I flew into Kuwait two days before Jennifer to finalize the two mission plans, but before I left, I went over the whole routine with my daughter. I assured her that I'd be waiting at Kuwait International Airport when she arrived, would accompany her on the round-trip flight into Baghdad to pick up the animals from the SLG security men, and would make certain that she and her charges successfully boarded the final flight from Kuwait to Washington. I would then go through the same routine on the following day for the animals I was accompanying, and I'd meet Jennifer at Bev and Barb's house the day after she returned.
When I finally landed at Dulles International Airport with Hope, Jasmine, and the dog named "Kujo," Pam Bousquet was eagerly waiting in the arrivals lounge to meet the cat her husband had befriended. Pam was dressed in one of Bruce's T-shirts that he had worn for several days and then mailed to Pam, presuming that Hope would recognize her as part of Bruce's family.
Pam gasped. "She's even more beautiful than her photo," she said, her eyes glistening with tears. Hope's kohl-rimmed eyes captivated anyone who gazed at her, and she instantly won Pam's heart. The moment Hope picked up Bruce's scent she rubbed against Pam's chest and expressed herself in a surprisingly loud Siamese-like voice.
"Bruce warned me how vocal she is," Pam laughed with delight. "Apparently she runs around his room at night, about a hundred miles an hour, growling all the way. He calls her his `Indy 500 race car."'
I could already see that this was a match made in heaven.
After gathering Thomas Liu's cat, jasmine, and Kujo the dog, I drove to Bev and Barb's house, remembering the day I had received Adela's e-mail. Adela was engaged to Matt, the soldier who had befriended Kujo. The e-mail began:
Matt is a U.S. Marine currently serving in Iraq. This is his first tour, and already he has made several amazing friends. His best friend is a little pup he found and named "Kujo."
Matt and his team were out on a mission and came across two puppies, one of which had been shot and the other, no older than five weeks, was probably next in line. Despite the rules, Matt took the dog with him, fearing he'd be killed if left to fend for himself. And he brought him back to his hooch, where he fed and bathed the puppy, and he has potty-trained him as well. Kujo is now a couple of months old.
Matt will be leaving his base in about thirty days and then a week or two after will come back to the States. He is worried that if the puppy is left behind, Kujo will slowly starve since he doesn't know how to fend for himself.
Matt does not know I am writing to you because the chances of Kujo being brought home are probably slim to none, and I don't want to get his hopes up only to let him down again. But if there is ANYTHING you or anyone else can do, Matt's family and friends would appreciate your help and will do whatever it takes to bring this puppy home.
-Adela Vodenicarevic
It had taken me all of two minutes to read the e-mail, and I immediately responded by calling Adela's phone number. Bev and Barb had been sitting at the table with me and were caught in the anticipation of listening to the good-news phone call.
"Hello," a sweet voice answered.
"Is this Adela?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied hesitantly. I wondered if she thought I was trying to sell her something. Bev and Barb watched me with big grins on their faces, eager to hear the young woman's reaction to news that would surely be an answer to many prayers.
"This is Terri Crisp from . . ." I didn't even complete my sentence before Adela interrupted with an oh-my-God outburst.
"I can't believe it. You called!" she cried into the phone. "Please tell me you are calling to say there is a way to get Kujo home for Matt."
Never had the word "yes" felt so good coming out of my mouth.
Now that I had returned from Iraq with Kujo, as soon as we got back to Bev and Barb's house I would call Adela and make plans for uniting her with the dog her sweetheart loved so much.
Jennifer greeted me with a big hug when I entered Bev and Barb's house.
"How did your flight go?" I asked, eager for my daughter's first impressions of her incredible journey.
"I wouldn't have admitted it before," Jennifer laughed, "but when I first agreed to go to Iraq, I secretly began to wonder about saying my goodbyes to family and friends. I know that sounds overdramatic now, but images of CNN news reports kept flashing across my mind. Once my plane began the approach to Kuwait City and I saw that it looked a lot like Phoenix, I realized everything was going to be fine, just like you said. The whole trip was great. I'd do it again gladly."
"What about Miki? Did you manage okay with her? Did she have the kittens yet?"
"No, thank goodness. When I saw her tummy swollen to the size of a melon, knowing we had a thirteen-hour flight ahead of us, I thought for sure she would give birth at thirty-five thousand feet. I was seated beside a woman wearing an abaya, and she made it quite clear she was not happy about sitting next to someone with a cat tucked under her seat. Each time I pulled the carrier onto my lap to see how Miki was doing, a look of disgust crossed her face, and she insisted that I mustn't unzip the carrier. It was a reaction you warned me to expect from people over there, but I was totally unprepared for the intensity of the woman's prejudice. I kept praying Miki wouldn't start having those kittens. Oh, Mom, it was the longest thirteen hours of my life."
Jasmine just after her arrival in the United States Terri Crisp
Miki enjoying the good life in the United States Terri Crisp
Bev and Barb's house had become the unofficial staging area for the animals' arrival in the States. At their cozy home with the fencedin backyard, animals had a chance to recover and adjust. As soon as the animals arrived, Bev or Barb took each one to Tyson Corners Animal Hospital for a thorough examination and afterward took the dogs upstairs to Waggin Tails grooming salon for a much-needed bath. Barb said the dogs always had the same look on their faces when they came out wearing fancy bandannas: If only those mutts in Iraq could see me now.
The saying that "you win some; you lose some," never held so true, as the number of requests for assistance from Operation Baghdad Pups continued to increase. I had a scorecard in my head that recorded the winners as well as those that lost. By the time Jennifer and I finished our missions, a total of eleven dogs and three cats had, in less than three months, beaten almost insurmountable odds to make it safely out of a combat zone and into the arms of loving families in America. Little did I know then, how many more animals would walk through the door of victory before the summer travel embargo slammed it shut.
Tiger in the mountains of Afghanistan Jessica Walker
raq wasn't the only Middle Eastern country the United States was occupying when our rescue missions began. Back in October of 2001, the United States had launched Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan after the terrorist attacks on September 11. I wasn't surprised, therefore, when we received, in March 2008, our first plea from a soldier stationed in Afghanistan.
I am desperately seeking help to get my dog, Tiger, home from Afghanistan. He was about four weeks old when friendly Afghan soldiers found him on a military firing range outside our camp. They brought the puppy around to show everyone, and when they handed me the fluffy white bundle, I took one look into his piercing blue eyes, and it broke my heart. How could we leave this poor thing out there to die? I gave him a bath and fed him his first chow. From that day forward, he became the camp dog, and now he's a big part of our lives, impacting more than twenty-five soldiers.
Tiger is such a clown and doesn't even realize it. When he sits with us, and someone tells a story, he looks at them and listens as if he understands what they're saying. When we start laughing, he barks along with us, as if he got the joke. It cracks us up every time.
Tiger's temperament is as soft as his body. When I see him, it knocks the chaos of war down several notches. He's my little piece of sanity in the middle of an insane country. Tiger sleeps in my room, and he eats breakfast, lunch, and dinner with the soldiers. He makes
us laugh and raises our spirits in this desolate, harsh place.
I exercise Tiger every day. Even though he's just a pup, his long legs are already navigating the rocky mountain terrain above camp, where I let him off the leash.
Tiger is the best thing that has happened to me since I got to Afghanistan. When we redeploy in the middle of April, if I don't find a way to bring him home, Tiger will think I've abandoned him. He won't understand. I can't do that to the best friend I've ever had.
-SSG Jessie Walker
With no Afghanistan contacts and so little time to arrange another miracle, I called a friend who, facing enormous obstacles, had managed to get her brother's dog, Cinnamon, out of Afghanistan. Her recently published book, Saving Cinnamon, chronicled the dog's adventure and was making more people aware of the plight of animals in this particular war zone.
"You'll never guess why I'm calling," I said. "I need your help to get a dog out of Afghanistan."
"You're kidding."
My friend's words had already painted an image of Afghanistan that made it sound as dangerous and uncivilized as a place could possibly be. It was definitely not a country I envisioned entering, except perhaps, to rescue some animals.
"What's his name?"
"Tiger. He's an adorable puppy; I'll send you a picture. The locals say he's an Afghan Koochee Mountain dog. By the time he's full grown, a small child could ride him."
"He sounds beautiful. Where does this big boy live?"
"I don't know. The camp's location is classified. But the owner says she can get Tiger to the airport in Kabul if we coordinate logistics to fly him from there. That's the part that makes me nervous. I can imagine a hundred different reasons why this is risky."
"You're right. The risks are off the chart," she said. "I've recently learned of an organization in Kabul that might be able to help." Her next words were slow and deliberate. "The only thing is, they must, and I repeat must, remain completely under wraps."
I was getting really good at keeping secrets.
"I can't emphasize enough how important this is," my friend reiterated. "If certain people in Afghanistan find out this organization exists, a lot of animals would be killed, and I'm not just talking about dogs and cats that belong to the troops. A few brave individuals who have dared to help save other animals would also find their lives in jeopardy. The bad guys in that country do not play nice."
All of a sudden Iraq looked pretty darn tame.
The absence of a functional infrastructure in Afghanistan would make the logistics of transporting animals a nightmare. Without roads in many parts of the country, a security company would be unable to reach most pickup destinations. This was a whole new ball game, one where the playing field was downright ugly.
"So, can I contact this organization?"
"Let me get hold of the director, and she'll get back to you," my friend said and told me to be patient because the woman traveled a great deal and was often in parts of the world with no Internet and computers.
I heard from the mysterious woman almost a week later by e-mail. It turned out the director was an American who spent part of her time in Washington, D.C. How much more perfect could that be?
When she asked if I wanted to meet for breakfast in D.C., I was thrilled, even though it dispelled my fantasy of engaging in espio nage and hiding notes in dark alleys late at night. We met at a cozy ma-and-pa diner in Arlington, Virginia, on April 1. The woman looked like she might scare at the sound of "Boo," but I suspected that hidden under her fragile exterior was the determination of a bronze star Marine. As she told her stories about animal rescues under some of the most difficult and dangerous conditions in the world, I was astonished that she had accomplished any at all. Knowing what she had to do, she just did it, defying anyone or anything that got in her way. It was indeed an honor to spend time with someone of her resolve.
Before we left the restaurant the director gave me an e-mail address and phone number for a man in Kabul. "Tell the dog's owner to contact this man, and he'll get Tiger to a safe house. Don't worry; he will be in good hands."
I could hardly wait to e-mail Jessie and give her the good news. She replied almost immediately.
Hi Terri,
I can't begin to tell you how thrilled I am to hear this. Now Tiger will get to live the good life with me at the beach and leave this barren country behind. I gave him a shower today, and he's so clang pretty! He's all ready to go traveling.
-SSG Jessie Walker
An hour later I received a phone call that made the day even better. Dena DeSantis, a guidance counselor at Fair Lawn High School in New Jersey, was moderator for the Animal Rights Club, a group consisting of twelve girls. Her students were looking for a project that would benefit animals. When Dena saw the news story about Operation Baghdad Pups rescuing K-Pot and Liberty, she asked the girls if they'd be interested in raising enough funds to bring a soldier's dog home from Iraq. The entire club agreed it was a cool idea.
Tiger seemed to be the ideal dog for the girls' project. When Tiger entered the States, he would land at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York, close enough to the girls' school for them to greet Tiger on his first stop in America. That sealed the deal.
"How much money do we need to round up?" Dena asked.
"On average, it costs SPCA International about four thousand dollars to get one animal out of the Middle East."
"Wow," she said after a pause. "That's a lot of money, but the kids' hearts are set on helping a soldier save his or her pet, and I'm determined to help them succeed. If they aren't able to raise the whole four thousand, I'll pitch in whatever is needed to cover the shortfall."
This was one rare guidance counselor.
"Dena," I told her, "before we agree to go ahead with this, there's one thing you and your students need to understand. I can't give you any guarantees when it comes to getting an animal out of a war zone. Any number of things could go wrong, in spite of our best-laid plans. If that happens, it will be a terrible blow for those kids."
"My students know that when you care about animals, it's not always easy," Dena said. "We'll be praying Tiger makes it out safely, but if something goes wrong, we'll just have to deal with it as one of life's learning experiences. They'll be willing to take the risk, I'm sure.
Later I e-mailed Jessie to ask if she was willing to be the students' pen pal.
"Are you kidding?" she responded. "I can't believe they'd do this for a complete stranger. I'll gladly correspond with them, and I'll send photos of Tiger, too. This is incredible news. I just can't get over it. You have no idea what this means to me."
The students were thrilled to hear from Jessie and see pictures of Tiger. They fell instantly in love with the pup that was growing like a weed in the mountains of Afghanistan. Every day they checked to see if Jessie had e-mailed any more updates on Tiger's antics.
Dena sent me regular reports on her students' progress for their Bring Tiger Home project. One of her e-mails chronicled the girls' accomplishments and contained an amazing announcement.
When I told the faculty and staff that my students were going to raise $4,000, everyone said they'll never do it. But those girls got together and brainstormed, leaving no stone unturned. Since then they have been doing bake sales, car washes, can drives, and even a massive community-wide garage sale. At least two girls have attended every PTA or school event where there's an audience and talked about their project, asking for donations and help.
Our local newspaper ran a story about the club's mission to save a soldier's dog. They included Tiger's picture and even gave a plug for donations. Community response has been unbelievable. One person donated a coveted pair of Broadway show tickets to raffle; another sent a check for $1,000. A neighboring high school's tennis team made a donation, and dozens of heartfelt letters of praise for the girls and our soldiers have accompanied checks. Each week at our meeting we pass the letters around, along with the tissue box, as we read. I am so proud of these kids. T
oday the girls reported they have raised $8,000 and are still counting.
- Dena
The plans to get Tiger home moved forward quicker than I expected. Jessie had made contact with the person in Kabul, and they agreed to hand over Tiger on April 21, just before she left Afghanistan. "A driver is coming from Jalalabad to pick up Tiger," Jessie wrote, "and will take him to a safe house in Kabul. They'll keep him there until arrangements are made for his flight to the States from Islamabad."
My first thought was "Where the heck are jalalabad and Islamabad?' I wished now that I'd paid more attention in my school geography class. Grateful for Internet maps, I quickly located Jalalabad in eastern Afghanistan, and learned that Islamabad is the capital of Pakistan. Apparently Tiger would remain in the capital for five days, enough time to arrange his transport and health documents. Then he would fly on Pakistan Airways to England and from there to New York. This would be one hell of a long journey for Tiger, but it was his only option. What concerned me the most was that Tiger would be flying the whole distance alone.
When the day for Tiger's pickup arrived, I got an e-mail from Jessie.
Two of our guys took Tiger this morning and brought him to the driver in Jalalabad. When they took my dog away, it felt like I was losing a part of me. During my Army career, I have learned to overcome my feelings, so I don't often show my emotions, but when that truck drove away from the base, I cried. I have been fighting the tears and losing ever since.
-Jessie
Within days Jessie redeployed and made it safely home to the American base where she was stationed. Tiger in the meantime waited in Kabul, probably confused as to what was going on.
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 12
