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.
Charlie on patrol in Baghdad Eddie Watson
he afternoon staff meeting in late October 2007 had reached the point where I began to doodle in the margins of that month's agenda, and I couldn't stop thinking about the unfinished pile of work on my desk.
"Before we finish," said Nancy, one of SPCA International's web team members, "I have one more item to bring up."
A small groan escaped. Was that me?
"This e-mail came through our website last week." Nancy passed a copy to each of us as she spoke. "I haven't been able to get it out of my mind. The original was written several weeks ago by a soldier stationed in Iraq, and since then it has been forwarded from one organization to another."
At the mention of Iraq, I stopped doodling.
The e-mail had been written by a SGT Eddie Watson and was addressed to "Whoever Can Help Charlie."
"This is really sad," said Stephanie, the Director of Communications. She echoed what I was feeling as I read the following message:
Our unit rescued Charlie from the streets of Baghdad, and since then he has become a mascot and loyal friend. But it is against military rules to befriend animals or use military vehicles for animal transport. In March of 2008, we will redeploy. I'd like to find a way to bring Charlie home to America, but the biggest stumbling block is finding transport. At around six months of age, he's still just a puppy. He deserves a chance. Please, can you help us get Charlie home?
The room filled with silence as each person read SGT Watson's history of how the soldiers found Charlie and what the dog meant to the men in his platoon. Scanning the long list of forwarded addresses, I realized that we at SPCA International might be Charlie's last hope.
"How can the military expect soldiers to leave their beloved friend behind? Don't soldiers give enough to this country?" Matt, another member of the web team asked. "I mean, how much space could a dog take up?"
Having some prior knowledge about the military policy on animals, I explained that General Order 1A had been issued by U.S. Military Central Command in 2000 to clearly state prohibited activities and conduct for U.S. military troops and contractors in war zones, particularly in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan where cultural and religious differences needed to be respected. Any conduct or activity that threatened the good order and discipline of troops came under the umbrella of General Order 1A, including befriending, feeding, or transporting stray animals. Any person who broke the rule risked punishment under criminal statutes.
"I can understand that the military has to maintain standards," said JD Winston, our new executive director, "but it sure seems harsh to expect these guys to ignore a starving puppy that follows them and has no chance of survival without some help. I know I would find that extremely difficult to deal with."
"Welcome to the dilemma faced by the guys at the top level of military," I said. "They know it's a problem, and most of them feel sympathetic to the soldiers who get caught in this situation. A lot of them agree that having a loyal four-footed friend in a war zone is a great morale-booster and comfort for the men. But their main concern is not about saving animals. They have to focus on getting in, getting the job done, and getting the soldiers back home-alive."
No longer anxious to return to my desk, I stood up to replenish my coffee and looked around the room. I hadn't seen us this collectively captivated in a long time.
"I can understand how a dog would make a big difference to the soldiers," Stephanie said. "Can you imagine the horrific scenes these guys have to face every day?"
Nancy looked around the table as we all shook our heads in sad agreement. "This isn't only about saving a dog," she said. "It's about supporting our troops.
My eyes wandered to the windows, and I stared at the smoggy haze hanging over southern California. This wasn't the first time I had heard about soldiers bonding with a dog while fighting a war far from home.
JD spoke up. "Let's give it a shot and see what we might be able to do." Then he turned toward me and continued, "Terri, you've had lots of experience with disaster rescues. My guess is that saving Charlie will present the same kinds of coordination issues you've de
alt with before. It makes sense for you to look into this. Besides," JD smiled, "you have been saying you wanted to take on a new challenge. How about taking on this one?"
A quick succession of practical questions flooded my brain. How would Charlie adjust to living in the States? What if the changes were just too much for him, and he didn't fit in? We certainly couldn't send him back.
Everyone at the table waited for my answer.
"Last year," I said, "a woman I know helped her brother to get a dog that he had befriended out of Afghanistan and into the United States. It took months of hard work, but thanks to volunteers from across the globe, they did it."
No one said it, but I'm sure we all thought it: If a dog from one country at war could be saved, why not another?
"So, does that mean you think you can do it?" Stephanie's question drew all eyes to me again.
Talk about pressure. Taking a second to consider, I responded with an unequivocal "Yes!"
"That's great," said JD, closing his notebook. "See what you can find out and report back to me. Hopefully, we'll be able to help SGT Watson and Charlie."
Returning to my desk, I pushed aside my other work. I couldn't wait to start the preliminary research on my newest challenge, but where should I begin? Already I felt stuck.
"Come on, Terri," I said to myself. "You've taken on the seemingly impossible before in disaster situations. Don't freeze up. Remember what you've learned."
I hoped no one overheard my private pep talk.
"Push aside negative thoughts. Focus on the goal, keep walking forward, and trust that the right things will happen."
Panic moment over, my brain slipped into gear and identified transport as the first priority. I began a computer search using Expedia.com. I typed in "Baghdad, Iraq" for the flight departure city and randomly picked "Washington, D.C." for the arrival city.
"Destination Currently Unavailable," Expedia reported. I had to admit that I wasn't surprised. No one in their right mind would be traveling between Iraq and the United States unless Uncle Sam was their travel agent.
Using less familiar avenues for booking air travel, I came no closer to finding flights in or out of Iraq. If we couldn't get a flight out of Iraq, maybe we'd have to drive Charlie to a neighboring country and fly from there; but which one? I couldn't remember the countries that bordered Iraq, so I Googled a map of the Middle East. Iran was out of the question. Kuwait might work. After all, American troops did come to the rescue when Saddam Hussein tried to take over that country. Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Syria provided other possibilities. Good. Now I had some options to explore and no longer felt stuck.
Seeking sources of land travel, I discovered that no trains in Iraq cross the border, and the few Google images of public buses showed what looked like death traps on wheels. Major car rental companies weren't available either. Turning to websites that specialize in transporting animals all over the world, I learned that none of them does business in Iraq. This was turning out to be a travel agent's worst nightmare.
In twenty-five years, responding to seventy-one major disasters, I had met challenging logistical situations that drew upon all my resourcefulness. But none had been like this. It was time to start thinking way outside the box, but by the day's end, even years of experience hadn't been much use in solving the problem.
That night, as I lay in bed with Eddie's dilemma swirling around in my brain, I realized that his plea had taken my routine day and turned it into one that presented a familiar kind of excitement, one that I thrive on during disasters. It felt good, once again, to be faced with seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Yet, just before I fell asleep, I thought, "I have to e-mail Eddie tomorrow, but what on Earth am I going to tell him?"
The next morning I calculated the time difference between California and Iraq and determined that it was 5:30 p.m. in Baghdad. I wondered when Eddie would check his e-mails and hoped he might be preoccupied with hunting down insurgents. The longer it took for the two of us to connect, the more time I would have to find at least one tidbit of good news. The frustration I felt after only one day of searching made what Eddie had been grappling with for the last few months uncomfortably clear. I repeated the mantra, "You'll find a way. You can do it."
The morning produced no more answers, despite brainstorming with my co-workers Matt and Jennifer, both members of the web team.
"I've got it," I laughed. "I'll call the Commander-in-Chief and ask him to intervene. You know, to put Charlie on Air Force One. If he refuses, I'll call Mrs. Bush. Surely she'd let me borrow their plane for a few days if it's helping one of our soldiers."
"Either that, or do a PETA-style stunt to attract awareness," offered Jennifer.
"You mean, strip down to my birthday suit and chain myself to the White House fence?"
Laughter helped to ease the tension, but by the time Matt finished his second cup of herbal tea, we hadn't come up with any workable solutions.
"Don't give up, Terri," Matt said as he walked back to his cubicle. "You'll figure it out."
Before doing anything else, I had to e-mail Eddie. It wasn't fair to leave him hanging. He'd done enough of that already. Having read articles about servicemen and women returning from Iraq with emotional scars, I didn't want to contribute to Eddie's burdens by dumping my frustration on him. This had to be a message of hope. I also needed to ask him some key questions before I could go much further in my search.
Taking care of how I worded my reply, I wrote that we at SPCA International were moved by Eddie's request. After hearing his story, we all agreed we wanted to help him save Charlie. I assured Eddie that he deserved all the assistance he could get, considering how hard he had been trying to keep his four-legged friend alive. I also explained that I would be his SPCA International contact, but I was a novice at finding transport out of war zones, so it might take me a while to unravel the puzzle.
"What I lack in experience," I wrote, "I make up for with determination" and ended the e-mail with "Keep yourself and Charlie safe!" The only thing I could do now was to wait for Eddie's reply.
I returned to my backlog of work and throughout the day kept checking my inbox. When I left work at 6:00 p.m., I still hadn't heard from Eddie. Late that night I sat in front of an idle computer not knowing what the next step was. It seemed I had reached the end of the road, unable to build a bridge between Iraq and the United States that a dog could cross. Nevertheless, I wasn't willing to give up just yet. Exhausted, I turned the computer off and went to bed.
The next morning at breakfast I noted the newspaper's October date. It had been barely forty-eight hours since my quest began, one that had completely derailed my pre-Eddie life. As I scanned the pages, stories concerning Iraq assumed much more importance; articles and photos that I would have quickly glanced over or ignored before, I now studied with consuming interest. This man and dog caught up in the conflict gave me a connection to Iraq I never expected to have.
When I got to work, I called or e-mailed all my contacts who had extensive experience in emergency management, logistics, and international travel or who had served in the military. They came up with some of the same ideas I had already explored, but when all was discussed, they, too, had no answers. Each conversation ended with the suggestion that I should give up.
At noon my co-workers went off to lunch while I ordered in a sandwich instead. Just as I swallowed the last bite, a familiar ping indicated that an e-mail had arrived.
Its him! Eddie has replied!
I faced the screen with mixed emotions, somewhere between excitement and apprehension. My finger hovered over the "Enter" key. "Please make this be okay," I prayed.
"This is such amazing news!" Eddie's first words burst onto the screen. "I'm at home on leave, in Phoenix. This is by far the greatest news I've had to date. Oh, man, this is awesome. I'm so totally stoked right now. Thank you for offering your help!"
I couldn't help but smile at Eddie's heart-stirring response. It proved that he'd b
een grasping for any bit of hope he could hang onto. In his shoes I, too, would be holding out for a miracle. There was no way I could disappoint Eddie now. The pressure on me kicked into high gear, but, knowing I work best when faced with a good challenge, I believed I'd find a way.
I replied to Eddie immediately, hoping to catch him before he left the computer. His leave from Iraq could not have come at a better time. The sooner my growing list of questions was answered, the quicker I could get the ball rolling. With renewed energy, I sent Eddie my phone number and asked him to call me ASAP.
He called eight minutes later.
No longer just words on a screen, Eddie's voice came through with a jolt of reality. Buried in logistical details, I had almost forgotten that I was dealing with a person who was risking his life every day for me and my country. As Eddie's story unfolded, I grew more impressed with his persistence and the earnest mission he'd undertaken to save his buddy.
From that point on, each decision we made would result in the life or death of Charlie. Suddenly I felt proud to be working for SPCA International. People in our organization didn't say, "Sorry, it's impossible." We might not succeed in getting Charlie home, but we sure as hell wouldn't go down without a good fight.
"Tell me everything you can about your efforts to date," I said. "Maybe there's a lead I can work on."
"There's one lady whose name I promised not to give out. She got a lot of military mascots out of Iraq, but so far, she's lost almost as many dogs as she saved due to her lack of resources. If she helped Charlie, the handoff would have to be done on short notice, and I can't just grab a truck and drive him myself. Military rules on vehicle use are really strict. She relies on local nationals for transport, so the person driving is probably afraid of dogs. If anything went wrong, they'd be just as likely to take the money and abandon Charlie."
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 3
