The artist in me rose to the challenge, and I proceeded to add a black dog to their wall. I had to laugh; here I was in the middle of a desert oasis painting pictures on a Kuwaiti animal shelter wall where camels stroll by on a daily basis. How much cooler could life get than that?
Later, Brenda drove us to the home of Linette Botha, another shelter volunteer who was originally from South Africa. Greeted by her seven friendly dogs and warmly welcomed into Linette's mas sive house, I found myself among like-minded friends and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon exchanging rescue stories. Before Brenda and I left, Linette told me how much she admired the work SPCA International was doing to help the dogs in Iraq. She handed me her card, saying if there was ever anything she could do to help, she was "just a call away." I put the card in my pocket thinking, you never know when you're going to need a friend.
Kuwait International Airport was now familiar territory. Loaded down with one bulging suitcase and two large, disassembled airline crates, I maneuvered my trolley through the congested terminal with confidence, dodging people like I was driving in a NASCAR race. I stood in line to clear security, aware of the looks on people's faces when they saw the dog crates. Considering how repulsed these people were by dogs, I hoped the crates wouldn't present a problem.
An elderly man who was two people ahead of me in line pushed a baggage trolley bearing a five-gallon plastic jug filled with liquid.
Despite posted security signs for the liquids-limit of three ounces, his jug was not confiscated, so I was ready to put up a fight if anyone hassled me about the crates. Clearing security without any trouble, I finally pushed my way to the Gryphon Airlines counter.
"Welcome back, Dog Lady," said the Gryphon agent. We laughed, and I felt proud to have earned the distinctive nickname. He looked at my crates. "Before I give you boarding passes, you must take those to the airport superintendent's office for approval stickers." He pointed to a door on the other side of the glassed-in ticket counter area.
"Okay," I said, a little puzzled. I couldn't help but wonder if the old man with the large plastic bottle had to get a sticker, too. My crates were much less of a security threat than a five-gallon container of unidentified liquid.
The open door of the airport superintendent's office revealed five seated men, all chattering in Arabic, smoking cigarettes beneath a "No Smoking" sign, and drinking tea. I stood unnoticed in the doorway. Finally I took a deep breath, put on a big smile, and said, "Hello," as enthusiastically as I could. It worked. All five men turned and stared at me.
"Stickers," I said, suspecting that these men spoke little or no English.
Two of them came over to where I was standing. One cautiously touched the crates as if afraid he might be bitten, while the other man inquired, "Where are dogs?"
"Baghdad," I said. "I take two dogs to U.S. for soldiers."
"You don't have dogs in America?"
"Yes, we do," I replied, trying not to laugh. "But these dogs are special." The other man disappeared behind the office door and opened what sounded like a metal cabinet.
Please, let him be getting the stickers.
He returned with the stickers and looked at me for a long moment. I maintained my composure and kept smiling. He finally bent down and put the stickers on the crates.
"Be careful in Baghdad. That is bad place."
"I will." Gripping the baggage trolley, I high tailed it out of there, before either of the men changed his mind and took back my stickers.
Although the flight to Baghdad was uneventful, when the wheels of the Gryphon plane made contact with the runway, the same excitement washed over me as nine days before when I had picked up Charlie. It struck me again how unreal it all seemed, being back in a combat zone.
The same man from SLG came aboard when we landed, only this time he began his "Welcome to Baghdad" speech by saying over the PA, "Passenger Crisp, please come forward."
He smiled as I walked up the aisle. "Welcome back! Your dogs are waiting. I understand you brought their airline crates with you. If you need any help getting the dogs in them, just ask."
I made my way down the portable stairs and spotted the security team waiting ten yards or so from the plane. I recognized two of the team members from my last trip. Standing between the men and secured with homemade, braided cord leashes were Liberty and K-Pot. Liberty, the older and larger of the dogs, was quickly recognizable with her coat of silver and beige, while K-Pot had a rich walnut brown and sand coloring. They both had charcoal muzzles and at least one `sock' paw, typical of the mixed-breed dogs from Iraq.
"Hey," I said to the SLG security guys, "I didn't expect to see you so soon!"
"Yeah, we were kind of surprised when we got the request to pick up two more dogs," the man holding K-Pot said. "But we're really glad to help again."
I squatted down to meet Liberty and K-Pot. Wagging tails indicated they were pleased to see me, but their faces registered looks that seemed to say, "We're not quite sure why we're here, so could you fill us in, please?"
"Is there any chance I could borrow two of you to help me put their crates together?"
Eager to do anything they could, the men jumped to it. It wasn't hard to find the crates even in the semidarkness. A mountain of suitcases and duffel bags waited to be transported to the Gryphon office. There, on top of the pile, the two crates stood out like lost penguins in the Iraqi desert. Assembling them felt like participating in a company retreat for developing team-building skills. On the wind-blown tarmac with sand attacking every pore of our bodies, we stood our ground. Using only the minimal light permitted by security rules, we were all but blind as we fitted and screwed the crates together.
After placing absorbent pads, food, and a water dish in each crate, we coaxed the dogs in one by one. It took each dog only two seconds to determine that he was not impressed and wanted back out. Pulling zip-ties out of my pocket, I secured both doors as an added precaution. The last thing I wanted to report to our soldiers was that a loose dog on the runway had been shot by authorities. With Liberty and K-Pot secured in their crates and ready to travel, I thanked the security team members before they loaded the dogs into the plane.
"It's all in a day's work," the man closest to me said, "except helping these dogs is a lot more fun than our usual round of duties."
As my head sank back against the seat, his words ran through my mind. I guess I could say the same thing, I realized with a growing smile. Bringing home a U.S. soldier's dog was one of the most gratifying experiences of my life.
During the return flight to Kuwait, I was allowed once again to visit with Liberty and K-Pot. The Gryphon flight attendants brought me a large bottle of water and helped to fill the dogs' dishes. After the dogs were settled, I joined the attendants in the galley. They treated me to orange juice and stories of their own dogs at home in Spain.
In just two trips to Baghdad, I'd formed a team that I wouldn't have thought possible only four months earlier. With my new friends at PAWS, the Plaza Athenee Hotel staff in Kuwait, the Gryphon Airline folks, and the men at SLG, I felt safe and at home in this foreign place. Operation Baghdad Pups had now transitioned from a desire to save one dog into a program I hoped would save many more.
After landing I approached the transfer desk at the Kuwait airport feeling confident about the next half of my mission. That was a mistake. In a few minutes I would be reminded of how quickly things can change when traveling in the Middle East.
"You're back!" The United counter man, who had run a marathon for Charlie the last time, recognized me instantly. "I assume you have a dog with you tonight?"
"Actually I have two." I handed over my passport.
He glanced up at the clock. His look of relief that he wouldn't have to run another marathon confirmed we had arrived in plenty of time. Everything should go smoothly now that he and I knew the routine.
"Terri Crisp," he called out a few minutes later, holding the weight slip. "The total cost for the two dogs will be 216 dina
rs." I handed him my debit card. As the receipt began printing, the agent's face fell.
"The card has been declined. I'm sorry."
Having double-checked my online bank balance before I left the hotel, I knew there were sufficient funds in the account. I had also informed the credit union of my travel plans so that it would recognize the Kuwait purchase as legitimate.
"Can you try running it again?"
The man ran the card a second time. Again it was declined.
By the time I could make alternative arrangements for payment, our flight would already be gone. My biggest worry was Liberty and K-Pot. Linette and Brenda had previously told me that bringing dogs through customs into Kuwait wasn't possible due to the government's fear that animals from Iraq would bring in diseases. The puppies certainly could not remain in the airport for twenty-four hours confined to their crates in the cargo area. People here would be too afraid to give them food or water, let alone to walk them.
K-Pot and Matt taking a break Matt MacDonough
"I assume you want to cancel your ticket and the dogs' reservations," the agent said as he handed a boarding pass to the last remaining passenger.
"Yes, go ahead." My voice trailed off to almost a whisper. He looked at me and hesitated.
"I have to go to the gate now and help board passengers, but I'll show you where the dogs are first, if you like."
I followed him to the baggage claim area, all the while trying to figure out what I was going to do. I kept coming to the same conclusion. Because going back to Iraq was no longer an option, somehow I had to get Liberty and K-Pot through Customs. But if the Customs officers discovered where they were from, the dogs' destruction was a very real possibility.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't do more," the agent said after he led me to the dogs. He surprised me by reaching out to shake my hand, a gesture rarely seen in this part of the world between a man and woman who are not related. After saying goodbye, he hurried off to the boarding gate where I was supposed to be. Even with my two traveling companions, I suddenly felt terribly alone.
K-Pot and his new American buddies Danielle Berger
imes like these seem to turn on my adrenaline pump, and I shift into high gear. I had to figure out how to handle this particular problem quickly. First I checked to make sure that Liberty and K-Pot were okay. Their bewildered faces peered out from the crates.
"I know you want to stretch your legs, but you'll have to hold on a little longer."
I topped off their water bowls but had nothing to feed the two dogs. "If we clear Customs," I promised, "I'll get you guys two of the biggest, juiciest chicken sandwiches I can buy."
I half-sat on Liberty's crate and finished off the last of the bottled water. Eighteen hours without sleep threatened to fog my thinking, and I needed all my wits to pull this off. As I surveyed my surroundings, I explained our situation to my canine companions.
"Over there is our obstacle. If we can just get through that hurdle, the worst of our problems will be behind us." They tilted their heads and listened, making me feel less alone, as if we were now a team.
It was almost midnight, and the airport still bustled with activity. This might work in our favor. Customs officers would be less inclined to scrutinize the dogs' papers from Iraq when hordes of travelers were pushing through Customs anxious to reach their destinations. I decided not to launch my plan until the next full flight arrived. As I studied from my vantage point how the officers operated, I considered several scenarios.
Considering the lack of compassion that people had for dogs in this part of the world, I decided against playing the sympathy card. There was another good technique I had used while in disaster areas. When approaching a person who has the power to concede permission, you confuse him so thoroughly with distractions that he finally gives up and grants your request just to get rid of you. The key part of this technique is to remain enthusiastic, smile a lot, and exude a genuinely pleasant personality.
Fifteen minutes later weary arrival passengers appeared, forming a human wall around the baggage carousels. "Please," I prayed, "don't let me show any nerves. I can do this. I know I can do this." Then I crossed my fingers and jumped into the fire.
First I needed a porter. When I flagged one down, he wheeled his trolley toward us. After he saw the two dog crates, he enlisted the help of a fellow porter. Two could definitely be useful, I thought. I soon discovered that neither one of them spoke English. Their accents sounded as if the two men were from Sri Lanka or possibly Bangladesh, meaning they probably weren't Muslim and wouldn't, therefore, be afraid of the dogs. On their royal blue uniforms, the porters each wore badges that showed the numbers 128 and 314 instead of their names. This was typical of how poorly paid foreign laborers are treated in Kuwait, the role being considered more important than the person behind the badge.
While they loaded the dogs' crates onto the trolleys, I pulled out K-Pot's and Liberty's paperwork from my briefcase. I made sure that any pages with the word Iraq on them were placed at the bottom of the stack, and then I tucked the envelope under everything in my suitcase.
"I sure hope I haven't forgotten anything," I mumbled. "If I have, it's too late to fix it now."
Just before we reached the Customs checkpoint, I directed the porters to follow me over to the side, out of the flow of traffic. For a few minutes we stood there, giving me a chance to more closely observe the individual officers. Six of them worked the night shift, increasing the odds that one would fit perfectly into my plan. I studied each man carefully, hoping to find an officer whose actions revealed that he hated his job and who displayed an "I don't care" attitude. A stickler for rules would be a disaster for us.
One officer paid as much attention to his line of passengers as a bored child pays to the preacher in church. He was exactly the type I sought. I nodded to my porters, and we stepped into the apathetic officer's line.
Inch by inch our line moved forward. My skills at reading body language would soon be put to the test. When we got to the security checkpoint, I motioned for my porters to push their trolleys off to one side with the dogs still in their crates. If all went as planned, I would go through Customs and then have the porters slide along behind unnoticed. It was a long shot, but given how inconsistent security procedures in this airport had already been, I thought it might just work.
I smiled at the middle-aged officer, and he half-acknowledged my greeting. The baggage handlers placed my suitcase and briefcase on the conveyor belt. While the baggage rolled slowly toward the X-ray machine, I walked to the other side of the scanning unit to wait. Just then the officer demanded, "Paperwork!" He pointed to the dogs.
"Oh, crap," I said under my breath.
Earlier I had peeled the "Operation Baghdad Pups" stickers off the crates to remove any evidence of where we had just been. Scrunching the wadded stickers tighter in my hand, I made my first move.
"Garbage?" I showed the wad to the officer, trying to stall for time without being obvious. He pointed to the nearest trashcan. I ambled slowly over to it and stopped along the way to retrieve a discarded candy wrapper which also needed to be thrown away.
Returning to the security area, I explained that the dogs' paperwork was in my suitcase, which had now passed through the X-ray machine. I pointed across to my luggage.
"Can I go there?"
The man nodded his head and followed me.
Unzipping my suitcase, I pretended to forget exactly where I had put the paperwork. I made small talk with the officer while rifling through pockets and layers of clothes. Because he knew about as much English as I knew Arabic, I'm sure it sounded like gibberish to him. Several times I stopped rummaging, straightened up, and smiled at him while my hands made grand motions to emphasize whatever elusive point I was making. All the while the porters watched me as if we had rehearsed our getaway plan a million times.
The officer's face began to reveal what I wanted. He was looking at me as if thinking, this woman is crazy.
As fast as I turned to look at Liberty and K-Pot, they had zeroed in on the cat. Both of them began barking aggressively, silencing everyone and drawing attention to them. I realized this might turn out to be the lucky break I needed.
The cat struggled to get out of the woman's arms, while the terrified baggage handlers who worked the X-ray machine quickly abandoned their posts, putting as much distance as they could between themselves, the cat, and the dogs. In the commotion, the cat's carrying case got caught in the scanner, slowing its exit. Now the woman holding the cat was dripping blood and yelling, "Where is my carrier? Get me my carrier! I can't hold onto this cat forever. Ouch! Hurry up!"
I froze and stared at the woman. The Customs officer glanced quickly back and forth between me and my suitcase, the scream ing woman, and the scanner that was releasing strange noises. Every animal-fearing Muslim in the area would soon be shrieking and running to avoid contact with the equally panicked cat if he managed to escape. The officer made a lunge toward the scanner; then he turned and looked at me. With a flustered wave of his hand he said, "You go."
Those were the words I was waiting to hear!
I motioned for my porters to quickly follow me. There was no language barrier now. They got my message loud and clear and acknowledged it with a thumbs-up gesture. I closed and zipped my suitcase, then grabbed my briefcase and headed straight for the exit. Porters 128 and 314, in their bright blue uniforms and hats, followed me closely and pushed the barking dogs as fast as they possibly could.
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 8
