Fama, The AHBD (Episode 9)

Episode 9

It is always exciting when you move on to the next step in any training, and the trip to Arizona was no exception. The kennel staff brought a truck and trailer to haul the dogs, and all our gear, to Grissom Air Reserve Base, so we could load up on our very own C17 and make the flight to Yuma Proving Grounds in Arizona. I was immediately reserved about putting Fama in the back of a trailer with 19 other dogs. She was still very crate reactive when daddy wasn’t around, but we really didn’t have any choice in the matter, so I loaded her up and prayed for the best. We made the trip to Grissom in about 40 minutes, which was more than enough time for Fama to get into trouble.

I was overseeing the retrieval of our weapons from the arms room when I heard my name. I looked towards the flight line and could see several people waving me over so I ran. I could hardly believe my eyes when I got there. Fama had popped her tail open inside her crate again, but much worse than before. There was a solid pool of blood in the bottom of her kennel, and she was obviously not happy at all. Joey, an Army SF dog handler, had her on a leash off to the side of the crowd. He was trying to calm her down, but she wasn’t having any of it. There was blood all over her legs and belly, and every time her tail wagged, she would fling a stream of blood through the air. It looked like a murder scene. There must have been 10 people with blood on their clothes and uniforms. I felt terrible.

I immediately went to her and gave her a good once over. Thankfully, the only injury she sustained was to her tail, and it didn’t seem to be bothering her at all. She was pretty stressed at first, but quickly calmed down once I got there. The other handlers and trainers were great. They broke down her kennel and washed it out. Heath found some gauze and vet wrap and we did a quick bandage job on her.

I took her away from the crowd, around a corner, and just sat down with her. I was shocked at how emotional I had become when I saw that she was hurt. I am no stranger to injury, on myself as well as others, but this was like one of my kids getting hurt. I could feel it in my guts, the regret at not doing something more to keep her safe, the wish that it was me that was injured instead of her. I took it much worse than she did.

I was relieved to find out the trainers were adamant with the crew aboard the aircraft that Fama and I be placed together. They explained in graphic detail what the inside of their C17 was going to look like if the dog was left without her handler, and they grudgingly made the necessary arrangements for her kennel to be placed directly in front of my seat. The flight went smoothly. I stretched out on the floor right in front of the kennel and we slept our way to Arizona. Aside from her going nuts when they strapped, and then unstrapped, her kennel, Fama was quiet for the whole flight.

Upon landing an Arizona, we had to load the dogs up in their crates, on the back of a big flat bed truck, and transport them to the hotel where we stayed for the duration of our training at YPG (Yuma Proving Grounds). I knew this was going to be trouble, but there was nothing I could do. We had to get to the hotel, and this was our only means of transport. The trip to the hotel seemed like it took forever. I could hear Fama barking the whole way, and I had a good idea of what was transpiring in that crate. We got to the hotel and downloaded the dogs and, sure enough, there was blood everywhere again. Heath helped me get her up into our hotel room and quieted down. I put a towel (sorry Best Western) over her crate and headed to the local pharmacy for some medical supplies. Heath and I got her all bandaged up again, and he assured me that she would be fine, and that we would see the vet tomorrow and get her taken care of properly. I spent the next 3 hours cleaning blood off every vertical surface in the hotel room.

I made the decision that night that no one was going to tell me what to do with my dog. She was solely my responsibility, and if I would have refused to put her in a situation where she could injure herself, they would have had to accommodate our needs somehow. She could have rode up in the bus with me, on my lap if necessary. I could have done something to protect my dog, and I had failed her. I made a promise to her that night that I would never let anything like that happen again, no matter the cost. I should have rented a car, called a taxi, shit, I should have walked the 30 miles before allowing my dog to injure herself. Don’t tell Heath, but I let her sleep up in bed with me that night.

The following morning we loaded up in our rented SUVs and headed to K9 Village, located about 30 minutes outside of Yuma. 3 handlers had been dropped from the course in Indiana, so we had an odd number of dog teams. I took the solitary vehicle, and no one seemed bothered by it at all. Sly was down right ecstatic. The ride was blessedly quiet. We had slowly worked through Fama reacting to traffic, and she was snoozing in the back for the whole trip. We arrived at K9 village, got the low down on where everything was located, and got the dogs put up in their kennels, except for Fama. She was staying with me.

We headed over to the Vet’s office to get her tail checked out. I put her muzzle on and headed in the front door, checking in with the staff and getting her weight on the way. It was only a few minutes before the Vet came out to see what was going on with Fama. I explained the situation, and also explained that she was Vet aggressive.

“Oh, she will be just fine. Bring her on in and we will get started. She looks nice to me,” said the Vet.

The sarcasm of the situation struck me as comical. Here was a handler, who has worked with his dog everyday for a month, and this Vet, who has seen Fama for a total of 12 seconds, knows more of the dog’s temperament than her handler. We headed into the exam room on a very short leash, and took a position in the corner, with me in between the Vet and Fama.

“She will be just fine Sergeant, just let her come over and say hello.”

Fama has THAT look on her face, the one that says it’s dinner time, and your ass is on the menu. I said, “Look Ma’am, I know my dog, and she is going to go after you if I don’t have a hold of her.”

The vet launches into and explanation on how restraint builds frustration, and if we would just relax, Fama would be fine. I giggled. The vet continued to encourage Fama to come see her.

“Ma’am, I know my dog, and it would be best if you just let me restrain her, and then do what you have to do.”

“Sergeant, I have been a Veterinarian for 4 years and have yet to meet a dog that I couldn’t get along with. You bring her over here right now.”

“AND ROGER.”

I let Fama have some slack on the leash so she could move a little closer. She had death written on her face. I don’t know how the Vet could just blindly walk into her like that. The Vet bends down right over Fama’s head to scratch under her chin. Bad idea. Without audible warning, Fama launched herself at warp speed right into the chest of the vet. The sound of her muzzle hitting the Vet was like somebody hit a heavy bag with a golf club. The Vet gave a loud grunt / shriek / expletive, and I think she shit her pants too, and landed flat on her back with Fama trying desperately to get to her. I’m glad I was quick on the leash, or the Vet may have been seriously injured. As it was, only her pride was hurt. Now that Fama was restrained, and couldn’t get to the Vet, she was barking up a storm right in the face of the Vet. There was terror in the eyes of that poor woman. I giggled again. The Vet excused herself from the room, presumably to change underwear, and count her teeth.