While Bev and Harry checked on Tom, I poked my head through the adjoining door to the operations center where Doug was communicating with one of the teams out on the road. He motioned for me to come in. As soon as Doug got off the phone, he jumped up from his desk and greeted me with a big hug.
"You made it!"
"Of course! Why would anyone pass up the opportunity to hang out in Baghdad for a few days? I've heard it's a great place to work on a
"You ladies better keep your skin covered," Doug laughed. "We've got enough to worry about here without you two getting arrested for immodesty."
"Darn! And I just bought a skimpy new bikini, too." In a war zone, sharing a few laughs is just as important as getting down to business.
"If you need to check your e-mails," Doug offered, "feel free to set up your computer in here. In fact, you can have that desk in the corner." He stood up and cleared some things from the dust-covered surface. "Heads up, though; the Internet here is slower than a onewinged mosquito. Between that and the power going on and off all day, you'll be doing good to get one e-mail sent. That's what happens when you pick a war zone for your vacation."
Before I could make a comeback comment, Bev called me from the other room.
"How's he doing?" I asked. Doug followed me through the door looking just as concerned as Bev and I felt. Bev was seated with a very sorry-looking Tom on her lap.
"He's really dehydrated," she said. "Harry just went to get some IV fluids."
After Harry got the IV drip going, Bev coaxed Tom into eating several bites of tuna that Doug had fetched from the kitchen. This seemed to perk him up, giving us hope that our patient would be okay. Bev stayed with Tom while I retrieved my computer and returned to the ops center. While the Internet took its time, I took in the layout of the all the equipment Doug used to communicate with the teams while they were out on missions.
So this is where all the planning happens.
As I sat waiting for my Outlook e-mail program to open, Doug maintained radio contact with the men on the road. In the midst of a sentence he said to the guy, "Hold on," then reached for the wastepaper basket and proceeded to throw up. He put the basket down and carried on with his conversation as if nothing was amiss.
When he finished that call, I asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's nothing. I just picked up the stomach flu. I'll live," he said, then grabbed the waste basket and puked again.
"Don't you think you should be in bed?"
"There's only one person to sit in this seat at any given time," Doug explained patiently. "And the guys out on the road depend on whoever is here. It's the difference between them coming back in one piece or not showing up at all. Don't worry, Terri. One day and a wakeup, and I'll be on R&R; I'll get a chance to rest up then."
Talk about dedication, I thought.
When Outlook finally opened, I began scanning e-mails that had come in since I had left Kuwait. I stopped at one from Dave Lusk that he'd tagged as "urgent."
May 30, 2008
Terri,
I hate to hit you with this, but the list of requirements for transitioning animals through Paris is attached, and frankly, it's a bureaucratic nightmare. Please correspond with Lynda Baumann, our bilingual coordinator at FedEx, ASAP. It is better if you work directly with her so she can pass the requested information on to the French veterinary officials. In the meantime, I don't think we should move the animals until we get this latest hurdle resolved.
- Dave
That last line of his e-mail stopped me in my tracks. As I read through the list of questions and requirements, my heart began to pound. One of the items-an Iraqi sanitary certificate-I'd never heard of. I researched it on the Internet, and when I learned the purpose of this document, I couldn't believe the French were asking us to submit it. This requirement made no sense.
Just then Bev walked into the ops center. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"The French have sent a list of requirements in order to get the animals through Paris."
"What are they?"
"Each animal has to have an Iraqi sanitary certificate, written in French, a vaccination certificate, a tattoo or microchip, and a rabies antibody test, completed by a certified laboratory. Here is the clincher-they want to unload the animals in Paris and take them to the animal holding area for veterinary inspection, which will take several hours and means our flight would have to leave without us."
Bev was speechless.
"Not only that, but the Iraqi sanitary certificate turns out to be a process for verifying that the animals have been raised in sanitary conditions, making them suitable for human consumption."
"But we aren't using them for food! That's ridiculous."
"I know. I'm not even going to waste my time on that one. Luckily FedEx has Lynda Baumann liaising on our behalf with the French. I'm sure she'll make them see how unnecessary that demand is."
"What about the microchips?" Bev asked.
"Some of the animals already have them. For the ones that don't, I'll call Linette to see if she can deliver microchips to the Kuwait airport in time for tomorrow night's Gryphon flight." Linette had come to my rescue before when the problem with my debit card had left me stranded with two dogs at the Kuwait airport.
"When the SLG team goes to process passengers on tomorrow night's incoming flight from Kuwait, the Gryphon flight attendant can hand over the microchips, and the SLG men could bring them back to us. All we'll need to do then is find someone to inject them."
"How are you going to handle the antibody test?" Bev asked. "If I'm not mistaken, in the States, it takes as long as twenty-one days to get the results back. Should we have to stay in Iraq for that long, it will be too hot to move animals by the time we get the results."
"That's why we need to go to Dubai," I said. "We have a much greater chance of getting the test done there, and if we do have to stay in the Middle East through the summer, there are more resources at our disposal in Dubai than here in Iraq."
"That makes sense."
"Let's just hope everyone at FedEx agrees and lets us go."
I put aside thoughts of French demands while Bev gave a report on all the animals she had just been introduced to. So far eight dogs and Tom the cat had arrived at the SLG compound. When Bev finished her update, she asked about Mama Leesa's history.
"Never have I seen a dog as beaten down and ready to give up as she is. It breaks my heart to imagine what she must have been through. I wonder what happened to her."
"I've got some of her story here," I said and searched on my computer for the e-mail that Mama Leesa's owner had sent. A Captain had submitted one of the most riveting appeals I had ever received. "Here it is, Bev. Read this."
In March 2008 I was assigned to be an advisor at the Iraqi Police Training Center. Outside the employee housing units and the nearby dining facility, a river of waste runs from the drains and flows through a junkyard situated beyond the compound. That junkyard was where I came upon a filthy, emaciated Saluki-mix dog that had given birth to beautiful puppies. Over the next few days, my interpreter and I managed to sneak food from our dining facility and left it for her. He named our new friend "Mama Leesa."
She had a hard job taking care of those pups. On no less than five occasions, I witnessed her wading chest-deep into that watery effluence to retrieve a puppy before it drowned. Each time I went out with a tub of clean water to wash the disgusting filth off her and the pups. Finally I located some fencing material and built a barrier to keep the pups confined until I could devise a plan to get Mama Leesa and her family somewhere safe.
A vet tech at the K-9 center suggested giving the pups to various farmers he had become acquainted with while treating their livestock. A few of them expressed interest in acquiring a pup and training it to protect their livestock. Unfortunately, no one was interested in taking an adult female dog. When I told my wife about Mama Leesa, she agreed without hesitation to keep her if we could find a way to transport her home.
Because of the no-strays policy at the training facility, once word got out about what I was doing, a privately contracted animal-kill team was dispatched to the camp. I couldn't let the vector control group kill Mama Leesa and her pups. With the help of a former British Special Forces Sergeant nicknamed "Rocky," I devised a plan to save them. Rocky supervised the gate guards, so he knew when the contracted killers were expected to arrive.
As soon as he saw the vector control trucks approaching, Rocky called my cell phone. The vet tech, my interpreter, and I grabbed the pups and loaded them into cardboard boxes. We had just enough time to hide them in the bushes, and Mama Leesa stood guard over them until the kill-team passed through the gate. On Rocky's signal, we each picked up a box of pups and casually strolled out the security checkpoint and down toward the vet tech's waiting vehicle, with Mama Leesa bringing up the rear of our fugitive party.
Something caused the kill-team supervisor to turn around before we got out of sight. He called out and ordered us to stop, but Rocky told us to keep going and turned to ask the supervisor what the problem was. We stepped up our pace, but Mama Leesa kept looking over her shoulder at the ensuing argument with a worried look on her face.
Suddenly, without warning, Mama Leesa galloped back through the gate, past the kill-team on a dead run, barking all the way. The kill-team forgot about us and pursued the decoy mother, giving us time to run down to the vet tech's vehicle and whisk the pups off to safety.
After we delivered all but one of her pups to their new homes, we returned to the training facility, expecting to hear bad news about Mama Leesa. When we got back, however, Rocky told us she had escaped the kill team. I searched all her old haunts, but there was no sign of her. By now the temperature had risen to one hundred-plus degrees. I had to go to the K-9 facility, some five miles away, to check on the police dogs' water, so I took the last remaining puppy and drove off.
As I turned into the K-9 facility, I couldn't believe my eyes. A wobbly Mama Leesa appeared in my rear-view mirror, trailing behind my vehicle. I jumped out to assist her, and she collapsed in the middle of the road. Carrying her into the K-9 facility, I bathed her and got her rehydrated. I have been taking care of her and the pup ever since while searching for a way to get them out of the country. That is, until I found SPCA International.
Knowing that Mama and Baby Leesa are going stateside is the best thing that's happened since I've been here. Even Rocky, the supervisor who was subsequently fired for assisting me, told me it was well worth it!
-Capt B
Bev and I sat in silence for a moment. These stories never failed to touch our hearts. People who went the extra mile to save an animal, often at personal risk, reminded us to keep believing in the goodness of people. And Mama Leesa's extraordinary courage and determination to save her pups inspired us to keep going despite all the challenges ahead of us, no matter how exhausted we were.
After checking on Tom one last time, Bev went to our room while I sent my last e-mail of the day to Linette, asking for microchips. Finally, at half-past two, I collapsed into bed.
The chattering of birds stirred me awake just before 5:00 a.m. How strange their sweet songs sounded in this city where war had torn apart so many lives, both human and animal.
"You awake?" Bev asked after a long yawn.
"I haven't decided yet. Do you want the shower first?"
"You go ahead. And don't forget to keep your mouth shut," Bev warned.
As soon as Bev and I dressed, our first priority was to take charge of the nine animals that had arrived at the SLG compound in the previous two days. The group included Tippy, Pooty, Francine, Diwo, Mama Leesa, Baby Leesa, Crusader, Patton, and our ailing cat, Tom.
There were no kennels or dog runs at SLG. By the time we arrived, the dogs had already scouted around the compound, picked the places where they wanted to hang out, and no one had argued with them. Diwo and Crusader were the smart ones. They resided in the office of Dutch, SLG's fleet manager. This room, lined with spare tires and assorted car parts, was air conditioned. I'd have to remember that later when the heat was taking its toll. It was not quite 7:00 a.m., and already I was sweating.
Tippy had chosen territory outside the kitchen where Bandola, the Filipino cook, prepared meals for the entire SLG staff. Doug said Tippy had taken less than ten minutes to locate where the food was prepared, and he was not budging from his station. Tippy earned the nickname "Houdini" after several attempts to lock him away resulted in his quick reappearance outside the kitchen door. Out of mutual respect, Bandola the cook and Tippy the Houdini soon became fast friends.
Francine resided in our villa's courtyard, where a good-sized swimming pool offered high-class accommodations for a former Iraqi stray. When the thermometer hit 120 degrees in the afternoon, we figured that Francine would go for a dip, but she wanted nothing to do with the water.
Pooty, a purebred German short hair, hung out in a cordoned-off area adjacent to the ops center. She had been found as a pup by SSG Michael Beardsley, and her origin remained a mystery. He figured she must have been someone's lost pet, but Iraq had no system for reuniting lost and found animals with their owners.
The one dog I couldn't locate was Patton. From his photo, I knew he was short haired and mostly white except for black and brown markings on his face and ears and the dark freckles that splattered across the legs and belly of many dogs' coats in Iraq. I ran into Doug on his way to breakfast and asked if he had seen the missing puppy.
"Oh, he's around here somewhere," he said with a snicker. "Patton knows he's got a good thing going. He already acts like he owns the place and does whatever he pleases. I can't tell you how many times we tried to confine him yesterday, and the little bugger kept finding a way to escape. He is one determined puppy."
When Harry had gone over the compound rules with us the night before, he had asked us to make sure we kept all the animals outside and not to bring them into the villas. "If it were up to me," he said, "they'd all be allowed indoors, but we have local people working for us who are terrified of dogs."
After searching high and low in all the discreet places an Iraqifearing puppy might hide, I returned to our villa worried that we'd lost Patton. Entering the large, air-conditioned foyer, where staff members constantly came and went, I stopped in my tracks, not quite believing my eyes. Smack dab in the middle of that cool marble floor lay Patton, sprawled out and sound asleep. Rules may be rules, but Patton didn't think they applied to him. Every time people crossed the room, they lowered their voices and stepped over the puppy, careful not to disturb him. Patton certainly lived up to his name.
"How's Tom doing?" I asked as Bev collapsed into the ops center chair. I had just returned from putting Patton back where he belonged and was scanning my morning e-mails, hoping for some word from Lynda or Dave about the French connection. They were desperately trying to convince French authorities to ease the regulations for this one special mission. So far nothing from them had come in.
"Tom seems better, but we have another problem. I can't find Baby Leesa. I've asked every English-speaking person if they've seen her, but no one has. I'm really worried."
We hurried outside to where Mama Leesa and her puppy had been sleeping the night before. Mama Leesa was lying in a scraggly patch of brown grass, but Baby Leesa was nowhere in sight.
"Let's split up and look for her. She couldn't have gotten far; the compound is completely fenced in. Don't worry, Bev, we'll find her."
For the next forty-five minutes we turned the SLG compound upside down, eliciting the help of anyone willing to join the search. I suspected that Baby Leesa had found a shady spot to hide in because the morning temperature was already unbearable. With no luck from our first search, Bev and I decided to walk in opposite ways down the street that ran in front of the villas.
"Terri!" Bev hollered a few minutes later. I ran to find her pointing at the base of the perimeter fence.
"Look. There's a hole. Do you think s
he might have squeezed through?"
"I sure hope not."
For the rest of the day we kept watching for the puppy, hoping she'd return to her mother after the hot sun went down and hunger took over, but she never did. Baby Leesa's disappearance remains a sad mystery.
Until that morning I had witnessed only the last stage of SLG's role in our rescue efforts. When I descended the Gryphon plane stairs, SLG men would appear from the dark like magic, escorting another dog or cat to the waiting aircraft. It wasn't until Bev and I came to their compound in Baghdad that I grasped what hazards these men faced each time they collected the animals.
"The team is just about ready to head out for the next pickup," Doug said at 8:00 a.m. He walked into the ops center with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other, carrying his tool of the trade as naturally as a carpenter would a hammer.
"Great. I'll go and see them off," I said.
Looking ready to charge into battle, five parked vehicles faced the main gate of the compound. Men dressed in bullet-proof vests, Kevlar helmets, and goggles milled around the heavily armored trucks and SUVs. Their shouldered weapons were a stark reminder that, before the day was over, any one of these men might kill somebodyor be killed himself.
I had met the American team leader on several occasions at BIAP. Each time he had handed over another animal, he had said what an honor it was to play a part in sending the animals to their new homes. Now, as I witnessed preparations for the animal pickup that day, I realized that the honor was mine to work with such brave and kind-hearted men.
The first dogs on the day's collection schedule were Beatrice and her pups. I had been working with SSG Roberta Green to get the dog home on a mission planned for late March. At the beginning of March, I had received the following e-mail from her:
Terri,
You won't believe what has happened. About four days ago SSG Thornton was playing video games and heard a strange noise coming from behind the game console. She investigated and found Beatrice giving birth. None of us have ever been around a pregnant dog, so we had no idea-we just thought Beatrice was fat.
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 17