Trident K9 Warriors: My Tale From the Training Ground to the Battlefield With Elite Navy SEAL Canines

by Michael Ritland

  That’s a particularly effective clearing method that would then allow the team members to place ladders against those walls to climb over, or to place a breaching charge to blow a door without worrying about an IED being present.

  Aaron also pushed Castor’s apprehension training to the point that he felt 100 percent confident that his dog would not bite anyone dressed similarly to his handler—unless instructed to. That was especially important because frequently when on a mission, Castor would enter an area after having been given the reviere command, in other words, to apprehend or bite someone. Given the confusion of numerous people being in a confined space, friendlies and others, a less-disciplined dog might take on anyone regardless. Aaron is convinced of and has seen evidence of Castor’s ability to identify friend from foe. On numerous patrols in Afghanistan, in crowded bazaars, in homes, and in open areas, Castor has learned to sort through the individuals there, running through the legs or past one person in pursuit of the bad guy.

  Much time and effort was spent in helping the dogs learn good guys from bad guys. Since dogs learn by association and repetition, we have to create scenarios similar to what they will encounter in the field. During apprehension work the dogs would be unleashed and sent into a compound on the reviere command. One instructor would be in a bite suit, while other trainees would act as the members of an assault team who would follow the dog into that area. If the dog went after one of the assaulters, who was dressed just like the handler so that the association was clear, he’d be corrected. Repeat that enough and the dog gets it that those who are dressed like “my dad” (we frequently use that term to describe the handler to reinforce the idea that the bond of trust between human and canine is so important) are okay and anyone else isn’t.

  While all dogs are capable of learning this distinction, that doesn’t mean that we want to put it to use. As Aaron said to me, “You can have an extremely good working dog, but some of them just don’t have that kind of demeanor. Some of them are just too reactive. They’re like that guy in the bar who no matter what you say to him will be itching for a brawl. Some dogs seem to believe that Since you gave me the command to bite, then damn it, that’s what I’m going to do. Those kinds of dogs can be especially difficult to work with in a large group. Castor was not one of those.

  Aaron and Castor worked together on two deployments in Afghanistan, doing much the same kind of work as Rocket, detecting explosives primarily. The two were able to utilize the tools they learned in training to clear buildings and provide protection for the troops they served with.

  In some ways Aaron and Castor’s story is unique. Each of their individual attributes meshed well together. They were there at the beginning of the program, before I began providing and training dogs for the teams. They serve as a template for the kind of heart and mind that is necessary to take on the task of being the tip of the spear. Aaron’s dedication to the program and to his dog differ only slightly from the devotion that most pet owners feel toward the four-legged friend in their lives.

  I don’t have to check on Castor now that he’s retired from active duty. Aaron is now a trainer at BUD/S, and Castor lives with Aaron and his family. While I sat and talked with Aaron, Castor lay at his feet, waiting. Aaron told me that as soon as we were finished up, he was going to go to work and Castor was going to accompany him. That day’s training activities for the next class of SEALs involved some beach running. Castor liked that. Other days, Castor can be found at Aaron’s wife’s office. He’s taken over a couch there, and he’s content to watch her typing away at her computer. Once the tapping sounds end, he looks at her and she at him. It’s lunchtime or break time, and that means a walk around the area. A tennis ball is frequently involved. At quitting time, the two head home, and then Castor hangs out there with both his mom and his dad. He’s seldom alone, and Aaron and his wife take him just about everywhere they go. He’s adjusted well to his downtime and is about as content as any dog can be in knowing that he’s well cared for and respected for what he’s done for one man and one woman and for their, and his, country.

  9

  The old saying goes, “Curiosity killed the cat.” Well, in the case of one Navy SEAL working dog, a serviceman’s overly curious nature really pissed off a multi-purpose K9 named Samson. According to his handler, SEAL Team 3 member Dave, the first time he met with the platoon he was assigned to in Kandahar, Afghanistan, he did what he’d been trained to do. He introduced himself and his Malinois Samson to the assembled group of battle-tested frogmen. He began by asking how many of these men had served in a unit that was accompanied by a MWD. Just a few hands went up, and when questioned further, they revealed that the only dogs they’d seen had been sentry dogs back in the United States. That wasn’t surprising. In 2009, according to a resolution submitted in the House Committee on Armed Services, a total of two thousand MWDs served at nearly 170 United States military bases worldwide, including those in forty states and three U.S. territories.1 That the resolution did not mention the number of MWDs serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, though they were mentioned generally, isn’t surprising. Revealing troop strength figures isn’t a common military practice, whether or not those numbers reflect animals or humans.

  The House resolution was submitted in honor of MWD Ben CO20, an air force sentry dog that was retiring after eleven years of service. This reflects the military’s growing recognition of the importance of canines in the post–9/11 security world. No less an authority than CIA Director and Four-Star General David Petraeus recognized their value when he said of MWDs, “The capability they bring to the fight cannot be replicated by man or machine.”2 I’m not sure that one of Samson’s capabilities was what General Petraeus had in mind when he made that statement.

  After PO3 Dave finished his introductory remarks, he asked the members of the platoon to form a circle. He wanted them to each get a chance to handle Samson. This was designed to let them get comfortable with the dog and vice versa. He gave a detailed explanation of how the handoffs would go. He would bend down and pick up Samson, careful to wrap him up tightly and to secure all four of his legs. Only then would he hand the dog off to the next person in line. That person would hold the dog for a few moments. Dave reminded them that it was important that he take Samson back and then only he would hand the dog off to the next person in the line. That was his way of communicating to Samson that this was all okay. He was telling him in a sense that if Dad was handing you over to someone, then you have to trust that new person, because I do.

  Things went according to plan until an overeager soldier forgot about the handler-first rule. As soon as Samson was back on the ground, and still in Dave’s control, this guy bent down, put his face right next to Samson’s, and tried to hug the dog to his chest in order to lift him up. Fortunately for everyone, Samson was on his best behavior. Instead of biting, he emitted a deeply guttural growl that let the solider know that Samson didn’t appreciate him not following orders.

  As Dave later told me, “That guy got off on the wrong foot with Samson, and he never forgot that breach of etiquette. Samson wasn’t properly introduced to him, the guy overstepped his bounds, and from that point forward, whenever Samson saw the guy, he would growl.” Worse, the soldier in question professed to being a dog lover and was extremely interested in Samson and Dave and the training they’d undergone and other elements of the dog’s life. Dave had to do his best to integrate himself into this group, and he didn’t want to be rude. Also, he’d told the guys that if they ever had any questions, he’d be happy to answer them. He just didn’t anticipate how many questions this one team member would have.

  After a few days of Samson getting to know everyone and adjusting to his new home, he wasn’t always on leash while on the grounds of the FOB. Samson was gregarious enough that he didn’t pose a biting threat. He proved to be a popular presence, and in a few weeks, both he and Dave seemed to have meshed well with the unit.

  Several days after being attached to the team
, Samson and Dave got word that they would be going out on a mission with the platoon. All the guys, including Dave, prepared early and left their gear outside where they were billeted. They’d suit up at the last minute after their final briefings, taking care of whatever personal business they had, and so on. Dave recalls walking out into a central area where piles of gear dotted the compound. He released Samson, who went to work immediately, nose to the ground, tail in the air, trying to locate any snacks. Or at least that was what Dave thought. Samson went from pile to pile and finally settled on one rucksack.

  He looked around, almost as if checking to see if anyone was looking. Then he lifted his leg and let out a nice stream of golden piss on that pile. Dave felt bad, but what could he do? He stood on the side waiting to see who the lucky one was. You’ve probably already figured out who that individual was, and you’re right. The impatient operator won the honor that Samson had bestowed on him. Dave isn’t a malicious guy, but he had to laugh at his buddy Samson and his way of getting his revenge. Another saying comes to mind: “Payback is a bitch.” In this case though, it wasn’t. It came in the form of that same male black-and-tan Malinois with an oversized head, named Samson.

  It was the difference in color and size between Samson’s head and body that first caught Dave’s attention when the two of them first met one another. Samson was small framed, with a camel-colored torso and hindquarters, but with a coal-black head and snout that, in certain light, hid his liquid, expressive eyes. Dave admitted that this was not a case of love at first sight. “I’d seen all the other dogs, and then when he was assigned to me, I thought, What the hell? Why was I the one getting a dog that looked like it had been Frankenstein-ed together from two other dogs? He was smaller than the dogs the rest of the guys in my training group were assigned, and that big head of his made him look like a buffalo or something. That image stuck, and eventually we all at one time or another thought of my big-skulled guy as Buffalo Head.”

  Dave’s words sound harsher than they were. When we talked about him, there was obvious deep affection between the two of them. Dave was no longer working with Samson after two years serving several stints together in Afghanistan.

  “Samson has one more deployment scheduled. He has to pass a physical before he can go, and I hate to say this, but I hope he doesn’t pass. Not that I want there to be something wrong with him, but I miss being with him. His new handler’s a great guy, but Samson and I went through a lot together.” Dave’s voice trails off, and I can tell that man and dog’s enforced absence doesn’t sit well with the human part of the team.

  I ask Dave about the last time he saw Samson. “You know, I had to be strong when we said good-bye. I couldn’t get too worked up about it because of my wife and kids. If they saw me all down, then they would be even more upset. As it was, my wife was kind of torn up about it. He remembers me, though, of course, and the last time I went to visit him, he did his thing with me.”

  Dave described how Samson’s ears pricked up as soon as he saw Dave. He then trotted toward him and thrust his head between Dave’s legs so that his buddy could scratch him behind his ears. “Some dogs do that thing—press their head up against you or between your legs. It’s so cool that he does that. It’s a very expressive gesture. It’s like he’s telling me that he’s home. This is where he belongs. I asked some of the handlers and our trainers about that. They told me that was his way of signaling that he knows that I’ve got his back and he’s got mine. I’ve got kids, and I equate what Samson does with them coming up to me while I’m watching TV and hugging me or snuggling up against me. It’s a very comforting feeling.”

  Dave knows that Samson is beginning to show some signs of wear and tear after fairly intensive deployments. He’s having digestive issues; Dave thinks they’re signs of stress, and he worries about what might happen to Samson if he has to go back to Afghanistan one more time. “The dogs get it. They like to work, but humans who are stressed out also surround them. They pick up on that and it affects them. Just like I was saying before about the connection between kids and dogs and those signs of affection. If your house is a stressed-up place, even though you think you’re doing your best to hide it, the kids sense it. So do the dogs when out in the field. The work is dangerous, and they do a great job when they’re at it, but they have very little downtime.”

  Dave is eager for Samson to finish up his tests and either get deployed or retire. Either way—wait or not—Dave plans to adopt Samson and give him a good life when the dog finally retires.

  So how did these two manage to develop that deep bond when Dave was originally so skeptical? On a variation of another cliché, you can’t judge a dog by the markings of his fur or the size of his head.

  In some ways, Dave and Samson shared some qualities. It would be easy to look at Dave’s past and assume that he was a less-than-ideal candidate for the SEALs if you solely looked at the what and not the why. Born in Brooklyn, New York, the son of a man who ran a small cleaning business that catered to local businesses and offices, Dave didn’t have the luxury of exploring his avid interest in sports—cross-country and baseball, in particular. Shortly before he turned twelve years old, his mother left the family. Dave not only lost a mother and her potentially positive influence and guidance, he, his siblings, and his father lost a key source of income. As a result, Dave had to leave school in 1987 at the age of fifteen to work, first with his father and later at a variety of other jobs. Dave liked school, and while he wasn’t an outstanding student, his natural curiosity and sharp mind helped him do well. He easily earned his GED, but work took precedence over everything else in his life.

  “My dad had to work twenty-four/seven to support us. That’s just how it was. You do what you have to do. He had mouths to feed, but he couldn’t do it on his own. I was the youngest, so I was the least far along in life—that’s one way to put it. My older siblings, a brother and two sisters, were already pretty set on their life paths when my mom left. They had to work hard, too, but they all got through high school, and each of them did some college work. That didn’t seem like an option for me.”

  In the spirit of doing whatever it takes, Dave took a series of jobs for which he wouldn’t have been eligible based on his age. Driven to succeed, he altered his brother’s driver’s license to get a job at a pizza chain store in Brooklyn. Within a year, at the age of seventeen, he was promoted to assistant manager. The work wasn’t the most rewarding or challenging, but the money helped. Dave had dreams back then. They mostly revolved around muscle cars—a 1969 Nova, a 1971 Camaro, which he worked on as a shade-tree mechanic—not an easy thing to do in Brooklyn. The streets held another allure besides fast cars. Street gangs, drugs, and petty crime influenced many of Dave’s peers. A few were hard-core, but most were just directionless kids with no real idea where they wanted to go or who they wanted to be. Dave put himself in that category, though his work ethic kept him from ever sliding too far down into anything like the serious thug life.

  By the time he was twenty, he realized that a career in the fast-food world was, if not a dead end, then at least a long drive down a boring stretch of highway that lead to no place interesting. He enrolled in community college, took a few courses, attended for a bit, and then lost interest. The pattern repeated itself a few times. He found himself always drifting back toward the street life, what was easiest.

  A friend told him that he should consider life in the military as a way out. Having a brother who served and seeing little in the way of options based on what he’d seen of his friends and peers on the street, Dave’s curiosity was piqued. Not so much that he’d actually do anything serious about it, but he started to do some reading and some talking to guys in the neighborhood. “One guy would say it was a great idea, another would tell me that I was crazy.”

  The friend who originally planted the seed called him another time and told him about the Navy SEALs.”He said that these guys did the stuff that I was into, only it was legal. He was joking,
but when I checked things out, I saw there was some truth to what he was saying.”

  More than that, Dave realized that making the SEAL Teams would be a real challenge. “Just scraping by trying to make a living was a challenge. I was up to that, and had been for a while. I needed a change.”

  He was also up for a challenge. He’d spent most of his young adult life trying to escape the idea of being the “baby brother.” He wanted to make that transition from being a kid to being a man. About the most seriously illegal thing he’d done was getting a job using a fake ID, but he saw that as a positive. He found a way to get a mission accomplished. He figured that attitude would serve him well. One day he headed over to a local recruitment office.

  “I walked in the place, and the first office was for the marines. I’d started to have some doubts about the SEALs. They were the elite and all, and I wondered if I could cut it. So, I walked toward the open door, and this staff sergeant looked me up and down, and this weird kind of smile passed over his face. Then he got serious for a second and yelled out, ‘Halt! Stop where you’re at. I want you to do an about-face.’

  “I stood there staring at the guy, wondering, What is this guy talking about, about-face? Before I could say anything, he walked out of this office, saying, again in this loud shrill voice, ‘Think about the rest of your life, and then come back in here.’

  “I said to him, ‘What? Excuse me?’

  “‘You heard me. Turn around. Get out of here. Think about what you’re about to do, and then come back.’