I thank the following soldiers and civilian workers for sharing their stories with me: Andrew Bankey, Bruce Bousquet, "Kevin Connors," Erin Kirk, Thomas Liu, Jenni Mann, Matt McDonough, Bryan Spears, "Jessie Walker," Eddie Watson, and the Captain who rescued Mama Leesa.
The volunteers whom I interviewed never failed to prove that human beings are capable of great kindness, enthusiasm, and generosity. I thank them for saving animals, for supporting U.S. troops, and for helping with the production of this book in any way they could. Each person gave freely of his or her time, transporting me from the airport in D.C. to the veterinary hospital and staging kennels, sharing photographs, videos, and memories, and confirming many story details. I'd especially like to thank Dena DeSantis, Barb Hartman, Dave Lusk, Linda Pullen, and Bev Westerman. As their personal accounts unfolded, I was often astounded and always heartened by their selfless actions. Our world truly is a better place for their living examples of love in action. One of the soldiers in this book said it so well: "You guys are the real heroes."
I thank Terri's daughters, Jennifer, Amy, and Megan, for answering so many of my questions. They were instrumental in helping me to better understand their mom and in revealing more of her character as the book developed. Terri never failed to tell me how proud of her daughters she is and rightly so. They've all sacrificed in many ways and have worked hard for the sake of our four-footed friends.
I also salute JD Winston and Stephanie Scott. Although their characters remain mostly in the background of these stories, not one of the Operation Baghdad Pups rescues would have happened without their constant dedication, commitment to, and passion for animals. I thank them for their support, for giving me interview time, and for doing everything they could to ensure that this project was completed by the publisher's final deadline.
The most influential person in the production of this book is hidden behind the pages, yet she deserves to be recognized with boldfaced capital letters and exclamation points. Andrea Hurst, literary agent and manager extraordinaire, is the person who originally approached Terri and convinced her to work in tandem with another writer, ensuring that the story was completed within an incredibly short deadline.
Throughout the writing process Andrea was there for us any time we needed her, day or night. Andrea's professionalism went above and beyond expectation and included her playing the roles of literary manager, editor, coach, cheerleader, mentor, advisor, and go-between. Her humanity comes from a heart that is full of compassion, courage, and great wisdom.
With many years of experience in the literary field, Andrea has earned the respect and friendship of many writers, editors, and publishers. She knew that without time to distance ourselves from the story, Terri and I would need feedback from qualified readers. Andrea rounded up a team of the best reader-critics a writer could hope to work with.
Freely giving their time, these fine authors and editors read the first and second drafts of many chapters. They commented on anything that needed attention, made excellent suggestions for material to include, and encouraged us by their keen interest in the stories. I cannot thank them enough for their hours of intense concentration and great feedback: Katie Flanagan, Brandon LaFave, Audrey Mackaman, Sarah Martinez, and Vickie Motter. What a great team indeed.
Holly Rubino of Lyons Press deserves mention for her wonderful work as editor. She is the person who read the completed manuscript and gave us the benefit of her professional know-how. While Holly held the much-feared red pen in her hand, she wielded that pen with respect and skill. She took a good story that rippled over stones and split course at times, and she made it flow strong like a river that knows exactly where it's going. Holly also worked with Lyons Press designers to come up with a cover that we were proud of. Listening to feedback from Terri, Andrea, and me, she worked hard to make sure that the cover honestly represents the bravery and selflessness depicted in this book. Thank you, Holly.
Turning a manuscript into a published book requires a series of steps that involve more editors and support people than most readers would ever imagine. Writers often dread the scenario of too many cooks spoiling the stew and they pray it won't happen to their precious tome. Terri and I feel so lucky that our manuscript went through the capable hands of Lyons Press editors and designers and onto the desk of Meredith Dias, project editor at Globe Pequot Press. Their combined professional handling of our labor of love and their personal attention to detail has resulted in the book you now hold in your hands or see on your screen. If Terri and I were the parents of this baby, then they were the doctors and nurses who delivered it, and made sure everything went as planned. To all of them we give an enthusiastic "thumbs up."
For supporting me through six months of a writing schedule that started at dawn and often stretched long into the night seven days a week, I have to thank my sweetheart and my rock, Rich Eldredge. The number of times he came home from work to find empty cupboards and uncooked dinners and never complained but instead kept me laughing is worth mentioning here. Rich washed the dishes, did the shopping and laundry, cooked suppers, and took me out for many a meal after long days of running his own demanding business so that I could finish another chapter. My sweetheart could not have been a better partner and friend.
Last of all, thanks go to Jody and Mike Jones of Homeward Bound Golden Retriever Rescue and Sanctuary in Elverta, California. Their dedication to rescuing over eight hundred golden retrievers a year brought me my foster "old golden" and best buddy, Cherokee. While I was in Iraq helping Terri bring home more soldiers' animals and observing the final stages of Operation Baghdad Pups rescues, Jody and Mike took care of Cherokee at their home.
Throughout the long hours and days of the last six months, Cherokee sacrificed a lot of playtime, she leaned against me when sad-story tears ran down my cheeks, and she made me go out for three walks a day, refreshing my brain with much-needed oxygen. With Cherokee constantly by my side, writing about the stray dogs of Iraq always seemed that much closer to home. Somewhere in the pages of this book, I'm sure her gentle spirit has left its paw print.
Cynthia Hurn
SGT Eddie Watson and his inseparable buddy, Charlie Eddie Watson
hen night was setting in, and the last unit of the 82nd Squadron hadn't returned from patrol duty, it was hard not to imagine the worst. SGT Eddie Watson was stationed at the guard desk, knowing that his men were patrolling in one of the most unstable neighborhoods on the outskirts of Baghdad. Until the previous week his platoon had been lucky. SGT Watson wondered if that luck had worked against the men, perhaps encouraging them to feel almost invincible. On April 28, 2007, reality hit hard when their first soldier made the ultimate sacrifice and lost his life to an enemy bullet. Since then, life at the outpost had been pretty grim.
SGT Watson's platoon occupied one portion of an Iraqi police station and shared responsibility for security operations with the police and the Iraqi Army. U.S. military operations took up most of the second floor. When the soldiers reached the top of the stairs, the first thing they saw was the guard desk.
As soon as the familiar sound of boots and voices rose up the stairs, Watson let out a big sigh of relief. Smith came in first, holding a scrap of material that had been wrapped around something about the size of a big baked potato. He laid it on the desk and stood there grinning at Eddie.
"Got a present for you, Watson," Smith said. The Sergeant looked down just as the cloth moved.
"You got a rat in there or something?"
"Naw, it's a puppy. He was hiding in a shelled-out building. When we entered to check it out, he took one look at us and started to follow. We tried to lose him, but he wasn't about to let us go. Stubborn little mutt-a real soldier."
"What's he look like?"
"Damn cute. You'll see."
The guys circled around as Watson began to unfold the material. A flea jumped onto his arm. "Shit, that's all we need-a bunch of those critters in here."
"We couldn't just leave him," Smith sai
d. "Iraqis were all over the place, and they would have kicked his butt if they'd seen him. Besides, he's got guts, this dog. And he's just a little fella."
The Sergeant pulled the puppy out of the tattered folds. A black head, back, and tail, plus a white ruff, chest, and belly made Watson wonder if the dog was a border collie. Black freckles were splattered up and down his legs and snout, and his ears flopped over at the halfway point. His eyes held an inquisitive intelligence, but they didn't disguise his pathetic state. Bone-skinny and covered with fleas, ticks, and filth, the puppy felt hot to the touch and shivered uncontrollably.
"He's cute all right, but I don't think he's going to last long," Eddie said. He didn't want to encourage friendship with all those fleas that were crawling over the small animal, yet he couldn't help but pick the puppy up and cuddle him. "Poor mutt, you're a mess, aren't you?"
Smith reached out and scratched behind the pup's comical ears, then ruffled the fur on his head.
"We've got to get those fleas off you, buddy," he said.
"Take him out back and give him a bath," Eddie said with a sigh of defeat.
After two baths, the dirt and ticks were scrubbed away, but the fleas held their ground. One of the guys filled a bucket with JP8 diesel fuel.
"Here, dip him in this. Those fleas will be dead suckers in no time."
"Hey, you can't use that! You want to kill him?" Already SGT Watson felt himself getting attached to the dog.
"We've got to do something," said the soldier with the bucket. "It's not like there's a pet store around here. It won't hurt him if we do it real quick. We'll just dunk him."
So they did. And it worked.
SGT Watson feared that the pup's biggest problem was that they were breaking all the rules by having him there. Included in the U.S. Military General Order 1A is a prohibition against befriending animals or keeping pets. If an unsympathetic officer found out the men had this dog, he could shoot it or make the men dump the puppy somewhere far from the outpost. One way or another, this little guy had a death warrant hanging over his head.
"What are we going to call him?" Eddie asked.
"Let's name him after our company."
"Yeah, that's good." Eddie reached across the desk and stroked the puppy's wet chin. "Hey, little guy, your name is `Charlie,' and as of today, you've joined the Army."
"He's still shivering," said Smith. " Do you think we gave him too many baths?"
Watson grabbed a clean blanket. "Here, let me have him. He can stay with me while I'm on guard duty. I'll keep him warm."
Wrapping the pup like a baby, Eddie held Charlie in his arms and did his best to keep him warm. The pup studied Watson's face as if he were trying to memorize every pore, until a few minutes later, when he stopped shivering and fell sound asleep.
The next morning soldiers were running around like wet nurses, getting Charlie water, taking him out to pee, wiping up his accidents. The barracks took on a new life with everybody wanting to play with Charlie.
"What are we going to feed him?"
"Give me an MRE," Eddie said, referring to the military's selfheating meals-ready-to-eat. He opened the package, dumped it into a bowl and offered the food to the pup, but Charlie turned his nose away at the first sniff. The guys squatted around him, looking worried.
"Try another one. Maybe he doesn't like that beef stew."
Five packets later a soldier's buffet was spread in bowls across the floor. Charlie sniffed at each one, then backed up and turned his head to look at the soldiers as if saying, "You think I'm gonna eat that? Hell, no!" The men began to laugh.
"Looks like he's one of us already. He's about as fond of bag nasties as we are."
"He's gotta eat something. Maybe we can get one of the Iraqis to buy some meat scraps at the market."
The squad members had made friends with a few of the men with whom they shared the building, so it was easy to convince one of them to start bringing in bones and meat scraps for Charlie. That solved the food problem, but they still had to engage in "Operation Hide the Pup" so Charlie wouldn't be discovered by the senior officers.
Not many days passed before Charlie began to fill out. He was getting cuter than ever and a lot more active. Four of the men took turns doing pee and poop duty, and for Charlie's exercise they took him into the guard tower or up onto the roof, where he could charge around without getting into too much trouble. It wasn't long before Charlie knew which of the soldiers gave him the most attention, and he'd go looking for his favorites. When SGT Watson wasn't on patrol, Charlie always sought him out. Maybe that's why Eddie started thinking about Charlie all the time, looking out for him, as if they belonged to each other.
The second floor of the building was wide open and sectioned off for communications and other tasks. At the far end, a couple of smaller rooms were used by senior officers and Commanders, and a big room off to the side was crammed with enough bunks to accommodate about thirty men. In these close quarters the wrong person was bound to see Charlie at some point.
"Damn, hide him quick!" Smith whispered.
Before Eddie had a chance to grab the puppy, the Battalion's Command Sergeant Major (CSM) entered the barracks. Charlie ran up to him and stood there, wagging his tail.
"What's this dog doing in here?" the officer demanded.
"Sorry, sir," Eddie replied. "The puppy followed the squad home, sir, and he was starving."
"I don't care. Rules are rules. Get rid of him."
Before Eddie could obey the order, Charlie tilted his head from one side to the other and looked straight into the Command Sergeant Major's eyes as if to say, "You're a friend, right?"
"I don't want to see this dog or any other animal inside the barracks again," the CSM barked.
Charlie responded with a noise halfway between a growl and a woof as if adding emphasis to the Sergeant Major's order.
The high-ranking officer looked down at Charlie, surprised at the sound. Eddie could swear that the officer's stern face nearly cracked a grin. Watson couldn't help but smile. Just then the CSM squatted and scratched Charlie under the chin.
"He is a cute little guy. I guess he'd have a tough time on his own. If he was to find a corner in the courtyard to lay out his roll, I probably wouldn't notice him there." With that, the CSM stood and marched out, barking orders at someone else.
Sighs of relief flooded the room as if half of the platoon had been holding a single breath.
"I can't believe what I just heard."
"Me either," Eddie said, scooping up Charlie. "Sorry, buddy, but from now on, you're sleeping outside."
The police station that SGT Watson's squadron occupied was smaller than most military outposts. Fifteen-foot-tall concrete barriers, topped with rolls of concertina wire, surrounded the property. A guard tower and manned gate at the entrance had essentially created a castle keep. From that day forward Charlie became an outdoor dog and lived in the comparative safety of the walled outpost courtyard.
SGT Watson was surprised at how much he missed having Charlie in the barracks, and he hoped Charlie felt the same about him. When Eddie came back from patrol a few days later, Charlie hauled ass straight past the other guys, leaped into Eddie's arms, and licked him all over. That's when the soldier knew: Charlie had decided that Watson belonged to him.
The outpost was manned by three platoons on a rotating schedule of three weeks. Each time their week-long rotation came about, SGT Watson hoped that the replacement soldiers would look out for Charlie until he got back. He worried about his puppy the whole time he was gone.
Every time members of Watson's platoon returned to the outpost from their week away, they found Charlie waiting for them in his usual spot at the gate. It seemed as if he always knew when they were coming back. He'd snatch an empty water bottle and invite the soldiers to play, his elbows on the ground and butt in the air, wagging his tail as if it were wagging him.
When Charlie was about four months old, Watson's platoon came back from its three
-week rotation. One of the men who belonged to a unit that had remained at the outpost came over and joined Eddie as he played with the dog.
"Did you hear what happened to Charlie while you were gone?" the soldier asked.
"No. What?" Watson stopped playing as a look of concern flashed across his face.
"We let him follow us on foot patrol last week, and he acted like a seasoned trooper. As we were walking down a street behind the market, a pack of dogs came after us, looking like they meant busi ness, and Charlie stood up to them. He didn't even stop to think they might rip him apart. He's one tough little mutt. At the end of the day, when we started walking back to the outpost, a soldier stopped and offered us a ride, so we climbed into the Humvee, but Charlie refused to get in. That's when the Sergeant sitting next to the driver told us to leave him behind."
Something in Eddie's gut gripped. He fought the urge to release the anger that was rising inside him. Why didn't one of them get out and walk with Charlie? Before he could say anything, the other soldier continued with his story.
"Two days later, guess who came marching down the street?" he laughed. "You should have seen him. Charlie's tail was down, and he kept looking over his shoulder, but as soon as he heard us shouting his name, he ran through that gate with his tail raised like Old Glory on the Fourth of July. Man, it was one hell of a reunion."
Eddie was madder than hell that the guys had left Charlie behind but felt relieved that he'd found his way back to the outpost. When American soldiers got to Iraq, they soon learned that many Iraqi people have different attitudes about dogs and cats, despite the Koran's bidding not to abuse animals. To them these dogs were a threat, riddled with disease and living in packs that roamed the streets, and they often chased after people who got too close. With no veterinary services to provide a sterilization program, the number of strays had multiplied quickly, creating a serious problem for city residents. A dog's rank in Iraq, therefore, was lower than that of vermin, and many people treated them as such.
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 2