When the men heard from locals about a tiny abandoned puppy in their district, they formed a friendly competition called "Operation Puppy Snatch" and agreed that the first team to locate the puppy would get to name him. The Red Team won and decided to call the dog "Moody." A few days later their Sergeant discovered evidence of the contraband pup and told his men to get rid of him. When the soldiers went to get the platoon mascot, he was already gone, almost as if he had heard the command to leave. For two weeks there was no sign of Moody.
At this point in her story, Janet told me that Bryan had been her "smile" since the day he was born. Struggling through hard years, whenever she was at her wits' end, that boy's smile gave her courage to carry on. During her son's second tour in Iraq, he lost his best buddy to a grenade. After Bryan redeployed from that tour, she watched her son's smile struggle to surface and, each time, fail. Now, she said, he was on his third tour.
Two weeks after Moody's disappearance, the Red Team was on a routine patrol. An Iraqi man approached the soldiers and asked them for help. As they gathered around him with their interpreter, the Iraqi blew himself up. Five American soldiers and their interpreter died that day. Having lost so many of their buddies in such a horrific way, Red Team members, who survived the blast, and Blue Team members left behind all fell into a crevasse of sorrow. Things couldn't get much blacker. Bryan called his mom on the day of the military memorial service.
"All the life was gone from his voice," she told me, choking back the tears, "and for the first time since he'd joined the Army, I really feared for him. He said the military might want to send him home for R&R, but he was determined to stay and take care of his men. He said, `If it comes down to me staying and getting killed, or my guys going home alive, I just want you to know, Mom, I love you,' and then he hung up. Well, I dropped the phone and got down on my knees, and I prayed like I've never prayed before. I told God, `You've got to do something for my boy-right now-or I'm going to lose him."'
That night a mother's desperate plea was heard. Moody, the little mascot whose Red Team rescuers were now dead, walked back into camp and straight up to Bryan, as if he knew how badly the soldier was hurting. For the next few days Moody's body absorbed hugs of grief while his fur soaked up soldiers' tears. Moody didn't judge the men. He just loved them. When an officer discovered Moody's forgotten food dish and alerted his CO that the dog was back, he was told, "Let the men keep the dog. It's about the best thing we can do for them right now."
"I'll never forget when Bryan called to say that Moody had come back," his mom continued. "I could hear the smile in his voice again. That's when I knew my boy was going to be okay."
"The truck's here," Bev said, poking her head in the door of the ops center.
"Great. I'll be out in a minute."
As I packed away my computer, I took a second to say goodbye to Brent, the alternate ops manager who had taken over when Doug left for some well-deserved R&R the previous day. When I got outside I discovered that most of the men on the compound had come out to help us load up. I was really going to miss these guys.
"That's everyone but Roxy," Bev said, standing at the back of the truck.
"I'll go get her." I had left Roxy inside the shelter area, thinking a few extra minutes to stretch her legs would be nice. When I came around the corner past our wall of pallets, I stopped dead in my tracks. An Iraqi man, who had spent more time watching us care for the dogs than any of the other local staff had, was sitting on the steps. Our only communication up to then had been an occasional smile or nod. This man, who had feared and disliked stray animals before we came, was now sitting inside the shelter with Roxy by his side. Gently stroking the dog's ears, he spoke to her in soft Arabic, his mouth only inches from hers.
I waited a moment, not wanting to break the spell. At last I stepped forward, and the two friends parted.
When we finished loading Roxy, there were no shy handshakes. Instead, Bev and I were wrapped in burly-armed hugs. I looked down the line of men in their beige SLG shirts and cargo pants and saw a heart-warming blend of Americans, Europeans, Pacific Islanders, and Middle Easterners standing together like a lineup of heroes. In just three days we had become fast friends. Living in a war zone certainly sped up the bonds of fraternity and friendship. When the reality that each moment could be your last comes into play, you don't waste time.
"Hey, next time you come," said one of the men, "bring us all some earplugs, would you?" A couple of the guys woofed and howled like dogs, and soon we were all laughing. Car doors closed behind us while raised palms and a firm double slap on the roof of our vehicle sent us off on our journey with a soldier's blessing.
The ride back to BIAP took place while there was still light, giving us a chance to see our route through the city, but so many fifteen-foot concrete blast walls lined the road that we drove through a gray maze, unable to see anything except the turquoise and pink sky above. The incongruence of hard blast walls against the soft evening heavens made the sky appear small and pathetic, while the war remained giant and brutal. This was what Iraqis had to deal with everyday; monstrous reminders of the dangers jeopardizing and controlling their lives.
We cleared the last checkpoint and drove onto Sather, the U.S. air base section of BIAP. Despite being thousands of miles away, I felt like we were already home. The American flag on soldiers' sleeves greeted me with the confirmation, "We stand together; we are family." I felt so proud to be an American among them. At the same time, another feeling took me by surprise. Iraq had grabbed a hold of me and wasn't letting go. I knew then that one day I'd have to come back.
The location that Doug had chosen for staging the animals worked out perfectly. Out of the direct flow of vehicle and foot traffic, we blended into the perimeter of the dimly lit airfield. It was two hours before departure, so we unloaded the dogs' crates and lined them on one side of the truck and placed the cats on the other, out of the dogs' sight.
The fact that none of the dogs was barking was a big plus. We didn't know if they were too hot or just too tired. Whatever the reason, we hoped the quiet would continue since we didn't want to attract any attention. The only dog to grouse about the whole situation was Patton. His complaints were expressed by an occasional growl that ended in a self-pitying whimper.
We proceeded to check water dishes and make sure everyone was doing okay. We had just begun when an Air Force soldier ambled up. Although he appeared to move slowly, his stride was so long that he covered the ground in much less time than I expected.
"'Scuse me, ma'am ... Are these here dogs part of an Operation Baghdad Pups transport?" The soldier's southern drawl was as gentle as his walking pace.
"They sure are," I replied. Word of our program had certainly spread.
"Do ya mind if I help give 'em some water?" As the soldier squatted down to greet one of our charges, I imagined him at home in jeans and a T-shirt, working on a Georgia farm maybe, with dogs trailing behind him. Even stroking one soft muzzle for a few minutes must have felt like a little piece of home in his fingers.
"Glad to have the help," I said. "Thank you."
We finished watering just before a Humvee pulled up.
Is this friend or foe?
It had crossed my mind more than once that someone high up in the military might show up if he or she got wind of what we were doing and order us not to proceed.
A tall blond soldier with a lean body, and a dimpled smile that made me feel good just for looking at it, stepped out of the Humvee. He held the door open while his dog jumped out. I recognized Moody right away from his photo and Bryan from his mom's description. Moody sat on Bryan's boot giving me a worried look as he pressed his shoulder against Bryan's leg.
Thank goodness. One down, three to go.
"Hey, Bryan, it's so good to finally meet you." I extended my hand while Bryan approached half-dragging his frightened dog.
"I still can't believe this is really happening," he said. "How you pulled this off, I'll never kn
ow, but I'll be forever grateful to you and SPCA International. You've saved Moody's life, and, boy, this is one life definitely worth saving."
As Bev helped Bryan get Moody into an airline crate, another soldier with a dog on a leash appeared from around the corner. Again, I recognized Buddha from the pictures that Bob Mullen had sent me. This time I got a big hug in addition to a "thank you" from SFC Mullen.
Amber Daigle was next to show up with Ralphie, who did not enjoy being confined to his airline crate and was barking nonstop to let everyone know.
"Please forgive him," Amber said with a worried look on her face. "He's never been in a crate before, and I suspect he's figured out something's up."
"No need to apologize," Bev replied. "I'd be acting the same way if I were him."
The last person to show up was Sergeant Sean Alexander. Sean's dog, jolly, had quite a fan club, and all the members had come along to see him off.
The uniformed men and women circled around their dogs in the semidarkness, exchanging names and stories of where they were posted, all of them relieved to be sending their buddies to safety, yet not ready to let them go.
Spending time with these American soldiers confirmed all over again why Operation Baghdad Pups was so important. Hearing them talk about the inseparable relationship they had with their animal made me grateful that SPCA International and collaborating team members had been prepared to risk doing what others deemed impossible.
All of the animals were present and accounted for, but we still had about an hour's wait for the Gryphon plane. The four owners took advantage of the time, opened the crates and walked their dogs along the perimeter fence in the dark.
"Do you think we should get the others out one more time for a potty break?" Bev asked.
"That's probably a good idea. Just be careful to leash each one before letting them out of the crate. The last thing we need is to lose them now."
Bev and one SLG man walked the dogs, while I stood guard over the rest. Just then a uniformed man approached with a businesslike walk and a serious expression. When he asked, "Are you Terri Crisp," I got the feeling that he was not paying us a friendly visit. I felt my muscles tense and tried not to hold my breath, but trying and doing are two very different things when the stakes are this high.
"Yes," I replied.
"Your plane just landed."
Feeling weak at the knees with relief, I released my breath again and called Bev over, saying it was time to board the passengers. One step closer to home, we could hardly contain our excitement.
The Gryphon plane stopped about sixty yards from where we stood. It was hard to believe that the plane was there just to pick up twenty-eight animals and two people. After all I had been through to get to this point, this was about as close to a miracle as I could get.
"Well, guys, this is it," I said to the four owners squatting by their dogs' crates.
Bryan was the first to stand up and release Moody to the SLG man who was helping to load. Knowing how much Moody had meant to Bryan after all they had gone through, I wouldn't have been surprised to see him break down. But when Bryan turned around and looked at me, he flashed that big smile. "I am so glad he's getting out of here," Bryan said. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to know what good hands he's in." Bryan shook my hand, then turned on his heel and walked away without looking back. Before he disappeared into the dark, I saw him raise his hand and wipe his face.
Each of the soldiers surrounding Jolly took a turn to squat down and wish him luck on his journey, while Sean stood there soaking up the last view of his dog. As soon as his friends finished saying their goodbyes, Sean put his hand under Jolly's muzzle and sat nose to nose while silent tears streamed down his face. "See you back home, boy," he choked and then closed the door of the crate. With the help of a friend, Sean lifted the crate onto the baggage truck.
Bob Mullen looked so upset when he said goodbye to Buddha that for a moment I had to turn away. This soldier who had given me such a warm hug was already missing that physical contact with his buddy. As Bob put his fingers through the crate door, Buddha licked them and his eyes locked on Bob's, pleading with all the soul he could muster, "Don't leave me. Don't send me away."
Amber Daigle was last. "I just wish I could take him out and hug him one more time," she said, tears filling her eyes. "But I don't want to get his hopes up that he's coming back to base with me." Ralphie stopped barking long enough to lick her hand, but the moment Amber stepped away from him, he set to barking again, throwing himself against the crate door. If Ralphie could have busted the walls of that crate to get back to Amber, he would have.
After the baggage truck was full, it headed for the plane, and then, one by one, the SLG men carried the crates up the stairs. Because the cargo hold was too small for our purposes, we had been allotted one row of seats per animal. The Gryphon flight crew helped us to secure each crate with bungee cords.
When we finished, I stood at the front of the plane and looked down the aisle in amazement. Where passengers' heads and shoulders would normally be visible, there were only airline crates concealing puzzled eyes, four legs, and fur. Who would ever have thought it possible?
Roxie's new Iraqi friend Bev Westerman
SSG Bryan Spears, Moody, and Terri Crisp at BIAP Bev Westerman
"So, who's giving them the safety briefing?" the team leader teased as he came up behind me.
Laughing, I realized how much I was going to miss everyone at SLG.
"The pilot says we're good to go," he said, putting emphasis on "good."
"Okay then," I responded as tears stung my eyes, "I reckon this is goodbye."
"We'll look forward to seeing you in the fall when you come back for more animals," the SLG man said, confirming that we had not worn out our welcome.
"Okay, that's a promise. See you then!"
With the help of the Gryphon flight attendant, we made one final check to ensure that the animals were safely strapped to their seats, while Bev kept a watchful eye on Tom, who was situated next to her. Finally we were ready to go. I collapsed into my seat and closed my eyes, amazed and relieved that we'd made it this far.
When we reached cruising altitude, one of the flight attendants came down the aisle carrying trays of food. Bev and I ate like street beggars who hadn't had a meal in days. Between bites we joked that the number of peanut butter sandwiches we'd consumed in the last three days must have set a world record. After we finished stuffing ourselves, we checked on the animals. They had to be so confused. If only there was a way to explain what lay ahead.
Returning to my seat, I thought of the long journey still before us and of the people waiting back home, all the while praying this wouldn't come to a tragic end in France.
Gryphon passengers strapped in and ready to fly! Bev Westerman
t wasn't until turbulence woke me two hours into the flight that I gazed down the plane's aisle again, still amazed to see it filled with four-legged passengers. We were scheduled to land in Dubai in about an hour and a half. What news would be waiting for us was anyone's guess.
"We'll be starting our descent into Dubai shortly," the flight attendant said to Bev and me at the back of the plane, where we'd gone to sit with the lonely Patton.
As the Gryphon plane touched down on the Dubai tarmac, dawn rose against the tops of city skyscrapers that pierced through the smog, while the sun struggled to breach a misty gray horizon. The animals began to stir in their crates, undoubtedly more than ready for a potty break. I hoped they'd be getting one soon.
Parking alongside a FedEx aircraft, the Gryphon pilots finally cut the engines. A set of stairs was wheeled toward our plane, and the men locked them into place. When the flight attendant opened the door, our official greeting committee of FedEx employees boarded the plane.
The manager of operations for FedEx's Dubai ramp and hub stepped forward to introduce himself as Justin. We had been corresponding for days, working through many of the details required for our undetermi
ned length of stay in Dubai. The moment he greeted us, Bev and I knew we were in good hands.
"I can't tell you how good it feels to be here," I said. "Bev and I are anxious to hear what the latest news is regarding the French."
Justin's smile faded a little, and lines of worry appeared around his eyes. "Dave's last e-mail from an hour ago reported that the French are still not budging," he said.
Although the news wasn't what I wanted to hear, Justin assured me that the FedEx team was on our side no matter what happened.
Optimism is much easier to muster when you know you're among friends.
"We still have five hours until the flight, don't we?" I responded. "Maybe we'll get a miracle before then."
"Yes, that would be wonderful. We'll try to arrange one for you," Justin laughed. "In the meantime, let's get you two processed through
"But the animals-they're our number 1 priority. Any chance we can get them out for a potty break?"
"They'll be fine, don't worry. Our crew will get them offloaded and transferred to the airport quarantine kennel, where they'll stay until we know what the plan is. They'll be able to relieve themselves there."
"Okay," I said. "We're just concerned they don't get left somewhere and forgotten, especially as the day gets hotter." It was a few minutes past six, and already the temperature was rising. Losing animals to heat exhaustion was a real possibility if we weren't extremely careful.
"Not to worry, Terri. They will be indoors where there is air conditioning," Justin said. "The man in charge of Dubai International Airport's animal regulations said that the quarantine facility has people who will see to the animals. He promised they'll be in good hands."
No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone Page 19