The travel website that came close to explaining the change of decorum Lucca inspired was Finland.fi, a site produced by the Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland and published by the Finland Promotion Board. In an article entitled “A Guide to Finnish Customs and Manners,” the writer got to the heart of the matter: “Finns rarely enter into conversation with strangers, unless a particularly strong impulse prompts it.”
It seemed to Willingham and Rod that Lucca was prompting strong impulses all over Helsinki.
“We’re escorting a star here,” Willingham told Rod as they took a break at an open-air restaurant.
They both looked down at her. She was asleep, snoring ever so quietly.
“Well, it’s not going to her head, anyway.” Willingham laughed.
From their table, they could see a man at an adjacent table engrossed in reading a newspaper article. The headline read, LIIKUTTAVA KOHTAAMINEN (“Touching Reunion”), and it was studded with large color photos of Lucca and the reunion at the airport.
“Watch this,” Willingham told Rod.
He stood up and walked over to the man—not heeding the “Do not engage a Finn at a restaurant” advice. He realized that with Lucca around, such social counsel was unwarranted.
He got the man’s attention and pointed to Lucca and then at the newspaper.
“Lucca! That’s Lucca!” he said, pointing back and forth, eyebrows raised to help get the point across.
The man looked at her, and at his newspaper, and back at Lucca again.
“Lucca? This Lucca?!” He was overjoyed and asked, in broken English, if he could pet her, which he did.
Lucca was a particularly big hit at the embassy, where she seemed to impress everyone.
“She’s been a member of the embassy family since we first heard about her from Chris,” Kuchova told Rod. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
Kuchova was very pleased with how well the reunion travel arrangements had worked out. He had gotten the ball rolling because he wanted to see the best outcome for Lucca and her handlers. But there was something else beyond the happy reunion. His father, a first-generation American from Albania, was a World War II combat veteran who earned a Bronze Star and the Combat Infantry Badge with three battle stars for action in the Battle of the Bulge and the Central Europe Campaign. When Kuchova was helping these marines, he felt he was honoring his father as well.
Lucca touched a chord with others in this way. To many Finns, no strangers to war, she provided a bridge of sorts to past generations who had served bravely.
Every day when craftsman Kalevi Soderlund went to the harborside market to sell the charming wooden bears he carved, he hoped to run into Lucca. She had visited the popular tourist stop on a day when he wasn’t at his booth. Ever since, he had been on the lookout for the dog he had read about in newspapers and now heard about from fellow market vendors.
He had Lucca fever in a big way. He looked up articles about her online, and when he found Willingham’s firsthand account of the reunion at an American military dog website, he left a comment. After stating his great desire to meet her at the market, he wrote:
“Lucca is well known here, and I and so many Finns are happy and proud of having Lucca here in Finland. One of my friends, having been drafted in 60’s as I too was, met Lucca on Sunday and told me that he wouldn’t have believed he would from full heart saluted a dog and feel so touched of it. Now I am going to wait for that moment as a lotto win.”
After the editor of the site, SoldierDogs.com, wrote to thank him for his comment and wished him the best of luck meeting Lucca, he wrote again, revealing a deeper motivation for meeting her.
I am waiting to meet Lucca as for Santa Claus when I was child. I understand the big value of soldier dogs. I was born when bombs came down around here. My father was medic in WW2 for five years and his regiment lost about half of the men all from same area here. So many of them were my father’s friends from childhood. I was a lonely boy but from my very early days I remember that I had a dog. Father was in the war (three times at home when he was recovering from wounds, great days for me because I had father). Well I could embrace my good dog friend. The first I remember well was Toti, a big black shepherd . . .
Finland, like so many other countries in the area, suffered deeply during World War II. It was a painful, tortuous path the Finns had to follow to make it through the war. But despite its losses, it held its own—valiantly and effectively—against insurmountable odds. When the Soviet Union invaded in November 1939, starting what would become known as the Winter War, the Finnish army was vastly outnumbered and outgunned. What should have been a slam dunk for the Soviet Union was anything but. The Finns made up for their lack of manpower and weapons by using clever tactics and sheer tenacity. In one battle more than 17,500 Soviets lost their lives, but only 250 Finns.
The welcome-to-school guide for Finland’s University of Joensuu includes an explanation of something called sisu. It’s a quality that may help explain some of Finland’s past triumphs. It is considered to be a national trait, one the Finns are quietly proud of.
“Sisu is what makes a Finn grit his teeth against all odds; continue fighting against an overwhelming enemy; clear the forest with his bare hands; go on to win a race even after falling over. Sisu is ‘what it takes’: guts, determination.”
When Willingham learned about sisu, he realized that this important Finnish characteristic might have been underlying the seemingly uncharacteristic reaction to Lucca.
WILLINGHAM HAD MISSED Lucca, but he hadn’t realized just how much until she was back at his side. When he looked into her eyes he saw everything they had once seen together reflected back to him. No one else had been there for all that. Over her career, she had protected untold numbers of soldiers and marines on four hundred missions with no injuries other than her own. A war buddy like no other.
He was sure that when Rod looked into her eyes, he saw their own triumphs and tragedies reflected back to him as well. So Willingham hoped that the ten days in Helsinki had helped ease the transition for Rod, as it seemed to be doing for Lucca. She comfortably navigated between spending nights with Rod on the queen bed in the spare room and living among the family by day. Willingham wished Rod lived close, so he could visit all the time. So did Rod.
Willingham and Rod spent the days touring around, mostly with Lucca. Their main subject of conversation was Lucca, and everything they’d each been through with her.
They jokingly referred to themselves as “Lucca’s two dads.” They compared notes and bragged about their eight-year-old girl to each other as they could to no one else. Their bond with her had come to extend deeply toward each other as well.
On his last night with Lucca, Rod tried not to think about how much he was going to miss her. He put his hand on her side, felt the rhythm of her breathing, and eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, he went outside and threw the Kong for her. She raced back and forth, catching it on the bounce and bringing it back. Over and over, panting, tail wagging, full of life. She didn’t lose her speed or gusto when she lost her leg. She just picked up and did the best she could with what she had, and she hadn’t missed a beat.
Rod realized he was going to have to do the same. He felt that when he said good-bye to Lucca he would be closing a huge chapter in his life. It was like losing a part of himself.
He was going to be getting out of the marines in the next year. He’d seen too much tragedy and death, and he didn’t want to be the guy on deployment who put others at risk by not wanting to be there. There would be no wartime bonding with another dog. He couldn’t imagine another dog taking the place of Lucca anyway.
Before he left for his flight, he sat in the yard with Lucca and held her tight. She leaned into him and relaxed in his arms.
“I just want to thank you for being there to watch over me, Lucca,�
�� he told her quietly. “I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for everything you’ve done.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, but if there’s any chance I can, I will. I’ll never forget you. But you’re going to have a great life in this family. This is the future you deserve. Be good, Lucca Bear.”
14
Pictures of a Dog with Three Legs
ON A DAY trip to look at castles north of Helsinki, the Willinghams found themselves in a three-story brick building called Suomen Tykistömuseo. Willingham was delighted when it turned out to be an artillery museum. They walked into one of the rooms closest to the entrance, and Lucca tossed her head in the air, sniffed, and started wagging her tail—a familiar sight to Willingham. No one else was around, so he cut her off leash.
“Seek!” he said.
It was like the old days. She moved in on a ghost of a scent, bracketing left to right, moving toward a glass display case along the wall. She sniffed the seams with enthusiastic inhalations and lay down with purpose. She looked over to Willingham, who was hanging back with Jill and the kids about fifteen feet so she could do her job.
He walked up to check out what she had responded on. There, behind the glass and the wood, he saw a couple of rifles, some bullets, and an old artillery round from a bygone war.
“Woot, Mama Lucca! Gooood girl! You have no idea you’re retired, do you?” He loved her up, talking like he used to when she found IEDs on deployments. She wagged and looked into his eyes. “You’ve still got it, Lucca Pie.”
He fished her Kong out of his backpack and bounced it on the floor. She caught it and, in the midst of the war memorabilia, ran to a corner to enjoy it in peace.
LUCCA LAY ON her dog bed, sleeping quietly next to Willingham’s side of the queen bed he shared with Jill. He was on the verge of sleep when he heard Lucca’s breathing become rapid, starting and stopping, almost as if she were trying to sniff in her sleep. He looked down at her. In the light that washed through the window from the city and the moonlit night, he saw that as she lay on her side, her three legs were moving as if she were running. The lower part of her right front leg pawed the air as it met no resistance, and her rear legs paddled in opposing rhythms.
Her breathing became more erratic. Her dream running stopped and started in fits. Then little sounds, more than breathing, high-pitched but muffled, then louder. Willingham heard distress in them. He thought she sounded like she was in pain, or scared, or both.
He realized he might be reading too much into it—that she might only be dreaming about chasing a rabbit that got away. But he didn’t want to leave her in that dream, in case she was back on that farm field in Afghanistan again, her paw blown off and her chest and face freshly singed.
“Lucca,” he said gently. He put his hand on her, in the middle of her torso. “Mama Lucca.”
She stopped running. Then he saw her eyes open for a moment and close again. She sighed and fell back to sleep.
“I know how it goes, Mama Lucca,” he told her, and fell asleep with his hand still on her side.
ROD HOISTED A small duffel over his shoulder as he exited the plane that had just landed at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. He had been looking forward to this trip for weeks. He still couldn’t believe what was happening.
He had left Helsinki having no idea when—or if—he would see Lucca again. It had been a hard transition back to Pendleton without her. Everything reminded him of her. But now, only three months after parting from her, he was going to see her again.
Lucca had been flown in from Helsinki with Willingham to be a guest of honor—the mascot, no less—at Sky Ball in Dallas, Texas, a huge fund-raising event that supports programs that directly benefit veterans, active-duty military, and wounded warriors. A thousand volunteers help put together the event, which attracts thousands of attendees. The big bash, on Saturday night, is a $250-per-ticket extravaganza, held in the American Airlines Hangar at the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport.
It was the first time Sky Ball had honored a military dog. Because of their involvement in Lucca’s transport to Helsinki, Raynor, Palmersheim, and a few others realized how special military dogs were. They decided to shine the spotlight on military dogs, to give them the attention they felt they deserved. Who better as a mascot than Lucca, whose résumé—if she had had one—already bore the title of “mascot,” for her pregame rounds with Special Forces in Afghanistan, and again at the embassy in Helsinki.
Rod, as Lucca’s “other dad,” had also been invited to take part in the week of festivities. As he was waiting for the luggage carousel to begin its rounds, something brushed up against his leg. He ignored it. Then he felt a dull poke. He looked down and he saw a dog nose by his leg and a pair of brown eyes staring up at him with the whites of the eyes showing beneath. They had dark little eyebrows that were raised in a way that made the face look expectant.
“Mama Lucca!” he said and dropped to his knees and hugged and nuzzled his old dog. He looked up and saw Willingham watching them with a big grin.
“Waddup, Rod?!”
Rod stood up and hugged Willingham.
“What a surprise,” said Rod, who was now back down with Lucca, who hadn’t stopped wagging since she saw him. “I didn’t expect to see you ’til tonight.”
“What goes around comes around,” Willingham said. “As I recall, you came to the airport to give me her leash in Helsinki.”
He handed Rod Lucca’s leash.
“What do ya say Mama Lucca spends the nights with you in your hotel room, and we’ll hang out together during the day.”
“Sounds good to me! I’ve missed Lucca.”
“I know. She doesn’t make it easy to leave her, does she?”
What a week it was. With Willingham and Rod at her side, Lucca walked the red carpet at the gala event. She stood onstage as Ambassador Oreck told her story to the three thousand in attendance. She shook paws with Medal of Honor recipients including Sammy Davis (“the real Forrest Gump”) and Bruce Crandall, and rubbed elbows with actors including Greg Kinnear and Gary Sinise. She also went to six schools, where Willingham told Lucca’s story to auditoriums of mesmerized students. This was nothing like combat, but keeping cool in new situations is a transferrable skill that’s second nature to marines.
Lucca seemed to be enjoying it all, and when she started looking tired, Willingham and Rod pulled her aside to let her rest, just as they did on missions.
What may have been Lucca’s favorite part of the week was her afternoon at a doggy day spa before her red-carpet appearance. She splashed around a wading pool and got a massage, a bath, and full grooming. It reminded Rod of the characters in The Wizard of Oz as they were getting prepped to meet the wizard.
WILLINGHAM AND LUCCA returned to Finland. A couple of weeks later, they visited the Kauniala Hospital for Disabled War Veterans, in Helsinki. A veteran from the Winter War reached toward Lucca, who was lying beside him in his hospital bed, and rested his knobby hand on her head. He smiled a wide smile, even without his teeth, and said a few words in Finnish. Willingham, who was standing close to the man’s bed, spoke back in English.
Neither knew what the other was saying, except that it was about this dog who was lying on his bed next to him. This dog with three legs.
“She was in wars, too!” Willingham said, smiling and gesturing to Lucca, who had jumped onto the bed effortlessly, only gently guided by Willingham. “She’s a war veteran like you!”
“Ahh, kyllä!” the man said and nodded, rubbing Lucca’s head with his fingertips.
“Mama Lucca, you transcend all languages,” Willingham told her later as they walked to the room of another veteran.
The two were making the rounds at the hospital for a small Christmas party in honor of the veterans. Another visiting guest at this intimate event was the president of Finland, Sauli Niinistö. Earlier in
the afternoon, the president had met Lucca and asked Willingham about her story. Lucca stood wagging as the leader of this proud Nordic country gave her a scratch behind the ears and told her what a good dog she was.
ON JANUARY 3, 2013, Marine Staff Sergeant Chuck Rotenberry was installing hardwood floors with his father in his Virginia Beach home when his wife yelled up the stairs.
“Chuck, come down here, quick! Hurry!”
He thought maybe one of their four children had gotten hurt or done something amazing. He ran downstairs.
“Look!” Liz told him. “Lucca is in the Rose Parade!” It was a busy day, and he’d forgotten that Willingham, his great friend, had been flown from Helsinki with Lucca to be part of a float honoring military working dogs and calling attention to the U.S. Military Working Dog Teams National Monument that was going to be installed at Lackland Air Force Base later that year.
The Rotenberrys watched as Willingham and Rod, all done up in their dress blues with covers and blouses, waved to the cheering throngs. Lucca sat placidly, surrounded by a bed of red roses. She looked so calm that she could have been sitting in someone’s garden. The song “Born in the USA” blasted from the float’s speakers. The first of the hundred or so times the song segment looped as the parade crawled along the five-and-a-half-mile route, Willingham told Rod he was glad Lucca didn’t know the words to the song, since she was born in the Netherlands.
Rotenberry was proud of his friend. Even though Willingham was no longer officially in the military dog world, it was his mission, and clearly his passion, to let people know what these dogs bring to the fight. He wanted to tell the world how valuable these dogs are and would continue to be, even after the impending drawdown in Afghanistan. He did every media interview that was requested of him. Having Lucca at his side drove the point home.
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