Dog days in Baghdad

On Saturday, we had a K-9 appreciation day here on the compound. It was so much fun. They had about a dozen dogs out there and oh man, there were so many people who came just to play.

I went dog to dog and got to know all of them. Bud, one whom I’d met the week before, wasn’t there, but there was an aptly named Diva, as well as a Goldie. By the end, I knew all the dogs’ names, but not a one of the handlers’. Poor guys. They’re the invisible beings on the other ends of the leashes. Sometimes they produce treats that you can offer to their better halves, but in general, they are mounds of DNA who wear beige cargo pants with pockets than can hold a rubber ball on a rope. (We do have some dog handlers who are female, but none attended this event.)

Diva was a doll and knew it. My favorite was a humble (and chunky) black Lab named Panda. We’d also met before, and, even though she was on the clock, her DNA-on-the-other-end-of-the-leash let me play with her a bit then, so on Saturday, I was basically I was rolling on the ground with her. She loved it. She’s like 12 times the size of Batgirl, but it was the same theory: Rub my tummy. Scratch my ears. Rub my butt. Throw the ball. I’d toss the rubber-ball-on-a-rope in the air and most of the time she’d catch it, but sometimes she’d miss and ricochet off her nose, then bounce wildly on the pavement, causing her to jerk DNA-on-a-leash’s shoulder as she lunged for the wayward ball. But here DNA, and all the other DNAs, appreciated us. They’re with their pup partners 24/7, so they appreciated getting more people to work with them and wear them out a bit. I’m sure he was kidding, but DNA told me I was welcome to check her out over the weekend to give him a break.

He’d been on the other end of leashes for 16 years, and he rated Panda in his top 5. They can adopt the dogs after the dogs retire, which, for my department, is age 7. I asked DNA about his No. 1 dog and his voice trailed off as he said, “He saved my life.”

One of the DNAs was the first handler of his dog. It might have been Chanteuse. Anyway, he said the first handler is the one who has the first rights to adopt when it’s time to retire them. That seems fair. Another handler – John, who wasn’t on the end of a leash on Saturday, so I got his name – had told me previously that he hadn’t adopted any of his dogs, explaining that he was “attached, but not too attached” to them. By the tone in his voice, it seemed like he tried to keep a slight distance in case something happened to them. He said he’d lost dogs before. I can’t imagine how horrific that would be.

There’s a movie out called “Rex” about a Marine and her bomb dog partner. It’s based on a true story, but who knows what that means, you know? But both Rex and Rex’s DNA-on-a-leash got hit with a bomb, and both lived but sustained injuries and PTSD. The movie is about DNA trying to have Rex ruled adoptable so that she can keep him. That’s what John’s comment made me think about.

Back to Saturday and Panda: They did a demonstration and before it, her DNA-on-a-leach joked that he hoped she didn’t embarrass him. Well, they had 10 boxes set up, and the first DNA ran his dog down the line. When she got to about box No. 6, she stopped so short her hind legs popped up, and then she sat down at the box and refused to budge. She looked at DNA as if to say, “Hey, buddy, I win the game. Give me the treat!” And DNA produced a ball from his cargo pants, as the narrator explained that the dogs are rewarded with toys, not treats.

Goldie then ran the drill, to the same effect, although he’s a bit heavier (not Panda-like) and his hind legs stayed on the ground. Diva then sailed through, and even though DNA tried to coax her away from it, she just sat there like, “Hey, give me some love.” DNA produced the rubber ball and she jumped for joy – right into his arms.

Well, Panda just darted  (such that it was) and acted like a featherbrained ditz, only not so graceful. It wasn’t even obvious she was sniffing the boxes, she was just kind of lumbering excitedly along. She completely overran the guilty box and the audience gasped. She showed no reaction as she blew past it, then past the last four boxes. She then, still lumber-bouncing along, then circled back down the other side past four boxes, reaching No. 6 from the other direction. There, she was so frantic she pawed it, and then looked at DNA and said, OK, I’m done. TOY! Here we thought she’d lost the game, but she’d figured it out right off but made sure there was nothing else nefarious!

DNA-on-the-other-end-of-the-leash told me later that Panda was very methodical and thorough, and that’s why they’d made such good partners.

I miss dogs. We normally can’t play with any we see; they’re usually working, but sometimes I get lucky and get to scratch some ears or a tummy. The guy leading the demonstration said we have mostly Belgium malamutes, Labs and German shepherds, but in the past we’ve had some terriers and other smaller dogs. A Jack Russell probably, but not a Chihuahua. I just can’t imagine Batgirl or Rally earning their keep like that.