Memorial Dogs

Memorial Day brings a set of complex emotions.

I think about the thousands of Americans who gave their lives so that we could live free.

I think about the cemeteries and the flags and the names on the tombstones.

Memorial Day brings up memories that are a bit less common as well.

I think about the Dogs I rolled with.

They were like me, and the men I went into the mixer with.

They had drive.  They had been given, through genetics, the desire to fight.

They had been trained and vetted.  They were fortunate to be part of a top-notch crew of beings set on destroying the enemies of decency.

They struck serious fear into our enemies.  They were relentless.  Once they understood their part in the pack, they were a force multiplier.

They saved many lives.  Mine included.

The story of my first Dog and the first time he saved my life comes to mind….

It was on a night filled with mayhem and he solidified my esteem for him, his senses and his skills.

We were sent on a mission to capture or kill a few of the enemy in a well-populated rural area.

We set up on the building that our target called home and when we did, things went sideways quickly.  I was holding down a side of the building with one other shooter and my Dog.  He was attached to my belt with a short lead.  The shooter next to me was looking through a window and he saw a man get up with an AK-47 and start towards a door where some of our crew had begun entering.

Then all hell broke loose.  The shooting started in earnest and my buddy was putting a fair amount of lead into the building through the window.  The brass from his shots was falling on the Dog and me and I turned to cover down the backside of the building.

As I did, I felt the Dog pull hard on my hip.  When I turned to look down at him, he was in full business mode and he was looking at 3 dudes who were armed and coming out of a building directly behind us.  If he had not done so….I probably would not be writing this.  He didn’t bite anyone.  He didn’t find a bomb in that instance.  All he did was bring our attention to a group of men with guns who were keen on killing us.

After that, I never doubted his instincts or abilities.  The only limitations he had were the ones I brought into the equation.

On the next deployment with that Dog, on a Christmas Eve, I called my wife, and told her that our Dog had been killed earlier that morning. She was crushed.  “Our” Dog belonged to the Military, but he was a part of our family and he’d saved me, and a few of my crew, on several occasions.

Over several deployments I watched Dogs run at, and full on launch themselves into enemy humans who were 5 times their height and 3 times their weight.  Many times they did so while the human they were attacking was shooting at them or us. Sometimes when they were biting the enemy, they were getting beat with guns or rocks or human fists.  They never once stopped.

They were amazing.

They were not the pretty picture of comfort and warmth that you commonly see in news spots that feature military Dogs.

I’m fortunate that I was able to witness their intensity. I am fortunate that I went out at night to kill the enemies of decency with such a potent partner.

Many of our Dogs were killed.  Many.

I miss them.