Soldier Dogs Part 1

SOLDIER DOGS.

by MARIA GOODAVAGE.

"Military working dogs are amazing in every aspect, and even more so when you realize that they risk their lives and save yours, all so they can have a ball."

-AIR FORCE STAFF SERGEANT CHRISTINE CAMPOS, DOG HANDLER

PART ONE

DOGS IN HARM'S WAY

1

WALKING POINT

It's 7 A.M. A.M., just north of the town of Safar, Afghanistan, and Fenji M675 is already panting. Her thick, black German shepherd coat glistens in the hot August sun. Fenji is out in front of ten marines, leashed to a D-ring that's attached to the body armor of her handler, Corporal Max Donahue. He's six feet behind her and holds his rifle ready.

Fenji leads the marines down the flat dirt road, past the trees and lush vegetation in this oasis amid the deserts of southern Afghanistan. She ignores the usual temptations: a pile of dung, a wrapper from a candy bar. Her mission doesn't include these perks. Her nose is what may keep them all alive today, and she can't distract it with the trivial. Coalition forces have been sweeping Safar of insurgents and their bombs, allowing the Safar Bazaar marketplace to reopen and locals to start living normally again. The Taliban had to go somewhere else. So they headed north. And they planted improvised explosive devices (IEDs) like seedlings among the poppy fields and grape fields and off to the sides of roads, under thick weeds.

Around here, any step you take could be your last.

And that's why Fenji is in the lead, walking point. IEDs are the top killer in Afghanistan-even with the highest technology, the best mine-sweeping devices, the most sophisticated bomb-jamming equipment, and the study of "pattern of life" activities being observed from remote piloted aircraft. But there is one response that the Taliban has no answer for: the soldier dog, with his most basic sense-smell-and his deepest desire-some praise, and a toy to chew.

"Seek!" Donahue tells Fenji, and they continue down the road, leading the men from the 3/1 (Third Battalion First Marines). She walks with a bounce to her step, tail up and bobbing gently as she half trots down the road. Every so often she stops and sniffs a spot of interest and, when she doesn't find what she's seeking, moves on. She almost looks like a dog out on a morning stroll in a park. Donahue, in full combat gear-some eighty pounds of it, including water for his dog-keeps up with her.

Fenji stops at a spot just a foot off the side of the road. She's found something of great interest. Without taking her eyes off the spot, she sniffs around it swiftly and her tail starts to wag. Suddenly she goes from standing up to lying down, staring the entire time at the spot. The men have stopped walking and are watching her. Her wagging tail kicks up some dust. Everything is silent now. No more sniffing, no crunching of boots.

Suddenly a hushed, enthusiastic voice cuts through the dead quiet. "Fenjiii! That's That's my girl!" In training exercises, Donahue is a lot more effusive, but out of respect for the bomb, he makes his initial praise short and quick, calls her back, and they "un-a.s.s" from the area. It could be the kind of IED someone sets off from a my girl!" In training exercises, Donahue is a lot more effusive, but out of respect for the bomb, he makes his initial praise short and quick, calls her back, and they "un-a.s.s" from the area. It could be the kind of IED someone sets off from a distance, not the type that goes off when you step on it. One of the marines marks it with a chartreuse glow stick, and they move on. distance, not the type that goes off when you step on it. One of the marines marks it with a chartreuse glow stick, and they move on.

Within the next hour, Fenji alerts to three more roadside bombs. Donahue lavishes her with quiet praise every time. Twice after her finds, shortly after they get away from the bombs, he tosses a black Kong toy to his dog and she easily catches it. She stands there chewing it, reveling in the sound of Donahue's praise, the feel of the hard rubber between her teeth, and the gloved hand of her best pal stroking her head. Life doesn't get much better than this for a military working dog. These are the moments these dogs live for, when all the years of training, all the hard work, come together.

"I'm proud of you!" Donahue tells her, and he means it, and she wags hard. She knows she's done well. She's been with him for seven months now, and she has a great fondness for Donahue, her first handler, and he dotes on "my sweet girl." She liked him from the moment they met at Camp Pendleton back in February. Nearly everyone who meets Donahue reacts the same way. There's something about his big personality, his love of life, his dry humor, the way he looks after you. Fenji fell right in with him, and he immediately took to her. She was young, bright, eager to learn from him, and he swears she has a sense of humor. He once said that she gets his jokes before his friends do. That's probably because she tends to wag in his presence regardless of jokes. She's just happy to be near him. She's three years old, he's twenty-three, and together they're a formidable bomb-finding force.

Their bond might contribute to their success on missions. She sleeps at the foot of Donahue's cot every night out here; she joins him for card games with the other marines; she eats next to him at the patrol base where they've been stationed during this mission. He lets her have some of his food "because my girl deserves it."

The explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) technicians usually accompany the squad but had been called to another spot this morning. They're on their way back to investigate the IEDs and defuse them. Donahue and the other marines go into action to protect the EOD techs in case of an ambush. They take positions to secure the area.

Donahue finds a great spot for his sector of fire, at a Y in the road. It's wide open here, and he can see a few hundred meters around him. He fills Fenji's portable bowl with water from his CamelBak. As she laps it up, he lies belly down, propped up on his elbows, and positions his rifle. He's facing away from the field where some of the other marines are. He's got a tiny village about two hundred meters away in his sights. If there's trouble, that's where it could start. A quenched Fenji lies down beside him a few feet away, and they wait.

The EOD techs arrive and get to work, carefully digging up the first IED, about one hundred meters from Donahue. One wrong move and they're done for, and the Taliban adds another tally mark to its scorecard. One of the techs extracts the bomb from its hiding place and bends over it to take a look. Down the road, Donahue adjusts himself slightly to get more comfortable.

Three klicks south, in Safar, Corporal Andrei Idriceanu hears a terrible explosion as he and his dog sweep a building for explosives. "That could not be good," he thinks, but he tries not to think about it too much.

2

REGULAR, EVERYDAY HEROES

Cairo, reportedly a Belgian Malinois, was part of the SEAL Team Six raid that led to the demise of Osama bin Laden. You don't have to be a dog lover to be fascinated by the idea that a dog-the cousin of that furry guy begging for sc.r.a.ps under your table-could be one of the heroes who helped execute the most vital and high-tech military mission of the new millennium.

As the first details about the operation emerged, it sometimes seemed as though the dog was more the star of the story than the Al Qaeda leader: "Enough with the discussion of the photos of Osama's corpse," rallied a blog on the Web site Gothamist, "we want to see photos of the war dog who helped take him out!"

Though the United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group (known as DEVGRU, the more recent name for SEAL Team Six) and the Department of Defense were tight-lipped about the dog's involvement in the raid, the stories poured forth. Most were conjecture presented as fact. According to some accounts, the dog sported night-vision goggles, bullet-resistant body armor, a live-action camera between his shoulders, earbuds to hear whispered commands, and rappelling gear. Not to mention four deadly t.i.tanium teeth. Holy canine superhero! Cairo's image made Batman look like a gadget-impoverished Spartan. whispered commands, and rappelling gear. Not to mention four deadly t.i.tanium teeth. Holy canine superhero! Cairo's image made Batman look like a gadget-impoverished Spartan.

Night-vision goggles for an animal who already sees pretty well at night? Fake teeth? t.i.tanium teeth are never preferable to healthy, unbroken dog teeth. They are sometimes used to replace teeth that get broken, as patrol dog teeth sometimes do. But no self-respecting veterinarian would ever yank a dog's teeth to replace them with t.i.tanium for no reason, regardless of how durable the metal is.

Concerned that some of this gear might be at least slightly exaggerated, I tried to find out the truth about Cairo, or any of his elite Special Operations multipurpose canine (MPC) brethren working dramatic missions. How hard could that be? They're just dogs, after all. We aren't talking about the Manhattan Project.

While I was visiting Joint Expeditionary Base, Little Creek, near Norfolk, Virginia, my escort pointed at the obstacle course used by the SEALs and showed me the beach where they swim. "They don't talk to anyone anyone about this stuff," he told me. about this stuff," he told me.

These Special Ops dogs are so secret that they aren't there at all-at least some of the time. A former veterinary technician at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, discovered this a couple of years ago when an Army Special Forces dog came in for treatment of some ailment. The staff treated the dog without doing the usual paperwork, and when the tech asked about some forms that were supposed to be filled out, the dog's handler told her, "This dog was never here." "From his tone, it was pretty clear. I never questioned it," she told me. "The dog didn't exist."

Oh well, never mind.

There are real canine heroes-the ones walking point, leading soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines safely through some of the most dangerous parts of the world every day-who definitely do exist, do their jobs in harm's way without fanfare, and expect in return only a bit of praise, a chonk on a ball. They may not jump out of airplanes or fast-rope from helicopters or be rumored to have t.i.tanium teeth, but as I've come to find, the jobs they do save real lives and play an increasingly crucial role in real battlefield situations.

Throughout history, dogs have been used for attacking (disemboweling the opposition was once a favorite technique), protection, and sentry duty-alerting soldiers to danger well before they could sense it themselves. They've been trackers, messengers, sled pullers, and first-aid deliverers. As scouts, they've excelled at sniffing the air and alerting their handlers to snipers and other hidden enemies. But there may be no other time in history when their olfactory abilities have been so essential.

"My life is in my dog's nose," many handlers have told me.

In Afghanistan, where IEDs are the biggest killer, a dog's most important sense is being used more than ever: The most common job of today's military working dog (MWD) is sniffing out explosives. A trained dog can detect and alert to dozens of explosives scents. No mechanical sensor can even come close. CIA director David Petraeus praised their service when he was a four-star general: "The capability they bring to the fight cannot be replicated by man or machine."

Air Force Master Sergeant Antonio "Arod" Rodriguez, who's in charge of advising more than one hundred military working dog teams a.s.signed to twelve air force bases, puts it this way: "The working dog is a weapons system that is resilient, compact, easily deployable, and can move fast when needed. Nothing compares." dog teams a.s.signed to twelve air force bases, puts it this way: "The working dog is a weapons system that is resilient, compact, easily deployable, and can move fast when needed. Nothing compares."

That's part of the reason dog teams are targets. Not only do these dogs help save lives, but the information that's gathered from their finds can lead-via a very long and involved path-to locating the bigger operatives behind a device. It's not something the Taliban relishes.

Most of the traditional soldier dogs serving in Afghanistan are patrol and explosives detection dogs like Fenji. The "patrol" part means they're tough when they need to be and can put the bite on someone. I witnessed this rather personally during my research. Most patrol and explosives detection dogs in Afghanistan rarely if ever have to actively use their patrol skills, but their explosives-sniffing abilities are constantly in demand.

The lives they're saving are not just those of the troops; IEDs are not choosy about their victims. Children, families, the elderly-no one is immune to their disfiguring, deadly effects. Locals in IED-infested areas are often prisoners in their own small, mud-walled homes. Venturing outside to meet with a neighbor or get some food is fraught with danger. Whole villages have stopped functioning because no one dares to go anywhere.

There's a news video online that really brings the tragedy of the situation home for me. It shows a seven-year-old girl in Safar being rushed on a stretcher to a waiting military helicopter. She had been playing outside with her younger brother when someone stepped in the wrong place. The brother had not yet been found. His body was probably recovered later, far from the blast.

Dogs help normalize life where it has been overshadowed by constant threat of Taliban violence. These everyday paws-on-the-ground heroes and their human partners help clear villages and towns of dozens, sometimes hundreds, of explosive devices. Safar, for instance, had become a ghost town. People would not venture out. The once-thriving Safar Bazaar marketplace had been shut for months; there were so many IEDs that someone would be injured or killed there nearly every day. With all the people virtually trapped in their homes, commerce almost entirely ceased.

The dog teams came in and changed all that. In an operation that took several weeks, the village was cleared, the market declared safe. "It gives me goose b.u.mps to think about the change. It went from dead to alive," says Corporal Idriceanu, who spent weeks helping clear the Safar Bazaar with his dog. "People could live again. I'm honored my dog and I could be part of that."

It is hard to quantify how many lives deployed soldier dog teams save by way of their detection skills. Figures range from 150 to 1,800 lives per dog. A dog who finds a bomb just as a squad is about to pa.s.s by could save several lives, depending on the bomb's strength. Maybe there would have been no lives lost, just a slight injury. Or not even that. It's impossible to count exactly how many people did not get hurt by a bomb that a dog discovered.

In any case, military working dog teams in Afghanistan were credited with finding more than 12,500 pounds of explosives in 2010. The number is probably at least slightly higher, officials say, since dogs are not always given credit for finds. Still, when you think of the damage even ten pounds of explosives in an IED can do, you can get a sense of the importance of these dogs to our military capability.

The Department of Defense has some 2,700 U.S. military working dogs in service worldwide and about six hundred serving in war zones. Another two hundred are contract dogs. Contract working dogs are trained by contractors, and their handlers work for the contractor, not the military. Most handlers in this world are former military handlers. Many got out of the military because the money is purported to be better on the contract side. Others just wanted a little more control of their jobs. If they don't want to go into a war zone, they don't have to. That's not something they could pull off when working for Uncle Sam. The Department of Defense maintains these contracts because the Military Working Dog Program can't supply enough dogs for the current need.

Even as troops start to draw down in Afghanistan, the dog teams don't show any signs of staying home for long. Because of their vital role there, many in the military dog world think the dog teams could keep deploying steadily to the end of U.S. involvement. This could put them at higher risk. Already, seventeen handlers have been killed in action since 2001, and forty-four military working dogs have died in war zones since 2005, the first year for which figures are available. (The number of dog deaths includes dogs killed in action and dogs who have died from heat injuries and other causes. The Department of Defense does not yet have a full report of causes of death.) Military working dogs are incomparable troops, superbly well suited for their tasks. But there's something else that draws us to these dogs and their stories: For all their remarkable feats, they're not only our heroes, they're our pals. We share our homes and lives with their cousins, whose loyalty, intelligence, and unconditional love make them part of the family. When we see or read about how they're involved in war, the war becomes a little closer. It gives us a little more skin in the game. The irony is that soldier dogs make war a little more human. with their cousins, whose loyalty, intelligence, and unconditional love make them part of the family. When we see or read about how they're involved in war, the war becomes a little closer. It gives us a little more skin in the game. The irony is that soldier dogs make war a little more human.

3

UNCRATING THE HISTORY OF WAR DOGS

While I've yet to meet Cairo (or as some reports say, "Karo"), I have had the pleasure of meeting a nearly one-hundred-year-old military dog named Sergeant Stubby. The highly decorated World War I military hero died in 1926, was stuffed, and put on display at the American Red Cross Museum for nearly thirty years. His skin and hair eventually began to deteriorate, so he was taken off display. Eminent war-dog historian Michael Lemish wrote about him in his book War Dogs: A History of Loyalty and Heroism War Dogs: A History of Loyalty and Heroism. He had found the dog stored in a shipping crate in an old artifacts room at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History. The crate read: STUBBY THE DOG-FRAGILE STUBBY THE DOG-FRAGILE.

While in Washington, D.C., I decided to see if I could pay homage to this granddaddy of U.S. war dogs, and I called ahead to speak with someone who knew where the old relics were stored and how I could get access. I learned that Stubby had been refurbished from nose to tail and was now once again on display. He's down the hall from Dorothy's ruby slippers, toward the end of the large exhibit called The Price of Freedom: Americans at War The Price of Freedom: Americans at War.

Stubby became a war hero at a time when the United States didn't have any semblance of a war-dog program. The small stray pit bull was taken in by a man who would make him the mascot of the 102nd Infantry in 1917. When the man went to war, he smuggled Stubby over to France by ship. Stubby provided comfort to the wounded and was devoted to his troops, but he became more than a loyal mascot. His "hero" t.i.tle came to him from such feats as when he warned a sleeping sergeant of a gas attack, so that soldiers had adequate time to don their gas masks. He also bit a German infiltrator, who was hobbled by the bite and captured. The dog later suffered a shrapnel wound.

His popularity was immense, and he was grandly-if unofficially-decorated. He had to wear a blanket (given to him by several French women) to hold all his medals and pins. The dog went on to tour the United States, and he hobn.o.bbed with three presidents.

Eighty-five years after he drew his last breath, I gazed through a gla.s.s barrier at Sergeant Stubby, who was now surrounded by a mannequin in a gas mask, an old wooden arm prosthesis, a well-preserved carrier pigeon, and other relics from the war. World War I has been relegated to a small, almost parenthetical, portion of this exhibit. Stubby looked a little plasticized, and his lip contours were bizarrely black, almost Herman Munsterish. But this was Stubby, in the flesh, or at least in the fur.

Stubby's procurement was not a formal process, but back then in the United States, there were no rule books for war-dog procurement. In fact there was no war-dog program here at all. During World War I, European armies were using dogs to great advantage, particularly as first responders and messengers. The Red Cross suggested a procurement process be initiated, but no appropriation was made. Someone in the General Headquarters of the American Expeditionary Forces proposed setting up a program to buy a supply of five hundred dogs every three months from the French and then setting up kennels in the United States to create a canine corps. Nothing happened. Cross suggested a procurement process be initiated, but no appropriation was made. Someone in the General Headquarters of the American Expeditionary Forces proposed setting up a program to buy a supply of five hundred dogs every three months from the French and then setting up kennels in the United States to create a canine corps. Nothing happened.

Still, there are plenty of great stories like Stubby's, of dogs serving in combat in American units during the war, not just as mascots, but also as sentries and messengers. And certainly thousands of soldiers saw the huge benefits of using dogs in wartime. But after the war, as military budgets were drawn down, the idea of starting a war-dog program faded.

Following the attack on Pearl Harbor, the American Kennel Club and another group, Dogs for Defense, led by a prominent breeder, appealed to dog owners across the country to donate their pets to the war effort. The public response was overwhelming. And so began America's first formal military dog procurement program.

The army's logistical arm, the Quartermaster Corps, acquired thousands of dogs spanning thirty breeds during the next three years. Based in large measure on the British experience in World War I, a K-9 Corps was built around five breeds: Belgian sheepdogs, giant schnauzers, collies, German shepherds, and Doberman pinschers. In all, of about nineteen thousand dogs acquired, more than half were trained. Of those, the vast majority became sentries. As the war progressed, the need for scout dogs increased, and some 436 dogs served in the island campaigns in the Pacific.

Because so many dogs loaned during World War II proved unfit for duty-and the expense of having to return them to their owners fell to the military-the army changed its procurement policy after the war to buy its own dogs. Moreover, it set out to select dogs who could perform all the various a.s.signments in all climates and who were bred extensively. The procurement specifications are intriguing.

He should be a st.u.r.dy compact working type, revealing evidence of power, endurance, and energy. The dog must have good bones, well-proportioned body, deep chest with ribs well sprung, strong pasterns and muscular feet with hard wall-cushioned paws. Front feet should not toe inward or outward, hind quarters should have moderate angulation, and, as viewed from the rear, hind legs should be straight. The temperament of the dog should show general alertness, steadiness, vigor and responsiveness. He should not be timid, nervous, gun or noise-shy. In addition, the dog must be from nine months to three years old, must be between 22 inches and 28 inches high at the shoulder and must weigh between 60 and 90 pounds. The dog may be either male or female, but a female must have been spayed 60 days prior to being offered for purchase.

Hard wall-cushioned paws?

One by one, breeds were discounted. Climate was one deciding factor. Dobermans worked well only in temperate climates; collies, Siberian huskies, and Alaskan malamutes in colder climates. Labs and other sporting breeds were not considered dependable because of their gaming instinct. In the end, the German shepherd became the dog of choice as the Korean War began in June 1950.

But with all the talk about how successful dogs had been in World War II and the forging of a real procurement policy, as the curtain went up on the Korean War only one dog unit went into action: the Twenty-sixth Infantry Scout Dog Platoon. It did well, and there was a plan to attach a scout dog platoon to each division, but then the war ended.

And that marked a hiatus in the military's dog program. The procurement stopped. The army war-dog program was defunded, and rumors spread that the program would be abandoned entirely. This drew an emotional, angry public response. The program survived; the air force took it over and started a training center at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas.

But in the late 1950s and early 1960s, as America's involvement in Vietnam intensified, and as the air force began to see the labor-saving advantages of sentry dogs, demand outstripped supply. Moreover, there was no military pipeline, or even a civilian pipeline like Dogs for Defense, to bring more dogs to the effort.

The result was that the military was forced into a hurry-up scenario, and quickly sent out small teams of recruiters to bases around the country to buy up dogs from neighboring communities. The price paid was usually not more than $150 per dog. The breeds of dogs procured once again expanded, and Labradors and even hounds were among those drafted. Some 3,800 dogs would serve during the course of this war.

War dog procurement is partly a matter of selecting breeds for combat and then drawing a steady supply, but it's also a matter of demilitarization and repatriation. That was a.s.sumed after World War II but forgotten after Vietnam, when thousands of dogs were left behind, either to replenish supplies for the South Vietnamese Army or to be eaten, as some have a.s.serted, or simply euthanized. Some handlers even chose to reenlist so they could be with their dogs as long as possible, in hopes they might be able to prolong the dogs' lives and perhaps even adopt them. Army or to be eaten, as some have a.s.serted, or simply euthanized. Some handlers even chose to reenlist so they could be with their dogs as long as possible, in hopes they might be able to prolong the dogs' lives and perhaps even adopt them.

The situation now is utterly transformed. Our understanding of dogs' qualities and abilities is far better, and the results of our working together in the military are vastly improved. So does this new kind of military use have anything to offer back to our understanding of, or relationship with, our own dogs at home?

4

JAKE, THE EVERYDOG WITH THE RIGHT STUFF?

I'd written about other military working dogs before Cairo and Sergeant Stubby. And every time I did, I found myself looking at my own dog.

In the haze of glory surrounding military working dogs, my dog Jake, who is now nine, doesn't really look like a contender for admission into the military elite. When he was younger, did he have what it took to sniff out bombs, to risk his life, to walk point in order to save others? I'd look at him, typically lying around sleeping somewhere and perhaps snoring, or absconding with an unattended bit of food, or rolling in the gra.s.s. Not obviously military hero material.

But Jake does have his breed going for him. He's a Labrador retriever-a breed the military commonly uses for detection work. Actually, we're not 100 percent sure he's all Lab. He was found wandering the streets of a seedy part of San Francisco at six months of age. A rescue group took him in and we agreed to foster him. It was to be just for a week or two. Our old Airedale had died the previous month, and we weren't ready for a dog to take up a full-time, permanent position in our house. This was to be a temp gig. But the minute he walked in the door, on December 1, 2002, I knew we were in trouble. He was all paws, with a big smile on his wide blond face, and bright brown eyes that scanned the foyer, looked at me, and gave me that "Yup, I'm home! Get used to me!" look. permanent position in our house. This was to be a temp gig. But the minute he walked in the door, on December 1, 2002, I knew we were in trouble. He was all paws, with a big smile on his wide blond face, and bright brown eyes that scanned the foyer, looked at me, and gave me that "Yup, I'm home! Get used to me!" look.

Jake does show some signs of being a good potential war dog. He bonded with us quickly, he is eager to please, would do anything for us (except stop chewing flip-flops), and is pretty fearless. He's also a great sniffer. I have yet to find a place to hide his dog treats where he doesn't sit staring at the invisible wafting scent, obsessed, clearly trying to figure out ways to maneuver them down from their stealth position, and often succeeding.