The Small Dog With a Big Personality

by Isabel George

  After two hours on duty Kinton could sleep for two before going back to his duties on the vehicle checkpoint. In the morning his company commander, Major Charles Woodrow QGM, requested Kinton report to the Marine brick commander he was to replace. The Marine knew there was only one way to explain the complexities and the dangers of patrolling the streets of Crossmaglen and that was to go out there. Two Marines and Grenadiers Sergeant Kinton and Sergeant Keith Regan, the medic, made up the brick that morning. And there was one addition: the brown dog who jogged jauntily at the commander’s feet.

  The Saracen armoured car, or Scarrycan, that Kinton had seen in position by a derelict house the night before had only just moved away as his patrol approached. It crossed his mind that the Opposition (Army speak for the IRA) had no time to enter the house after the Scarrycan left. It seemed more vital to move away from the telegraph pole on the opposite side of the road where fresh earth lay at the base. It was a gamble. Always a gamble. A bomb could be hidden by the house, or a mine could be placed at the base of the pole or both could be safe. As he walked past the entrance to the house he suddenly became aware of the silence and, like a premonition, he realized that the fresh earth had been laid on purpose to push the soldiers towards the house. In the instant of this thought, Kinton was thrown aside by an explosion. Two gas containers had been packed with explosives and left outside. Probably they had been detonated by someone watching the soldiers approach the house. It was that callous. A cloud of black smoke and debris swirled in the air. Nearby Sergeant Regan scrambled to his feet and saw a wounded Marine lying to his right. As the company medic, Regan went into action, despite his own injuries, packing and dressing the man’s wounds, and with help from Kinton and the Marine brick commander he was made ready to board the Quick Reaction Force helicopter that had landed in a nearby field.

  As the helicopter swept into the sky bound for Belfast hospital, the local school bell rang and the children poured out into the playground. Normal life existed in the midst of the fear and bloodshed. It was as if Crossmaglen operated two parallel lives and times. But where was that small brown dog?

  After making sure the injured had received the necessary medical attention, Major Woodrow returned to the scene of the blast to walk the land. He was looking for clues that could lead to the bombers. It was the first day of the Grenadier Guards’ tour and they had been involved in an ambush even before the handover had been completed. One Marine and a Guardsman lay in hospital – the Marine, named Weedon, later died of his wounds – and now the major had discovered a trail of blood. He knew it would not be human, as everyone had been accounted for. Could this be the blood of one of the unfortunate stray dogs that roamed the streets, ever hopeful of food? The trail died away to nothing.

  Two days later Major Woodrow was making a routine visit to the medical hut when who should he see but the little brown dog that had accompanied the patrol on the day of the ambush. It transpired that he had been badly injured in the blast but had found his way back to the base where Sergeant Tim Fielding had found him lying just inside the perimeter fence. A dog lover and seasoned soldier, Fielding took the dog in his arms and carried him to the medical hut in the hope that the medic was equally fond of dogs. He found Sergeant Regan. Regan examined and stitched the hole in the dog’s side and tended to the cuts on his ears. Patched, stitched and swathed in bandages the little dog was now more crêpe bandage than brown fur. But he was in safe hands and, probably for the first time in his life, he was somewhere he could genuinely call home.

  Over the next four days the new recruit slept on his makeshift bed in the medical hut or on one of the bunks in the 18-man dormitory. He was not his usual perky self and for once showed little interest in what was happening around him. Fielding tended to the dog’s every need but became very concerned when he refused to eat. Major Woodrow, a dog lover himself, recognized how close Fielding was becoming to the injured stray and how the dog’s welfare was dominating his off-duty hours.

  We could all see Fielding’s determination to make Rat better. He virtually adopted the dog and made it his personal crusade to encourage him to take food. It was very touching to watch. And I think the dog, as much as a dog is able, realized the man wasn’t going to give up and gradually Fielding’s tender care started to pay off. Rat rallied round and was soon back on his rather weirdly shaped four legs.

  Aware that taking the dog off the street could be a potential problem if he was a local family’s pet, Major Woodrow conducted an investigation. The word on the street confirmed that the dog had been a stray for some time and showed no attachment to anyone, other than the soldiers. The company commander felt a sense of relief. He hadn’t relished the idea of telling Fielding that the dog had to be expelled from the barracks. Clearly the little chap had already had a good effect on the men. He had once been their playful friend and now he had suffered as they were suffering. He had been injured in the line of duty with his fellow soldiers. He was to them, a soldier dog.

  But to many of the men he had become something more than that. Major Woodrow recalls: ‘In times of adversity you can confide in a dog in a way you feel you cannot in another human being for fear of being thought weak or stupid. Fortunately Rat was very sensitive to human emotion and so he saw your fear before you felt it. He was good for the men because he never judged anyone and he never failed to provide comfort when it was needed. It was good just to have him around.’

  And so the British Army base in Crossmaglen adopted the scruffy little brown dog. That meant it was time to give him a name.

  Although the dog came to be known as Rats, the Grenadier Guards who adopted him still insist that his name was Rat, in the singular. But everyone has their own version of why the choice of name. ‘Rat seemed a good name for the dog but for many different reasons,’ explains Major Woodrow. ‘He will always be Rat to us because, quite simply, he looked like a rat. Also he was very dirty and had some filthy habits when we first met him. On top of that he liked chasing rodents in the barracks, which was very useful, although he was not overly successful and he was bitten more than once. Some will tell you that his name is short for “rations” and certainly this dog loved his food.’

  As soon as he had made a full recovery Rat was allowed to wander where he liked. His priority on his first night out of hospital was to find a cosy bed. No one minded the dog sharing their bunk so he was given the choice of all 18. Rat took one look at the three tiers of brutally rigid accommodation and skipped jauntily past all of them, making a beeline for the single bed in the company commander’s room, where he stopped briefly to relieve himself and then moved on. It was a good job the major took it in good humour. It helped that back home he was the proud owner of Willoughby, a basset hound, and understood the idiosyncrasies of canine behaviour; otherwise Rat would have had the shortest career ever in the British Army. But one thing was for sure, he had to have a bed he could call his own even if he preferred to share with Tim Fielding. No one wanted Rat leaving his calling card on their bed!

  His life on the streets had made Rat greedy with food. If it was offered, Rat would eat it. What many of the men failed to appreciate was that Fielding took care of Rat. He fed and watered him and made sure the dog had no need to beg. But Rat couldn’t help begging and the men wanted to share their chips and chocolate, their suet pudding and sweets and everything else that passed for food. It was probably how he acquired a liking for his favourite Army ‘grub’, the NAAFI’s special steak pies. Unsurprisingly, someone was always clearing up after one of Rat’s eating binges. ‘He could be quite revolting,’ recalls Major Woodrow. ‘There were times when it seemed he was sick all the time and it was not one of his most endearing qualities. At Christmas when the fridge was full of goodies Rat just sat at the fridge door waiting for treats and, of course, he was never disappointed.’

  The soldiers’ time off duty could never be spent off the base. It was too dangerous. It was impossible for the men to walk into shops or pubs in a social capa
city. It simply couldn’t work that way. It was not because the locals generally wanted to be unfriendly; it was, on the whole, because they were afraid to be seen as anything else. A British soldier in Northern Ireland was just that, both on and off duty.

  Everything the soldiers needed for their four or five months’ tour of duty lay within the confines of the high steel and concrete walls of the base, fortified to keep those inside safe and the Opposition outside. Entertainment was in short supply and the men couldn’t go out, so the company of a dog took on a special significance. It was Rat’s bold cheekiness that warmed the hearts of the soldiers. His playfulness and eager expression lifted spirits and a few minutes watching Rat running around with his plastic toy duck and a few rounds of hide-the-sock were welcome entertainment. Having him there to sit with, talk to and just watch waddling around the barracks was invaluable. Many of the soldiers said that he made a kind of home where there was no other sign of home.

  Thanks to Sergeant Fielding’s care, Rat was now always well presented for duty, and a shampooed Rat was far more welcome in the dormitory than the dirty version the soldiers had first met. Sergeant Fielding remembers that his charge was never really that muddy, even for a dog whose stomach was so close to the ground. He somehow managed to skip over the worst of it, which was just as well because he was never keen on a bath. There was another plus point about the baths; the end result showed that Rat was really a very handsome dog. He wasn’t a dull, matt brown colour at all but every shade of warm copper and rust. And underneath he was not a mucky cream but brilliant white with white socks to match. It didn’t matter that after one patrol he was ready for the bath again! At least everyone could see he was cared for.

  He lived the best of a dog’s life and had the run of the base, but his territory was essentially the room Fielding and Regan shared and the rooms opposite that, which happened to be the Officers’ Mess and the Operations Room. He was regularly found in this area of the base but if it was very cold, no one needed to look further than any of the gas fires on the camp. He loved the heat and would stay and soak it up until someone moved him along with their foot. But if they did that they were almost assured a lap companion for as long as they were prepared to keep still or put up with him rolling over for his tummy to be tickled.

  He may have been a dog of very mixed ancestry but he had found a family now and they were proud to have him around.

  Rat wasn’t the only dog on the base. A black Labrador called Fleabus liked to hang around with Rat. Their favourite places included the helipad and lying together on Fielding’s bunk. Another dog, Nutter, joined the team but he was more of a free agent and didn’t get so close to the soldiers except when there was food around. Scruffy, a little white mongrel never made it into the base. For some reason, Rat kept Scruffy at tail’s length as far as his inner circle was concerned. And so it happened that Rat built up his human and canine friends inside and outside the huge steel gates. But with all the dogs around it was Rat who attracted the most attention and affection. What did this small misshapen terrier have that the others did not?

  To those who served alongside him it was simply that he was an ‘everyman’ dog. He was the ordinary soldier’s dog. The kind of dog any of them could have had at home. He always met everyone with a smile and bright eyes and was always eager to join in. But the one thing that set Rat apart from the other dogs was his keenness to join the men on patrols. This made him one of them. It made him a soldier and one that faced all the dangers they faced. They admired his spirit as much as his intelligence and in all of that he was a huge boost to the troops’ morale.

  ‘It was quite a common sight to see Sergeant Fielding lean down and grab Rat in one hand and put him inside his jacket before heading out on duty,’ recalls Major Woodrow.

  Fielding wanted to take him and, quite honestly it was difficult for the man to escape without Rat scampering along at his heels. Others came to regard the dog as something of a lucky mascot so he was almost always welcome. For me, the dog’s instinct and impeccable hearing could often be an asset to the patrol. Rat could hear the Opposition long before we did. If we saw them it was often too late.

  Rat was intelligent and quick to learn anything Fielding or the others tried to teach him. Sometimes he worked situations out for himself and because he was almost always on patrol with Fielding or someone else he picked up some soldiers’ behaviour. The men patrolled the streets and the countryside of South Armagh. The houses, streets and cars held their own menacing secrets and there was potentially a sniper in every window. The lush grass and thick hedges of the countryside presented a different fear of hidden mines and booby-trap bombs. Seeing the dog skipping confidently down the roads or through the country lanes was strangely comforting for the men. To see a dog looking so happy out walking, head held high and eyes bright with anticipation was as near to normal as anything could be. It was hard to admit the reality that each man, and the dog too, risked their life with every step they took.

  Rat soon learnt that if the patrol came to a halt he should do the same. Dropping onto his belly, Rat would remain motionless until the order was given to move off. In the countryside he was aware of the need to be overly alert and acted only on the orders issued by the patrol commander. If the men stopped to eat, Rat would remain close by, watching out for them like a sentry on duty. If he wasn’t being carried by Fielding or someone from another patrol then he would be waiting by the gates to the base in the hope that he could hitch a piece of the action with someone. He didn’t like being left behind. But there were times when an operation demanded the utmost stealth and for that a dog could be unpredictable and therefore dangerous company. On one occasion during a night patrol Rat and Fleabus appeared uninvited. It was unusual to see Fleabus out of the camp and although Rat had some sense of the correct behaviour, Fleabus was quite a different matter. He was a big dog and therefore a danger in an area where mines were a possibility. Rat was light enough to skip over the ground but Fleabus could have not only jeopardized the exercise but endangered lives too. He had a habit of getting in the way around the cramped accommodation in the base and now he was in the way again.

  Patrols and exercises in the field were part of everyday life for the soldiers stationed in Armagh. One night the men were making their way to a deserted farmhouse in the countryside outside Crosssmaglen where they were to spend the night. They left under the cover of darkness and as they approached the location a rustling noise in the undergrowth prompted the patrol to hit the ground. As the noise got louder the men raised their weapons and prepared to face the Opposition. However, out of the darkness appeared Rat and Fleabus. Rat wagged his tail and nuzzled the patrol commander, Sergeant Knight, in the hope of a pat on the head. Knight feared that the inexperienced Fleabus would bark a greeting. Furious with the dogs and fearful the operation would be discovered and men’s lives lost, Knight decided to cancel the patrol, but before he could give the order he noticed Rat sniffing all over the ground ahead of them. He knew that if there were an ambush ahead the dogs would sniff it out and possibly bark a warning, so, until then, it could be assumed it was safe to move on towards the farmhouse. As they moved forward Rat and Fleabus worked the ground ahead and then ran back to the patrol. Each time they returned it proved the way ahead was clear of mines and the Opposition. With the dogs checking over such a wide area, Sergeant Knight was confident in moving forward to the target. When the men arrived safely the dogs took it upon themselves to leave and were not seen again until the patrol returned the next morning. Rat and Fleabus were waiting at the gates to greet them.

  Rat never minded moving anywhere on four feet. His jaunty, skipping trot was part of his charm but it was not unusual to see his foxy tail and springy back legs disappear into the back of a Scarrycan. The Saracen armoured vehicle was the only car-like transport the Army used in Crossmaglen. Nothing else could be considered safe. Claustrophobic and lacking comfort, the Scarrycan was essential on patrols and one was always somewhere
watching and waiting and protecting. For Rat, the sight of a Scarrycan meant one thing: a free ride. As long as there was a driver and a tea urn inside there was always room for a little dog to curl up on the other seat.

  But Rat’s real love was helicopters. If he couldn’t leap into one the men would put him in an Army bag and he would be lifted aboard and let out so he could take up his position under the back seat. The danger time was jumping out. When transferring Army personnel into strategic positions the helicopter would hover to allow the men to jump out. Landing would leave it vulnerable. Rat was quick to learn the drill and as soon as he felt the helicopter go into a decent he would move forward to jump out. Three feet or thirty feet from the ground, it didn’t matter; Rat was ready to go. Everyone and everything, including the domestic waste, went in and out of the Army base by helicopter. Despite being a large and obvious target for the Opposition, helicopters were still the best and the safest way to travel.

  Sergeant Fielding was the first to take Rat into the air, just to see how he would get on. He knew Rat was fascinated by helicopters because he had watched how the dog reacted just watching them fly in and out of the base. He wouldn’t run in and cause a problem but his fur would visibly bristle and his ears would prick up as soon as he heard a helicopter approach. And of course he heard that before any human being. Everyone could tell that Rat was curious about the helicopter but how would he like flying? Fielding knew there was only one way to find out so he gathered Rat in his arms and stepped into the helicopter. After a few moments of uncertainty Rat settled on Fielding’s lap for the rest of the journey. He was never to give up his rides in the Scarrycan but helicopters became his new favourite way to travel.