Eddie wrote to me after he and Charlie had settled in for a few days. I had been as eager to hear about Eddie and Charlie as a mother who misses her children when they go off to summer camp, and though she's glad her kids were able to go, she needs to know how they're doing.
Relief flooded over me when Eddie's words confirmed that everything I'd worked for had been worth it:
Coming back from war isn't easy for anyone. In many ways it's as strange as going to war in the first place. But when the dog that smelled fear on your body after you returned from an ambush, and made you laugh when you were war-weary and fed up, comes home with you, it makes a big difference. He knows where you've been and what you've seen. He understands like no one else could. That feeling is too big to put into words.
Charlie earned his place in our unit. All of us just wanted him to be safe and not to think we'd left him behind. Thanks to you, Terri, and SPCA International, this soldier's buddy came home.
Charlie tries to get the hang of baseball. Terri Crisp
K-Pot on play duty Matt McDonough
uring the six-week wait for SGT Eddie Watson's unit to redeploy, I had hoped to spend much of my time with Charlie, but that was not what fate intended. Three days after Charlie and I arrived in the States together, I received an e-mail that gripped my heart.
To: Terri Crisp, SPCA International
From: Danielle Berger, New Jersey
Dear Terri,
I've been following the news about Operation Baghdad Pups bringing Sergeant Eddie Watson's dog to the States. My brother has been desperately seeking a way to get the puppy his unit rescued out of Iraq. I can't stress enough how crucial K-Pot's safety is to my brother's well-being.
Matt and I always had a close relationship, and after he joined the Army and became a combat medic, we continued to correspond regularly. As soon as Matt learned he was going to Iraq, though, he distanced himself from me and the rest of our family. Considering what he was facing, it didn't surprise us.
Matt is now stationed in northern Iraq, where heavy insurgent activity is a daily occurrence, and some of the highest casualties have been recorded, so we weren't surprised that the few e-mails he sent were brief, detached, and usually weeks apart. Every day Matt was administering to the bodies of shattered soldiers, often while under fire himself.
Each time I stopped for a moment, I was thinking, what is Matt doing now? Is he okay? Is he even alive? Being almost completely cut off from my brother, I found sleep impossible. Unless people have a loved one serving overseas, they have no idea how hard it is for families back at home.
In August things suddenly changed. It all began with Matt's e-mail saying, "You won't believe what we just did. My unit rescued a puppy. We're still cleaning up after an insurgent attack; I'll write again later."
I received more e-mails from Matt over the next few days than I'd had since he joined the Army. Talk about the crack in the dam; once he began writing about this puppy, he wrote about everything else as well. Immediately the tone of his letters sounded more upbeat, and the wall of silence that war had put between us began to crumble.
Using the webcam, I was able to meet some of the soldiers in Matt's platoon and see K-Pot and another puppy they rescued, named "Liberty." The guys gathered around sharing stories of the puppies' antics. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to hear Matt's laughter again and to meet his military buddies. It's like my family suddenly grew a lot bigger.
Before K-Pot came into Matt's life, I worried for my brother's sanity as well as his physical safety. But now he has something other than war to consume his thoughts. K-Pot found the weak spot in Matt's soldier-toughened armor, and it's this crack that allows the horrors to drain out while laughter and warmth flow in.
After a few months, one of the military veterinarians responsible for the care of bomb-sniffer dogs, made it possible for Matt's unit to keep K-Pot and Liberty. He got the dogs registered as "force protection canines," but unfortunately the status that protects them from the military's no pets rule also declares them as Army property and, therefore, expendable equipment. K-Pot and Liberty will have to be euthanized when the soldiers leave.
Today Matt e-mailed me saying that his platoon just received orders to report to a fire base and the dogs can't go. Unless Operation Baghdad Pups can transport K-Pot and Liberty to the States before his platoon moves out, these life-saving dogs will die. I hate to think what it will do to my brother and the other soldiers if two members of their close-knit family are destroyed by the same country they have risked life and limbs for.
I am pasting below some excerpts from Matt's e-mails, so you can read, in his own words, how important this little dog is.
Before I moved on to reading Matt's e-mails, I had to sit for a moment. I remembered the troops at Baghdad International Airport marching out of the C-17 transport plane, and I tried to imagine how I'd feel if one of them were my brother. What if he, like Matt, were going to a combat zone where so many had died? Danielle's description of her brother's day-to-day life brought the reality of war into vivid perspective, and a chill ran down my spine. I noticed that Matt's first e-mail had been sent in August 2007.
To: Danielle Berger, New Jersey
From: Matt "Doc" McDonough, Combat Medic, Iraq
Sorry it took me so long to get back to you again. It's been balls to the walls ever since I sent you that flash about the puppy, but things are quiet now, so I can finally tell you our latest story from the sandpit.
We were under mortar fire during a night skirmish, and flashes from exploding shells made it hard to see. Some of the men and I heard the screams, but we couldn't tell who they were coming from, only that the cries of pain and terror were from something small. It probably wasn't a good idea to investigate while rounds were falling, but I was the closest and was just as likely to take a hit wherever I was. The cries led me to a heap of razor wire, where a bleeding puppy had gotten himself tangled up. When I realized it was a dog, I tried to ignore it, knowing if I pulled him out, I'd be tempted to keep him.
You can't afford to get attached to pets when you're in combat. They're a distraction, and distractions get you killed out here. But those screams were louder in our heads than all the firing around us, so we gave up and went back to get him. Once we got him untangled, one of the men slipped him inside his flak jacket, took him to a place where he'd be safer, and then we hightailed it back to the rest of the unit.
When the enemy decided to quit shooting and go to bed, we checked the area, and found the little mutt where we'd left him. He was so young, his eyes had only just opened. He didn't respond to us at first, so I thought he was dead. Then he moved. Dehydrated and covered in cuts from the razor wire, he didn't look like he had much of a chance. We couldn't leave a wounded puppy like that, so, being the medic, I took him back to the aid station, dealt with the lacerations, and got some liquids down him.
Our fire base is situated in a beat-up ruin of a house that overlooks a river valley. Without doors that close, there's no way to keep the puppy inside, and he's so small, he fits through just about any opening he can find. I figured he'd wander off, especially since the enemy is always taking potshots at us. But I guess with all the warm bodies and free food, he decided to stick around.
Every time a skirmish is over, the guys wander around calling, "Anybody seen the puppy?" A minute later someone shouts, "Found him!" A few times we located him curled up in a soldier's Kevlar helmet with all the soft padding. We call them "K-Pots." It wasn't long before the name stuck to the puppy as well. So that's what I wanted to tell you. You've got a new nephew named "K-Pot."
Matt's story made me laugh. I couldn't help but feel delighted for the soldiers who had this new puppy in their lives. The next excerpt was dated a week later.
K-Pot is the most tuckered-out puppy I've ever seen! Guard rotation is every six hours. When men come off duty, they want to play with him. You could say he has been commissioned for aroundthe-clock play duty. When he gets too
tired to hold his head up, K-Pot hides under the blankets in the aid station where I sleep.
In the two months before K-Pot came, we suffered heavy losses and injuries. When your teams are taking hits and you see your buddy going home in a box, it's hard to keep your mind from going to a real dark place. Since the puppy came, we've had something else to think about.
These are some of the toughest guys you'll meet in your life. Friends are dying all around them, and they're still rock solid. But put a puppy in front of them, and they turn into little kids, playing chase and going out of their way to make sure he's fed and taken care of. Someone's always asking me, "Can I play with K-Pot? Can I give him a bath?"
You never know what he's going to do next. Yesterday K-Pot ran up to a big 25-ton Stryker tank with a giant gun on top. One soldier took a photo of him lifting his leg and peeing on it. Man, did we laugh.
The incongruity of men going out, trained to kill and prepared to be killed, and then coming back to play with a puppy, perfectly illustrated how crazy war is and what a source of relief K-Pot must be for those soldiers. The next excerpt gave me more insight to a soldier's life in Iraq.
We've only had K-Pot a month. Last week we nearly lost him and another puppy named Liberty. Someone took a photo of two of us holding up the puppies and they posted it on AKO (Army Knowledge Online). People check e-mails on this site every day. This led one afternoon to our Commanding Sergeant Major yelling, "Those are my men-with pets!" and a few other choice words. We scrambled to get the pups out of here, or they might have been shot. Our Iraqi interpreter offered to take them back to his house.
That evening we asked how the pups were, and he said he'd hidden them in the trunk of his car since he wouldn't bring them in his house. All we could think was they must be dying of the heat. After dark, four of us-a commissioned officer, a noncommissioned officer, an infantryman, and I-snuck outside the wire and found the bullet-riddled car. We pried the trunk open slowly, halfexpecting to find two bodies. When we whispered the puppies' names, they jumped up, real glad to see us. The officer grabbed Liberty, I took K-Pot, and we hoofed it back to the fire base.
When we got to the gate, one of the guards came out ready to shoot. "What the hell are you guys doing out here?" he asked, implying either we were up to no good or out of our minds.
You should have seen the look on his face when we held up the two puppies and explained that our "force protection canines" had escaped, and we'd gone to rescue them. "Force protection, eh?" he snickered. It wasn't exactly a lie; we fully intended to get them registered as soon as we could.
The soldier started looking as if he was going to order us to leave the pups outside the gate. Before he had a chance to say a word, the officer in our group stood inches from the guard's face and ordered, "Let us through, or I'll have your ass fried and fed to these dogs." The guard obeyed, but, boy, we were nervous thinking we'd get called in on this. If he reported us, we were looking at docked pay, loss of rank and commission. You can't just go outside the wire in enemy territory during the middle of the night and certainly not for a dog.
When soldiers are willing to risk their lives and their careers to protect a puppy they have befriended, surely there was an important message in this for the military.
Hey, Sis,
It's getting close to Christmas, though it sure doesn't seem like it here. I was thinking about the last time we went to cut down a tree together. I bet K-Pot would be full of Christmas spirit if he was home now. He'd take one look at that tree and mark it as his. K-Pot and Liberty finally got promoted to official Force Protection Canines, buying them some much-needed time. I'd like to get K-Pot to the States if I could. Rumor has it we'll be moving to another fire base soon, and we don't know if the pups will be allowed to come.
I noticed that Matt's next and final email was dated immediately after my return from Iraq. If Matt's sister had spent nearly two months trying to find options for transporting K-Pot, it was easy to imagine the frustration and worry she must be feeling. I knew what kind of obstacles she would have run into.
Danielle
URGENT-Moving out and definitely cannot take pups. We heard SPCA International just saved SGT Watson's dog. Will you contact them? Please move fast, or K-Pot and Liberty will be destroyed.
- Matt
After reading the last excerpt, I was already determined to do whatever I could to save these dogs. I finished reading the rest of Danielle's message.
Terri, my family has been following SGT Watson's website with great interest. He has praised the dedication and persistence you and your organization have shown, a commitment that resulted in Charlie's rescue. When you and Charlie appeared on the news as you arrived in Washington, D.C., my family's cheers must have been heard across the state of New Jersey. Now we are praying that you can bring K-Pot home to us, where he will be lovingly cared for until Matt returns from Iraq. Please, will you help us?
-Danielle Berger
Liberty, Force Protection Canine Terri Crisp
It was now clear that Operation Baghdad Pups wasn't just a program that saved a dog. We could prevent one more tragic loss for the men and women who risk their lives protecting what Americans hold dear. They shouldn't have to grieve for their animal buddy when they come home from the war. These dogs were making a difference for our troops, and they deserved to live. I couldn't wait to contact JD and get a go-ahead to give Danielle the news she was hoping for.
Camels on the road in Kuwait Terri Crisp
uring the four days that I had been traveling to rescue Charlie, dozens of e-mails from soldiers in Iraq and from their families in the States had filled my inbox; heartwarming stories of rescued strays followed heart-breaking ones of loss or impending animal destruction. It was a daunting yet humbling task to respond to these brave people. But Danielle Berger's urgent plea required immediate action. Putting everything to one side, I picked up the phone and called JD at SPCA International headquarters.
"We've been getting requests for help here, too," he said, "so I'm not surprised you're reporting the same. I just finished consulting with our board of directors, and they agreed unanimously for the organization to bring additional dogs out of Iraq for U.S. troops. We are well aware that soldiers give everything and ask for so little in return. They deserve our help."
My heart leapt at the sound of those last four words.
"Are we talking about the half-dozen dogs that need urgent transport now, due to redeployments or threat of imminent death, or are we planning to save as many soldiers' dogs as we can?" I asked. "There's a significant difference. Once word gets out about Operation Baghdad Pups, I suspect we will be overrun with requests."
"We'll definitely help the dogs we already know about, and then we'll see what happens after that," JD said. "One of the biggest determining factors for how many dogs we can rescue is whether we can raise adequate funds by donation to support this program."
With approval to move forward, my first action was to phone two of our most reliable volunteers, Bev and Barb. They agreed to take care of Charlie at their home near Washington, D.C. while I scrambled to get our second mission off the ground. Before I knew it, I was boarding another plane to Kuwait.
Waking up to thunderous revs of passing motorcycles, it took me a few seconds to get my bearings. I realized I was in the Plaza Athenee Hotel as soon as I spotted, high on the opposite wall, the decal depicting a mosque. It was the arrow beneath it, which pointed toward the ceiling that had caught my attention the night before. When the bellman deposited my suitcases inside the room, I had asked him what the arrow signified.
"The arrow points east toward Mecca, for when it's time to pray," Sanjeewa explained.
Prayers were not on my mind when I jumped out of bed and pushed back the heavy, room-darkening drapes. Harsh desert sunlight burst through the window, nearly knocking me over. I squinted against the overpowering brightness to take in a sea of tan. There wasn't even a distinct break along the horizon where the water
s of the Persian Gulf ended and the sky began. This could get monotonous real fast.
Because I was planning to be in Kuwait City for one day longer than on the last trip, I got a visa at the airport when I arrived. I had done some research prior to departing to see if there were any animal welfare organizations I could visit, and I learned there was one called "PAWS" outside the city. I sent an e-mail introducing myself, and one of their volunteers, Brenda Nielsen, had generously responded with an invitation to bring me to the shelter. We arranged to meet after breakfast in the hotel lobby.
An hour's drive through the desert is long indeed when the eye has nothing but sand to fall on. Occasional visual relief was provided by dilapidated wooden trailers that were separated by several miles. Situated about twenty feet off the highway, each trailer stood open at one end, displaying shelves filled with what appeared to be an assortment of food and other household products, a Kuwaiti version of 7-Eleven. By the time we reached the animal shelter, it seemed as if we'd found an oasis in the vast desert.
Five adult camels preceded us through the gate. "Oh my gosh," I cried. "They're real!"
Brenda laughed, explaining that the camels were frequent visitors. She gave me a tour of the well-kept shelter, where large, outdoor enclosures and air-conditioned accommodations kept the animals comfortable. Ending our tour in the office, she proudly pointed to a partially completed mural, an ongoing project for Kuwait art students.
"I have to make a couple of calls that can't wait, I'm afraid," Brenda said in her proper British accent. "I shouldn't be more than a few minutes. If you feel like painting in the meantime, you're more than welcome to add a dog or cat to our fresco. The brushes and paints are in the corner."
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 7
