Maria Goodavage: Soldier Dogs

Major General J. A. Ulio would go on to decree the following year that “the award of War Department decorations to other than persons, that is, human beings, is prohibited.” (You’ve got to love the clarification of “other than persons.”) But he also wrote that “if it is desired to recognize the outstanding services of an animal … appropriate citation may be published in unit general orders.”

The latter clause left the door open for an official medal or award specifically for war dogs.

It’s been nearly seventy years.

So this is how it looks if you want your dog to have a Purple Heart these days:

Air Force Staff Sergeant Brent Olson received a Purple Heart and an Army Commendation Medal for what happened the day he and his dog Blek (whom we met earlier in Part Four) were involved in an explosion in Afghanistan. Blek received nothing. At a ceremony where Olson was awarded another medal, he wanted Blek to receive his due recognition. He leaned over and pinned his own Purple Heart to Blek’s harness.

“Everybody was like, ‘awwwww!’” remembers Olson, “but I wanted to make a statement. Dogs are soldiers, too. They give up their whole lives for this. Sure they do it for the play and the fun, but the reason doesn’t matter. They work so hard and save so many lives. Not to be recognized officially is a slap in the face.”

If not a medal—at least not just yet—how about a stamp? All kinds of stamps come out every year. Among the 2012 selection are several flag designs, the ubiquitous love designs, some weather vanes, and some good-looking stamps featuring baseball greats and film directors. The year before brought a stamp featuring Owney, a really cool postal service dog from the late 1800s.

Sounds like at some point, stamps honoring military working dogs would have been a natural. That’s what Aiello thought. He and his organization have been at the stamp issue since 2000. The last petition he sent with his official request had ten thousand signatures.

Connie Totten-Oldham, manager of stamp development for the U.S. Postal Service, recently wrote him saying, “I certainly can understand your interest in such an important subject and your frustration over your long campaign without seeing an actual stamp.” She said she appreciates the many letters and petitions he has submitted through the years and that, as always, the matter is under consideration.

She suggested Aiello look into a souvenir cancellation postmark or services that provide personalized postage—you know, the kind of stamps featuring someone’s baby or favorite cat. Aiello is not going that route. “I’m not going to settle for anything less than a postage stamp featuring these very deserving dogs.” In case the postal service wants to know what it’s up against, Aiello was a Vietnam war-dog handler. He and his scout dog, Stormy, routinely led many troops safely through the jungle, successfully completing missions, regardless of obstacles….

All this is not to say that military working dogs are not memorialized or honored beyond, say, their memorial ceremonies. In fact, there are several privately funded war-dog memorial statues around the United States. A national memorial, also privately funded, and to be on public land in the Washington, D.C., area, is in the works.

And Ingraham’s dog Rex will be featured in a traveling exhibition of twenty-one bronze portrait busts of military members starting in 2013. Artist Michael Jernigan met Rex and Ingraham while in Iraq. “I fell in love with him when I saw him. He had to be part of this.”

Of course, you could ask what good are medals and stamps and statues for dogs? Do they even care? And the answer would be that no, they probably don’t grasp the significance. What’s another thing around their neck or a framed certificate on a wall? A dog would probably rather just get a treat or a Kong or, better yet, a belly rub.

The honors we bestow on canine heroes are really more for those who love them and live by them, those who have been saved by them. And who can say? Maybe the benefits of this go down the leash to the dog.

There’s one thing you can pretty much guarantee for military dogs and handlers while we’re fighting wars like this one, where a dog’s senses are so essential: When they come home— if they come home—they’re going back to war, for as long as this war endures. “It’s only a matter of time. It’s not if they go back, but when ,” says Master Chief Thompson.

“If there’s a fight, the handlers and dogs will be there leading the way, and they’re going back, and the handlers know that.” Thompson pauses, trying to keep his composure. “They go back, and they don’t complain, and their dogs don’t complain. And hopefully they get to go home again….”

The Black Hawk gone, EOD tech Mesa ran back to his men and fired with them until the insurgents stopped shooting. They didn’t bother looking to see if they’d hurt or killed any of them.

A marine bolted over to Fenji. She was still on the ground, shaking. He stroked her and encouraged her to walk. She tried, and stumbled to the ground. So he picked her up. Her ears were bleeding from inside, and there was something wrong with her eyes.

A helicopter flew Fenji to Camp Leatherneck, a large Marine Corps base that’s the hub for marine activity in Helmand Province. Her eardrums had been ruptured from the blast, and the explosion had rocketed debris into her eyes. You have to wonder if she was waiting for Donahue to come help her. In a way, he already had helped her. His body shielded her from the blast, so she was not seriously injured.

Fenji got top veterinary care, and attention from the marine handlers who came through the kennels. Gunnery Sergeant Chris Willingham, who was Donahue’s kennel master back at Camp Pendleton, became a regular visitor. “We’d take Fenji for walks, spend time with her, flush out her eyes, take her to daily checkups. She was always glad for the company and had a good attitude. She was a real trouper,” he says.

She attended a memorial for Donahue at Camp Leatherneck. Before it started, she went up to the front of the tent and stared at his photo, next to the normal memorial setup of combat boots and rifle. Those weren’t his, but the dog tags and her leash hanging off the rifle were. You wonder if she could still smell his scent on them.

The kennels at Camp Leatherneck got a new name after this: Camp Donahue. At the entry point is a large concrete slab with a big ink rendition of Donahue and Fenji, created by a couple of guys in his platoon. Several marines built the structure that protects it, kind of a peaked-roof topper, with a large flagpole behind it.

Fenji gradually recovered, and three weeks after that terrible day, she flew back to Camp Pendleton. There she got more R & R and slowly started engaging in activities. They thought she’d probably retire, but as Willingham says, “She never lost her edge.” Fenji received the Purple Heart and a Combat Action ribbon—unofficially of course.

It was three weeks before she was exposed to gunfire again. At first she cowered and flinched, so they took it easy on her. But she got used to it quickly. It probably helped that she was getting lots of love and attention from handlers and higher-ups during this time. “We’d groom her and let her come into the office and hang out with us,” said Gunnery Sergeant Justin Green, who’d known Donahue for years. “It’s what Max would have wanted, and she loved it.”