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Letter to the editor

Dogs of war get care worthy of soldiers

By ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published August 19, 2007

SAN ANTONIO, Texas - When he came to, the Marine couldn't move his arm. It was broken by ball bearings hurled so hard from a bomb that they also became embedded in his gun. Yet Brendan Poelaert's thoughts quickly turned to his patrol dog.

The powerful Belgian Malinois named Flapoor had served him as partner and protector for the past four months in Iraq. Now, the dog staggered a few steps along the Ramadi street, then stared blankly. Blood poured from his chest.

"I didn't care about my injuries, my arm," his handler says. "I'm telling the medic, 'I got to get my dog to the vet!' "

About 2,000 of these working dogs confront danger beside American soldiers, largely in the Middle East. With noses that detect scents up to a third of a mile away, many sniff for explosives in Iraq. Their numbers in the military have been growing about 20 percent a year since the terrorist attacks of 2001, says Air Force Capt. Jeffrey McKamey, who helps run the program.

In doing their jobs, dozens of these dogs have also become war wounded - scorched by the desert, slashed by broken glass, pelted by stray bullets, pounded by roadside bombs.

Their services are so valued, though, that wounded dogs are treated much like wounded troops. "They are cared for as well as any soldier," insists Senior Airman Ronald A. Harden, a dog handler in Iraq.

Their first aid comes from field kits bearing everything from medicine to syringes. Some are evacuated to military veterinary centers hundreds of miles away, even to Germany and the United States for rehabilitation. Many recover and return to duty.

On the day of the Ramadi blast in January 2006, Poelaert, trained in veterinary first aid, began care as soon as both were loaded into a sport utility vehicle. He pressed his finger to his dog's chest to stop him from bleeding to death.

When they reached the base camp, a medic with veterinary training started Flapoor on an IV. Poelaert went reluctantly to his own surgery.

Flapoor would eventually go to Baghdad for more care of his punctured lung and belly wounds. He would later rejoin his handler and fly in a cargo plane to the United States for physical rehab.

Healing under the California sun at Camp Pendleton, Flapoor is now back to his usual self in most ways: fast, friendly, eager-to-please. But he still suffers a sort of canine post-traumatic stress disorder. "He's really jumpy around loud noises now," Poelaert says.

Military dogs must be in top condition to perform the duties they're assigned. And training is rigorous.

Dogs take their basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, where they learn to tolerate the crack of gunfire and sputter of helicopters. They are trained to sniff for explosives on command, freezing and staring at suspicious objects.

Merely baring their teeth, they can cow a crowd. Commanded to strike, they can easily flatten a big man with one leap, flying like a 50-pound sandbag tossed from a truck.

Smart and strong Malinois and shepherds predominate, but other breeds are trained, too. Even small dogs like beagles or poodles are occasionally taught to detect explosives in submarines and other close quarters.

In Iraq, the demand for explosives-finding dogs has escalated. They lead patrols with their handlers in tow, sniffing bags and other suspicious objects along the way.

"As much as I love these dogs, their job is to take a bullet for me," says Sgt. Douglas Timberlake, a trainer.

The military estimates spending six months and $25,000 to buy, feed, train and care for the average dog. They are tended by 440 Army veterinarians worldwide.

The dogs get two physical exams each year, more often than most people. They get blood tests, X-rays and electrocardiograms.

Though no careful count is kept, Lt. Col. Michael Lagutchik, an Army vet who supervises care at Lackland, believes about 10 dogs have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Regardless of the dangers, the dogs are fearless. For them, checking a road for bombs means a fun walk, their handlers say.

"They like what they do," insists Poelaert, who has returned to Exeter, N.H.

[Last modified August 19, 2007, 01:59:38]