Fama, the AHBD (Episode 18)

Episode 18

Over the next few days, Fama continued to worsen. Her scratching kept her from sleeping at night, and the Benedryl kept her from ever being fully awake. She was acting like a zombie when we were training, never fully committing to the search. I had to change the way we worked together. When healthy, Fama would proactively search an area, requiring little, if any, direction or input from me. Stoned Fama required constant supervision and encouragement. She was a different dog altogether.

The next visit to the vet brought no clarity to the situation. The blood tests showed no indication of any problem. The samples of ear crud turned out to be garden variety yeast and bacteria which the medication was already killing off. Fama’s belly had turned red with a leathery texture, and the skin between her paws was inflamed. She had scratched her sides so much that she was raw behind her front legs.

The Vet said that if it was a food allergy, it could take a month or 2 to clear up. I just didn’t have a month or 2. I didn’t have a day to waste. We were going to go looking for bombs in the most heavily mined country in the world, where bad guys were going to be trying to blow us up. I needed my dog back, now. Gary and I started talking about switching dogs and re-certifying. I was too good a handler to just go back to my unit, and it would be terrible to waste the opportunity to save the lives of my brothers just because my dog was sick.

The Army Program Manager in charge of all working dogs in our Regional Command, Sergeant First Class Shemp (an MP), had been charged with validating each dog team before they pushed forward to their unit, which means we had to stand before the man and prove ourselves again, just like in Arizona, but this time my dog was sick. Through talking with the 30 dog handlers occupying our tent, we found out that only 5 of them had passed this validation. These were dog teams that were already certified in Arizona, just like we were. Fama and I were under the gun, and something had to change or our time together was quickly coming to a close.

Chris was a handler, living in the tent, that was still trying to validate with SFC Shemp. He had a little male black Lab named Marshall, who is the cutest dog anywhere on the planet. He would run and jump up in my lap, turning himself upside down with his tail buffeting my nose, just to say “Hi.” He was also a great bomb dog. We used to make jokes about Chris not having to leave the truck. He could just send Marshall out, and he would come back 10 minutes later with the location of all the bombs written down on a piece of paper. About the same time that Fama was really having health trouble, Chris had some health trouble of his own. He was bent over doing something on his bottom bunk, when he stood up really fast, hitting the back of his head on the metal frame of the top bunk, and knocked himself unconscious. He gave himself a concussion, and was kept at the hospital for observation.

I decided to take responsibility for the care of Marshall while Chris was at the hospital so none of the junior soldiers would have to suffer because of the extra workload. Plus, he is the cutest dog in the world, and he really liked his Uncle David. I started taking him out when we were training so he could burn off some energy. I would work Fama early in the training venue and then run Marshall last. He and I were working very well together, so Gary and I started talking about switching me over to Marshall if Fama didn’t come around. I hated the idea of giving her up, but I had a mission to do, and if I had to do it with Marshall or not do it at all, I was going to take Marshall. Did I mention he’s really cute too?

We were training at night on the other side of BAF in an empty lot that was 100 yards wide and 250 yards long. We were doing a big open area search through a recently bull dozed dirt lot. Fama was feeling a little better that night. I had started adjusting the number of Bennies I was stuffing down her neck according to whether we were working or resting. I was seriously knocking her out when it was time to sleep, and then backing way off when it was work time. She was beginning to show shades of her former self. She banged out both hides in the open area from a good distance, and she was working with more enthusiasm, which inspired serious hope in my little dog handler heart. I was having a great night.

I was out watching the last few dogs run the venue, standing with Luchian.

“Hey, are you running Marshall,” he asked.

“Sure I will. He’s on the back of the truck. Do you care if I don’t wear all my gear? I already ran once tonight with Fama.”

“Hell, I don’t care if you run it in your underwear.”

“OK then,” I smiled.

I ran back to the truck, where Scott and Sly were hanging out, waiting for everyone to finish up. I immediately started taking my clothes off. They were looking at me like I was crazy, but I just smiled and kept stripping.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked sly.

“I’m running this venue in my underwear. Isn’t it obvious?”

I was down to my socks and briefs when I put by boots back on. I gathered up all the equipment I would need, and tried to figure out how I was going to carry it all. I wrapped my leash around my shoulders, hung my night vision goggles around my neck with a piece of 550 cord, put a flashlight under my left arm, and was left with the tennis ball. I put the flashlight back, Gary already had one, and was contemplating where to put the ball. If Marshall saw it, there would be no hunting for bombs. He would just bug me for the ball. I shrugged my shoulders, hooked the waistband of my jockeys with my thumb, opened up and dropped the ball in, the waistband snapping closed. Only room for one (wink wink). I was ready.

Marshall and I stood by the truck, waiting for the call from Gary for the next dog team. The guys were frantically trying to figure out how to get a good picture, but they couldn’t get it done in time. We were up. I headed out towards my trainers, waiting for their reaction. It was a dark night, and they were discussing the performance of the team that had just finished, so I got to within 20 yards before Luchian looked my way. He squinted, with his head lurching forward. He could tell something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t see me clearly yet. I soldiered on.

“Oh holy hell!” Luchian burst out.

He was laughing his ass off. Gary had yet to spot me, so he looked at Luchian to see what was going on. I made it all the way to Gary before he turned around, his hand missing my tennis ball by inches. I thought I was going to have to come back later and run Marshall. We laughed uncontrollably for about 5 minutes. After I could breathe, I explained the conversation Luchian and I had, and that I was just following instructions.

“Well get to it then,” said Gary.

Marshall had been enjoying the laugh as much as the rest of us. He was all fired up and squiggly, ready and willing. I sent him out and he took off, zooming around like a black ballistic missile on crack. We worked our way over towards the first hide, and he nailed it. I tossed his ball and he went crazy. He was running all over the field, doing doggie drive by’s, playing keep away with his ball. I finally got him reeled in 2 minutes later, and got my ball back. When a dog runs around, they develop slobber. The more they run, the more they slobber. Marshall had been running around for a good 10 minutes now, and he was lathered up like Secretariat. I held my ball up by 2 fingers, and it dripped on my boots. Gary and Luchian were just staring at me, waiting for us to continue the search to the second hide. I just held the ball there until it sank in. I could tell by the look on their faces. They had figured it out. I hooked my thumb behind the waistband of my jockeys….