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The dogs of war

Muqdadiyah, Iraq — April 4, 2006

I don’t have a dog, but can’t help myself. I’m a softie when it comes to dogs.

I see the dogs here through the ballistic glass of an up-armored Humvee as we’re driving by and my eyes follow them until they are out of sight.

The dogs here are scruffy, dirty, dusty scavengers who, like any dog in the world, hang out in the sun and would probably be appeased if they were given some food.

On this trip I met several dogs, including four military working dogs, two of which were perfectly happy to put their killer instincts aside and wag their tails for food.

I also met some of those puppies that seem to like making a home near the Iraqi traffic control points. They probably like the leftover scraps of food the Iraqi soldiers toss near the vicinity of their trash cans, but they especially like it when the American soldiers show up and give them affection. I saw a captain pick up one of those puppies and stroke the little beast’s head until he went limp in his arms.

Early this morning I had the pleasure of meeting a delightful puppy that was roaming around with a bigger, white dog on Forward Operating Base Normandy, out in the country about 65 miles north of Baghdad.

He was tan with a black muzzle and brown, take-me-home-with-you eyes. His paws were wet and a little muddy from crossing through the landscape looking for food with the white dog that I had seen at the chow hall a few days earlier, hanging around the garbage bins and letting people pat him on the head.

It seemed like the puppy was following the white dog to the dining facility, but when I saw them I lured them over with the typical sounds that dogs respond to, like little whistles or kisses, and they happily changed course to where I was standing in front of my room.

I started to talk to them in “dog talk” and remembered I happened to have some Milk Bone dog treats with me (they’re quite delicious with coffee in the morning). The puppy ate three of them, but the white dog rejected the treats. I just assumed he had been spoiled by eating too many hamburgers or something. I’m sure the soldiers feed him when he comes around. (BTW, just kidding about eating dog treats with my coffee!)

Of course, I fell in love with the puppy but in a flash he was gone and I never saw him again. The soldiers fall in love with puppies all the time, too, but they’re not allowed to keep them as pets.

And, since there is no veterinary care here, sometimes the dogs are shot and killed as a troop protection measure. I’ve never talked to a soldier who had to shoot a dog. But it couldn’t have been a happy day for the ones who have done it.

Sometimes I’ve seen the dogs chase and bark at the growling Humvees. I’ve even seen them chasing helicopters.

If that were the only threat the soldiers had, I think there’d be no problem winning their hearts and minds and world peace would be at hand.