into a souvenir cancellation postmark or services that provide personalized postage—you know, the kind of stamps featuring someone’s baby or favorite cat. Aiello is not going that route. “I’m not going to settle for anything less than a postage stamp featuring these very deserving dogs.” In case the postal service wants to know what it’s up against, Aiello was a Vietnam war-dog handler. He and his scout dog, Stormy, routinely led many troops safely through the jungle, successfully completing missions, regardless of obstacles….
All this is not to say that military working dogs are not memorialized or honored beyond, say, their memorial ceremonies. In fact, there are several privately funded war-dog memorial statues around the United States. A national memorial, also privately funded, and to be on public land in the Washington, D.C., area, is in the works.
And Ingraham’s dog Rex will be featured in a traveling exhibition of twenty-one bronze portrait busts of military members starting in 2013. Artist Michael Jernigan met Rex and Ingraham while in Iraq. “I fell in love with him when I saw him. He had to be part of this.”
Of course, you could ask what good are medals and stamps and statues for dogs? Do they even care? And the answer would be that no, they probably don’t grasp the significance. What’s another thing around their neck or a framed certificate on a wall? A dog would probably rather just get a treat or a Kong or, better yet, a belly rub.
The honors we bestow on canine heroes are really more for those who love them and live by them, those who have been saved by them. And who can say? Maybe the benefits of this go down the leash to the dog.
55
WALKING POINT, ONCE AGAIN
There’s one thing you can pretty much guarantee for military dogs and handlers while we’re fighting wars like this one, where a dog’s senses are so essential: When they come home—if they come home—they’re going back to war, for as long as this war endures. “It’s only a matter of time. It’s not if they go back, but when,” says Master Chief Thompson.
“If there’s a fight, the handlers and dogs will be there leading the way, and they’re going back, and the handlers know that.” Thompson pauses, trying to keep his composure. “They go back, and they don’t complain, and their dogs don’t complain. And hopefully they get to go home again….”
The Black Hawk gone, EOD tech Mesa ran back to his men and fired with them until the insurgents stopped shooting. They didn’t bother looking to see if they’d hurt or killed any of them.
A marine bolted over to Fenji. She was still on the ground, shaking. He stroked her and encouraged her to walk. She tried, and stumbled to the ground. So he picked her up. Her ears were bleeding from inside, and there was something wrong with her eyes.
A helicopter flew Fenji to Camp Leatherneck, a large Marine Corps base that’s the hub for marine activity in Helmand Province. Her eardrums had been ruptured from the blast, and the explosion had rocketed debris into her eyes. You have to wonder if she was waiting for Donahue to come help her. In a way, he already had helped her. His body shielded her from the blast, so she was not seriously injured.
Fenji got top veterinary care, and attention from the marine handlers who came through the kennels. Gunnery Sergeant Chris Willingham, who was Donahue’s kennel master back at Camp Pendleton, became a regular visitor. “We’d take Fenji for walks, spend time with her, flush out her eyes, take her to daily checkups. She was always glad for the company and had a good attitude. She was a real trouper,” he says.
She attended a memorial for Donahue at Camp Leatherneck. Before it started, she went up to the front of the tent and stared at his photo, next to the normal memorial setup of combat boots and rifle. Those weren’t his, but the dog tags and her leash hanging off the rifle were. You wonder if she could still smell his scent on them.
The kennels at Camp Leatherneck got a new name after this: Camp Donahue. At the entry point is a large concrete slab with a big ink rendition of Donahue and Fenji, created by a couple of guys in his platoon. Several marines built the structure that protects it, kind of a peaked-roof topper, with a large flagpole behind it.
Fenji gradually recovered, and three weeks after that terrible day, she flew back to Camp Pendleton. There she got more R & R and slowly started engaging in activities. They thought she’d probably retire, but as Willingham says, “She never lost her edge.” Fenji received the Purple Heart and a Combat Action ribbon—unofficially of course.
It was three weeks before she was exposed to gunfire again. At first she cowered and flinched, so they took it easy on her. But she got used to it quickly. It probably helped that she was getting lots of love and attention from handlers and higher-ups during this time. “We’d groom her and let her come into the office and hang out with us,” said Gunnery Sergeant Justin Green, who’d known Donahue for years. “It’s what Max would have wanted, and she loved it.”
I came upon Fenji at the predeployment course at the Yuma Proving Ground almost one full year to the date after she was injured. I had no idea what her background was, or what she had been through. I just saw a beautiful black shepherd wearing Doggles with camouflage frames. I’d been hoping to see a dog in Doggles during my travels, so I asked Gunny Knight about her, and he introduced me to Corporal Andrei Idriceanu, who had gone to Afghanistan with Donahue and subsequently helped care for Fenji.
We crouched under the shade of low, chunky palm trees, and I learned the main part of Fenji’s story. As Idriceanu talked, Fenji kept rubbing her face against his leg. Such affection, I thought. But that wasn’t it. She was trying to remove her Doggles. “She hates them, she’s always trying to take them off,” he said.
She was wearing them under doctor’s orders. Idriceanu thought it was because of her eye injury, but Yuma veterinarian Emily Pieracci says that although Fenji still has white spots in her right eye because of damage from the blast, they don’t seem to affect her vision. The Doggles are for pannus, a common autoimmune disease in German shepherds. It’s made worse by ultraviolet light, thus the protective Doggles. Eventually the pannus will make Fenji blind. Medication and Doggles will slow the progression of the condition. She’ll have frequent vision checks from now on to track her eyesight.
The big test at Yuma was to see how she reacted to gunfire and IED simulators. Would she cower or try to run off? Would she be brought back to one year ago, when the sounds rendered her deaf and nearly blind, and in great pain—and took her beloved handler? No. She did great. Never flinched or cowered, kept right on with her exercises. She performed like a champion soldier dog.
A couple of months after I met her, Fenji got on a C-17 and flew back to Afghanistan with her new handler for a seven-month rotation.
Once again walking point, with her handler close behind.
A NOTE ON SOURCES
All interviews in this book were conducted between May and October 2011, either in person, by phone, or via e-mail. Rarely did I have e-mail contact only.
Interviews with several sources are used throughout the book—for background and/or direct quotation—and cannot be categorized neatly into one or two sections below. These wi
de-ranging sources are Air Force Master Sergeant Antonio “Arod” Rodriguez, Marine Gunnery Sergeant Kristopher Knight, “Doc” Stewart Hilliard, Air Force Major William Roberts, Marine Captain John “Brandon” Bowe, Michael Lemish, Air Force Technical Sergeant Joseph Null, Gerry Proctor, Nancy Ori (Department of Defense military working dog inventory manager), Brandon Liebert, and Navy Master Chief Scott Thompson.
In doing research for this book, I pored through hundreds of publications, including newspapers and magazine articles, government documents, Web site posts, scientific studies, PowerPoint presentations, and books. This research was primarily to bolster my background and knowledge of the topic. In this section I cite only publications I directly quote or refer to in the book.
PART ONE
“1st Cavalry Division, 7th Regiment, Hq. & Hq. Co., K-9 Platoon First K-9 Unit to See Combat During the Korean War,” USWardogs.org, http://www.uswardogs.org/id89.html.
Harris, Gardiner. “A Bin Laden Hunter on Four Legs,” New York Times, May 4, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/05/science/05dog.html.
Interviews with Marine Sergeant Rosendo Mesa, Marine Gunnery Sergeant Justin Green, Marine Gunnery Sergeant Chris Willingham, Marine Corporal Andrei Idriceanu, Julie Schrock, Navy Lieutenant Commander John Gay, Amanda Lothian, Ron Aiello, Victoria Stillwell, Army Sergeant Amanda Ingraham, Army Staff Sergeant Marcus Bates.
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