by Mike Ritland
During that first deployment in Iraq, every time Cairo assisted in a successful detection, the men in the platoon grew more and more comfortable with him. The detections might have been relatively small victories, but they emphasized that despite the large number of searches they had to do, every single one of them was important. As Cairo’s find total increased, so did the men’s belief in him and in the operation.
“Cairo was inspirational in a lot of ways,” Lloyd recalled. “To see how tirelessly he went after it, running and searching night after night and day after day, you felt like you had to keep up with him. SEAL team members are a competitive bunch, and nobody wanted a dog to outdo them. Plus, just having him there, let alone when he made finds, was a huge morale boost. Maybe this is a bit of an exaggeration, but for me, even if Cairo hadn’t had any finds or apprehensions, he would have been a valuable asset for us. Just having him there as a companion, one bit of home out there, was huge. And I don’t mean just for me. Cairo was great with all the other team members. You’re out there. You’re hungry. You’re tired. A dog comes up to you, and you feel better.”
Lloyd and Cairo did a second rotation together, this one in Afghanistan, and the results were the same. As Lloyd said to me, “It’s hard to prove a negative. By that I mean, how can you know how many lives those weapons and explosives might have taken if they’d been used? Since that didn’t happen, we’ll never really know. In my mind, that doesn’t matter, the exact numbers.”
Lloyd and Cairo are still together. Now that Cairo is retired, he enjoys his time off but needs to be worked fairly regularly. When he isn’t doing some variation of his formal training, he still wants to be a working dog. “Cairo helps put the groceries away,” Lloyd told me. “I hand him something, and for as powerful as those jaws are, when he carries a carton of milk or whatever, he never busts through the package. I was doing some work around the house, and I had a bunch of lumber delivered, and Cairo was helping out by dragging two-by-fours from the pile to where I was working. He wasn’t about to just sit there and watch me. He also gets along well with my other two dogs, especially my little beagle. Cairo lets that little guy roll him. Cairo probably wouldn’t like me telling people this, but he’s got a thing for pillows—he just tears them up. He also has this little blanket that he carries around all the time. He’s had it for years now, and I guess having it makes him feel secure.”
Lloyd laughs at the irony of that statement. “He can still tear after things,” he pointed out, “but I’ve never tried to see how he’d do in any drills with that blanket in his mouth.”
13
SAMSON AND DAVE: UNDETERRED UNDERDOGS
Kandahar, Afghanistan
There’s an old saying that curiosity killed the cat. Well, in the case of one serviceman, his overly curious nature really annoyed a MWD named Samson. Samson and his handler, Dave, members of SEAL Team Three, were having their first meeting with the members of the platoon they were assigned to in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Dave did exactly what he’d been trained to do. He began by introducing himself and Samson to the assembled group of battle-tested men. He asked how many of them had served in a unit that was accompanied by a MWD. Just a few hands went up. When questioned further, those men revealed that the only dogs they’d seen had been sentry dogs back in the States. Having a dog with them in battle was a new experience.
The first thing Dave did after he finished his introductory remarks was to ask the members of the platoon to form a circle. He wanted them each to get a chance to handle Samson. This was designed to let them get comfortable with the Malinois and vice versa. He gave a detailed explanation of how the handoffs would go. He would bend down and pick up Samson, careful to wrap him up tightly in his arms, securing all four of the dog’s legs. Only then would he hand the dog off to the next person in line. He reminded them that it was important that he take Samson back before the next soldier took his turn. That would be his way of communicating to Samson that this was all okay. This would essentially be Dave telling the dog, “If Dad is handing you over to someone new, then you can and have to trust that new person, because I do.”
Things went according to plan until an overeager soldier forgot about the handler-first rule. As soon as Samson was back on the ground, still in Dave’s control, this guy bent down and put his face right next to Samson’s. Then he tried to hug the dog to his chest in order to lift him up. Fortunately for everyone, Samson was on his best behavior. Instead of biting, he emitted a deeply guttural growl that let the soldier know that he didn’t appreciate this guy not following the rules.
As Dave later told me, “That guy got off on the wrong foot with Samson, and Samson never forgot that breach of etiquette. Samson wasn’t properly introduced to him; the guy overstepped his bounds, and from that point forward, whenever Samson saw the guy, he would growl.” Worse, the soldier in question professed to being a dog lover and was extremely interested in Samson and Dave and the training they’d undergone and other elements of the dog’s life. Dave had to do his best to integrate himself into this group, and he didn’t want to be rude. Also, he had told the guys that if they ever had any questions, he’d be happy to answer them. He just didn’t anticipate how many questions this one guy would have.
After a few days of Samson getting to know everyone and adjusting to his new home, he wasn’t always on leash while on the grounds of the FOB. Samson was friendly enough that he didn’t pose a biting threat. He quickly proved to be a popular presence.
Several days after being attached to the team, Samson and Dave got word that they would be going out on a mission with the platoon. All the guys, including Dave, prepared early and left their gear outside where they were billeted. They would suit up at the last minute after their final briefings and take care of whatever personal business they had. Dave recalls walking out into a central area where piles of gear dotted the compound. He released Samson, who went to work immediately, nose to the ground, tail in the air, trying to locate any snacks. Or at least that was what Dave thought the dog was doing. Samson went from pile to pile and finally settled on one rucksack. He looked around, almost as if checking to see if anyone was watching him. Then he lifted his leg and let out a nice golden stream of urine on that rucksack. Dave felt bad, but what could he do? He stood to the side waiting to see who was the lucky owner of the soaking, smelly sack. You’ve probably already guessed who it was, and you’re right. It was the impatient, overly curious serviceman. Dave isn’t a malicious guy, but he had to laugh at his buddy Samson’s way of getting his revenge.
* * *
Samson is a black-and-tan Malinois with an oversized head. It was that head, and the difference in color and size between it and body it was attached to, that caught Dave’s attention the first time they met. Samson is small-framed, with a camel-colored torso and hindquarters, and a coal-black head and snout that in certain light makes his expressive eyes invisible. Dave admitted that this was not a case of love at first sight. “I’d seen all the other dogs,” he said, “and then when Samson was assigned to me, I thought, What? Why am I the one getting a dog that looks like it had been Frankenstein’d together from two other dogs?’ He was smaller than the dogs the rest of the guys in my training group were assigned, and that big head of his made him look like a buffalo or something. That image stuck, and eventually we all at one time or another thought of my big-skulled guy as Buffalo Head.”
Dave’s words sound harsher than they were. When we talked about Samson during one of my visits on behalf of my foundation, it was obvious the man has a deep affection for that dog. Dave and Samson spent two years serving several stints together in Afghanistan but are no longer working together.
“Samson has one more deployment scheduled,” Dave told me. “He has to pass a physical before he can go back, and I hate to say this, but I hope he doesn’t pass. Not that I want there to be something wrong with him, but I miss being with him. His new handler’s a great guy, but Samson and I went through a lot together.” Dave�
��s voice trails off, and I can tell that Samson’s enforced absence doesn’t sit well with the dog’s former partner.
I asked Dave about the last time he saw Samson. “You know, I had to be strong when we said good-bye. I couldn’t get too worked up about it because of my wife and kids being there,” said Dave. “If they saw me all down, then they would be even more upset. As it was, my wife was kind of torn up about it. He remembers me, though, of course, and the last time I went to visit him, he did his thing with me.”
Dave described how Samson’s ears pricked up as soon as he saw Dave. He then trotted toward him and thrust his head between Dave’s legs so that his buddy could scratch him behind his ears. “Some dogs do that thing,” Dave explained. “They press their heads up against you or between your legs. It’s so cool that he does that. It’s a very expressive gesture. It’s like he’s telling me that he’s home. This is where he belongs. I asked some of the handlers and our trainers about that. They told me that this was his way of signaling that he knows that I’ve got his back and he’s got mine. I’ve got kids, and I equate what Samson does with them coming up to me while I’m watching TV and hugging me or snuggling up against me. It’s a very comforting feeling.”
Dave knows that Samson is beginning to show some signs of wear and tear after his fairly intensive deployments. He’s having digestive issues, and Dave thinks they’re signs of stress. Dave worries about what might happen to Samson if he has to go back to Afghanistan one more time. “The dogs get it,” Dave said. “They like to work, but they are surrounded by humans who are stressed out. They pick up on that and it affects them. It’s just like if your house is a stressed-out place; even though you think you’re doing your best to hide it, your whole family can sense it. So do the dogs when out in the field. The work is dangerous, and they do a great job when they’re at it, but they have very little downtime.”
Dave is eager for Samson to finish up his tests and either get deployed or retire. Either way—wait or not—Dave plans to adopt Samson and give him a good life when the dog finally retires.
* * *
How did these two manage to develop the deep bond they share when Dave was originally so skeptical about his canine partner? On a variation of another old saying, you can’t judge a dog by the color of his fur or by the size of his head.
Dave and Samson share some qualities. It would have been easy to look at Dave’s past and assume that he himself would be a less than ideal candidate for the SEALs, if you solely looked at the “what” of his life and not the “why” and “who” behind it. Dave was born in Brooklyn, New York, the son of a man who ran a small cleaning business that catered to local businesses. Dave didn’t have the luxury of exploring his avid interest in sports—cross-country and baseball in particular. Shortly before he turned twelve years old, his mother left the family. Dave, his siblings, and his father lost a key source of income, but more importantly, Dave also lost her potentially positive influence and guidance. Dave had to leave school in 1987 at the age of fifteen to work, first with his father and later at a variety of other jobs. Dave had liked school, and while he hadn’t been an outstanding student, his natural curiosity and sharp mind had helped him do well. He easily earned his GED, but work took precedence over everything else in his life.
“My dad had to work 24/7 to support us,” Dave remembered. “That’s just how it was. You do what you have to do. He had mouths to feed, but he couldn’t do it on his own. I was the youngest, so I was the least far along in life is one way to put it. My older siblings, a brother and two sisters, were already pretty set on their life path when my mom left. They had to work hard, too, but they all got through high school, and each of them did some college work. That didn’t seem like an option for me.”
In the spirit of doing whatever it takes, Dave took a series of jobs for which he really wasn’t eligible at his age. Eager to succeed, he altered his brother’s driver’s license to get a job at a pizza chain in Brooklyn. Within a year, at the age of seventeen, he was promoted to assistant manager. The work wasn’t the most rewarding or challenging, but the money helped. Dave’s dreams back then mostly revolved around muscle cars—a 1969 Nova and a 1971 Camaro that he worked on—but the streets of Brooklyn held other allures besides fast cars. Street gangs, drugs, and petty crime influenced many of Dave’s peers. A few turned hardcore, but most were just directionless kids with no real idea where they wanted to go or who they wanted to be. Dave put himself in that category, though his work ethic kept him from ever sliding too far down into anything like the serious thug life.
By the time he was twenty, he realized that a career in the fast-food world was, for him, a long drive down a boring stretch of highway that led to no place interesting. He enrolled in community college, took a few courses, and then lost interest. This pattern repeated itself more than once.
Finally, a friend told him that he should consider life in the military as a way out and told him about the SEALs. Having a brother who had served, and seeing little in the way of options based on what he’d seen of his friends and peers on the street, Dave’s curiosity was piqued. More than that, Dave realized that making the SEAL teams would be a real challenge, and Dave felt he was up for it. He’d spent most of his young adult life trying to escape the idea of being the “baby brother.” He wanted to make that transition from being a kid to being a man. About the most seriously illegal thing he’d done was get a job using a fake ID, but he saw even that as a positive. He had found a way to get a mission accomplished. He figured that attitude would serve him well. One day he headed over to a local recruitment office.
“I walked in the place,” Dave recalled, “and the first office was for the marines. I’d started to have some doubts about the SEALs. They were the elite and all, and I wondered if I could cut it. So I walked toward the open door, and this marine staff sergeant looked me up and down and this weird kind of smile passed over his face. Then he got serious for a second and yelled out, ‘Halt! Stop where you’re at. I want you to do an about-face.’
“I stood there staring at the guy, wondering, What is this guy talking about, about-face? Before I could say anything, he walked out of this office, saying, again in this loud, shrill voice, ‘Think about the rest of your life, and then come back in here.’
“I said to him, ‘What? Excuse me?’
“‘You heard me,’ he said. ‘Turn around. Get out of here. Think about what you’re about to do and then come back.’
“I stood there shaking my head, trying to figure out what this guy’s deal was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two other men in uniform, from the navy. They were seated at desks, and a glass partition separated them from this marine and me. They were both smiling and laughing a bit, and then a navy recruiter stood up, walked over to his door, stuck his head out, and said, ‘Dude, why don’t you come on in here?’”
This guy sounded like somebody Dave could better relate to, so he went in. After a couple of introductory exchanges, Dave mentioned his interest in the SEALs and signed up for the navy.
Unfortunately, that recruiter didn’t sign Dave up for the Dive Farer program. Dive Farer was a way for the navy to identify potential candidates for the SEAL teams. They do additional training beyond what the rest of the recruits do. Dave assumed that when he got to boot camp, he’d be with the Dive Farer candidates, but when the group was to formally muster, his name wasn’t called. Dave went to his basic training instructor and asked about the omission. There’s an old story going around that some recruiters for the armed forces tell potential candidates anything they want to hear to get them to sign up. This sure looked like one of those cases.
The instructor looked at his list and then at Dave. “Let me guess,” he said. “Your recruiter told you you were going to be a SEAL?”
Dave nodded.
The recruiter shook his head, “No. He got you,” he said. “You’re going to a big, old, gray ship when you’re done here.”
Following basic training in 19
92, Dave was assigned a Machine Repair rating and put to work. At first he was looking for a way to get out, but he was told that he’d made a four-year commitment. Dave decided that he was going to have to learn to live with his situation. He also learned that no tricks had been played on him. The recruiter had said that he could qualify for the SEALs. Dave had passed the initial physical fitness qualifier, but he hadn’t scored high enough on a written test to make the first cut. In high school, before he’d dropped out, he’d taken the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery. His score on that had been his undoing.
“That was another time when I could only do what I knew best,” Dave said. “Work as hard as I could to prove that I could get things done.” He proved to be a hustler in the most positive sense. “Being an engineman wasn’t my idea of making it to the top and proving myself,” he said. “I figured that if I had to do my time, I’d take full advantage of every opportunity I had.”
That attitude translated into taking as many courses as he could, earning citations for exemplary work, and doing everything he could to stand out, in a positive way, from the rest of his shipmates. He picked his shots, but he let his superiors know that he was still interested in going to BUD/S. His plan worked. When told that if he made the next rank he’d get his shot, he made sure that it happened. It took three years to get to BUD/S, and when he did, he made the most of that chance, too.
Prior to entering the canine program to become a handler, Dave served for a total of thirteen years. He was deployed to both Iraq and Afghanistan. When he started to work with Samson, Dave realized that the two of them had been wrongly prejudged—Dave by that marine recruiter who years ago had taken him for a typical kid off the street, and Samson when everyone thought the striking contrast between his slight frame and his oversized head made him look like a less than ideal MWD. Actually, Samson’s head was a slight advantage. Remember that study done on dogs’ jaws to determine bite strength? It showed that the longer the jaw and the broader the skull, the greater the pressure a dog could exert. Hello, Samson.
