Willingham and Lucca’s main focus would be finding IEDs. These modern mines were killing machines and unlike in direct combat—where they would be facing American fire—the terrorists could manufacture and distribute these bombs without having to put their own lives on the line. And when someone drove over or stepped on one, the results were horrifying.
Iraq was also a struggling nation awash in weapons. Thus, simply by using caches of what were once Iraqi military supplies, the terrorists could create and distribute thousands of the IEDs. Though the media largely focused their stories on what these hidden weapons were doing to the American military, those walking along streets, visiting hospitals, and looking through cemeteries could also understand the toll this new generation of land mines was having on the civilian population. Those who distributed the IEDs saw this collateral damage as working to their advantage since the local population knew the weapons were there because Americans were patrolling Iraq. Thus, even though the United States was attempting to help Iraq gain security and freedom, to many citizens the liberators were also the problem. If the Americans left it seemed likely the IEDs would no longer be made and buried.
In a very real way Lucca was there to save all lives—not just those from the American military. She identified explosives that killed with no regard to sex, age, or citizenship. Hence, civilians as well as those in the American military saw her with kind eyes. So Lucca quickly became more than a marine, she was also an ambassador. More important, within weeks of arriving in Iraq she was seen as an instrument of hope.
In the past, handlers had worn different uniforms and colors in order to stand out from the other members of their units. But as Lucca and other sniffer dogs began to find more and more IEDs, terrorists put bounties on their heads. With that in mind, Willingham and other canine handlers lobbied to end the practice of wearing unusual garb and to instead, for their safety and that of their dogs, dress like normal marines. As the canine corps became more and more valuable, and as snipers began to take aim at both the dogs and those handling them, the military changed the policy that made them easy targets.
The fact that Willingham was now dressed just like everyone else and Lucca worked off lead gave snipers fits. With her tan coat, the dog easily blended into the environment and the fact she wasn’t on a harness or directly beside her handler meant she was all but impossible to spot. So unless they noted Willingham calling out an order or signaling to Lucca, the snipers couldn’t find the handler and follow him to the canine. It was a winning combination that, based on logic, likely should have been a part of military routine well before Iraq.
Lucca’s ability to work off lead led Willingham to try something new. He affixed a receiver/speaker to the dog’s collar and used a microphone to softly give her orders on which way to turn, when to stay, and when to move forward. Amazingly she worked perfectly using the technology and thus greatly enlarged the area the team could cover.
With her nose down, body relaxed but on the move, tirelessly searching, following each command, Lucca was a machine, but she was also much more. Not only did she save lives, she also brought joy. Back at the base the marines who depended on her while on duty hugged her like she was their child. She was given presents and treats and asked to pose for pictures that were quickly emailed back home. If all the attention received turned her head, it didn’t show. The next time she was called for duty she was immediately back in top form finding IEDs as well as weapons and explosives in vehicles and buildings. Only when Lucca declared an area free from danger did the marines fully relax.
Lucca did her job so well and made it look so easy that some locals reasoned she had powers and abilities far beyond any dog in Iraq. As the marines in various units began to total up how many lives her “sniffing” had saved, she was treated like royalty. While she was remarkable, essentially she could find IEDs and nose out everything from weapon caches to suicide bombers because Willingham’s training had been that good. Without the man’s vision, she would likely still be in a kennel in Israel.
For five years and two tours of duty in Iraq, as well as time spent on base in the United States, Lucca’s only handler was Willingham. But when the sergeant received the opportunity to be transferred to Finland and have his wife and two children join him on the assignment, it came time for the Marine Corps’s top dog team to be broken up. Through the four hundred missions the two had worked, no one had ever been injured by an IED. It was a record that no other American dog team in this war could come close to claiming.
With deep regret Willingham handed Lucca off to Corporal Juan Rodriguez and watched as the two departed for a tour of duty in dangerous Afghanistan. With her new handler by her side, Lucca found herself teaming with the famed Green Berets. As had been the case in Iraq with Willingham, Lucca’s work with Rodriguez was so remarkable and her ability at finding weapons and IEDs so amazing that she quickly emerged as both savior and mascot. Her legend grew to the point that if you were with Lucca you were completely secure no matter where you were. With her nose to the ground and her eyes forward, everyone was sure she would spot any and every danger and uncover weapons that even highly trained men and women missed. If perfection had a name it was Lucca. She had your front, back, and sides.
On March 23, 2013, while out on patrol with Rodriguez and several other marines, Lucca did once more what many had now come to take for granted. While walking well ahead of the unit, her nose to the ground, she cautiously approached a spot along the road, stopped, and with her body language indicated the presence of an IED. After being called back to Rodriguez’s side, the explosive team went into the area and set to work. It was determined the best way to handle this IED was to detonate it. The explosion rocked the area, shaking buildings and stirring up a massive cloud of dust, as well as causing battle-experienced men to wince and be left temporarily deaf.
As the dust began to clear, Lucca went back to work. Perhaps the massive detonation had dulled her hearing and sense of smell or maybe after years of difficult work, her abilities were beginning to slip, but no matter the reason, for the first time in her life she made a mistake.
While patrolling many yards in front of the unit, with Rodriguez carefully monitoring her every step, Lucca confidently moved forward, showing no signs of spotting any other IEDs. As the marines began to relax, the dog took a step and a split-second later a rumble gave way to an eardrum-splitting explosion. In horror, the handler and those around him watched Lucca ejected into the air by a blast that would have likely destroyed a truck. For a moment it seemed like she hovered and then she disappeared into a cloud of dust.
Those who witnessed the blast knew they should hold their positions. Snipers might have been waiting for the explosion to lure the Americans out into the open. On top of that, where there were two huge IEDs, there were likely others. And now with their best detector down, the marines had no idea where those charges were hidden. Yet Rodriguez and his comrades didn’t even wait for the dust to clear. Many of these men owed their lives to this dog; now they had to see if they could save hers. With no regard for personal safety they began to move toward the fallen soldier.
Lucca was first and foremost a marine. Willingham had noted her determination and grit in the first days he’d worked with her. As long as she had breath in her lungs, she would not stop. So even before the men reached her, the dog emerged from the dust and limped back toward Rodriguez. Her first act was to position herself between the IED and the handler. As the amazed marines looked on, the badly injured Lucca continued to try to be of service to them.
A medic got to the dog at the same time that Rodriguez wrapped his arms around her. Lucca smelled of burned flesh and was covered in blood. She had deep wounds on her chest and was missing the paw on her front left leg. A tourniquet was applied to ease the bleeding and at the same time the unit’s commander called for a helicopter. The pain she had to be experiencing should have rendered her unconscious, yet her eyes looked toward her handler as if to say, “I�
��m sorry I screwed up.”
As he waited for his dog to be airlifted to a medical center, Rodriguez was awash in guilt. He genuinely felt he had let both Lucca and Willingham down. A man who loved Lucca as if she was one of his children had given her to him for safekeeping and he had failed. How could Rodriguez face Willingham with Lucca’s blood on his hands?
With her head in her handler’s lap, the chopper rushed Lucca back to the base hospital. After a thorough exam Rodriguez was given the word that baring some unforeseen complications the dog would live. They would allow her to rest overnight and then move her to a human hospital in the morning where she would undergo an operation to determine just how much of her leg could be saved. The vet then suggested Rodriguez get some sleep. While the marine would follow that order, it would be in a manner that was completely unexpected.
Now under heavy sedation, Lucca was placed in a kennel cage at the animal care center. After cleaning up and making a phone call, Rodriguez joined the dog. Taking a Magic Marker he wrote “Semper Fidelis” on Lucca’s collar, and with tears filling his eyes he saluted the animal. He then climbed into the kennel cage to spend the night beside her. Later a visitor to the kennel observed Rodriguez and inquired about the reason for the man’s deep devotion to the animal. When he was told Lucca’s story he remarked, “Sometimes it takes a dog to remind us of our humanity.”
The next day, just before the surgery, Rodriguez tracked down Willingham in Finland. The first thing he did was to apologize for letting Lucca’s first trainer down. Willingham would have none of it. While deeply pained that his former dog had been so badly injured, he assured Rodriguez what happened was hardly his fault. Together the men prayed that somehow Lucca would survive.
In the operating room, Lucca was treated with the same degree of respect and care as any wounded marine. Her wounds were judiciously evaluated and various possible outcomes and techniques were discussed. The surgeons even consulted with experts in the quickly evolving area of animal prosthetics and only then was Rodriguez called in and presented with the very limited options. Lucca’s leg would have to be amputated in such a way that the entire shoulder would be removed. Thus the dog would have to learn to walk on three legs. The only other option would be to put Lucca down. Rodriguez naturally chose the former. In combat the trainer had watched her constantly adjust to different situations. He was sure, even though it might take some time for her to bounce back, that she could and would handle this challenge just as well.
After successful surgery and some time in the ICU, a flight to Germany gave more experienced veterinarians a chance to study the dog and do additional treatment. As the drugs wore off, a seemingly unfazed Lucca stood. As Rodriguez steadied her, the dog took a step forward. Within an hour she was balancing and walking without aid. She was also grinning as if to say, “No problem!”
From Germany Lucca and Rodriguez flew back to California and Camp Pendleton. As she arrived at the Marine installation she was greeted as a hero. It was determined that a combat veteran of her status should be allowed to stay on the main base rather than be housed in the kennel area. Over the next few weeks, as her wounds completely healed, she was treated with the respect usually shown only to officers. Nothing was deemed off-limits. She had the run of the base.
When given her discharge papers, Lucca was handed back to her original handler, Chris Willingham. The marine, along with his wife and two children, adopted the military veteran as their pet. Yet, due to Lucca’s hero status, she didn’t get to settle down for very long. Seizing upon her fame, the Marine Corps dispatched Lucca and Willingham on recruiting tours. During these cross-country treks she traveled first class on airplanes and stayed in the best hotels. She was saluted, offered the finest dining, and honored everywhere she stopped. Though Lucca was not a purebred canine and thus had no papers, she was still honored by the American Kennel Club. And even though she was not English, she was also awarded the Dickin Medal, Britain’s highest citation for valor by a military animal. Several marines even presented the dog an unofficial Purple Heart as a way of recognizing her sacrifice in combat. Yet perhaps her best work involved her visits to military hospitals to meet men and women who had lost limbs in battle. Thus, while once she was saving lives in combat, she now was providing hope and inspiration to go on with life.
An English newspaper wrote, “Lucca has become a symbol of hope and inspiration to many as she attends military outreach functions, wounded warrior hospital visits and parades championing the dedication and efforts of all service animals. . . . Everyone has embraced Lucca. They mob her on the streets and hug her and take photos with her. She has even had paparazzi following her around London.”
Lucca’s path to heroism could not have been predicted. Without the perceptive vision of Chris Willingham, the dog would likely have spent her life in a kennel in Israel. If that had been the case she would have never been given even the most basic training. She also would have never felt the devotion or love of a human being. She would have lived and someday died without ever serving a real purpose. Yet, thanks to Willingham’s insight and remarkable training, through more than four hundred missions not a single marine was injured when this dog was on duty. And today, countless men and women are alive thanks to a dog that was almost overlooked.
Best-selling author Maria Goodavage has penned Lucca’s complete story in a wonderful book called Top Dog. To fully appreciate this canine hero’s life as well as the potential of all dogs, Goodavage’s book is a must-read.
Read More True Stories of Remarkable
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Service Tails: More Stories of Man's Best Hero
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Heart-tugging true stories of the courage, faith, and loyalty of remarkable service dogs.
Collins introduces us to dogs whose entire lives are wrapped in the banner of service. Their stories are remarkable snapshots of the value of vision and teamwork, as well as devotion to duty, unconditional love, and acceptance–stretching the way we see both canine and human potential. These unforgettable dogs are more than heroes; they are models from which we can learn how to love and serve unconditionally.
Find More Books for Dog Lovers at AbingdonPress.com/Dogs
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