AR-News: (IL - US) Dog of war finds a peaceful, happy ending

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Sat May 1 17:00:41 EDT 2004


    Posted on Mon, Apr. 26, 2004    
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A dog of war finds a peaceful, happy ending

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By JOHN KEILMAN
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Chicago Tribune
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CHICAGO - The puppy was no bigger than a dollar bill, a handful of fur and 
floppy ears half-hidden in the grass along the road to Kirkuk, Iraq. Even in the 
midst of war, the American soldiers who looked into her sad hound eyes 
couldn't bear to leave her behind.

So began the story of Bashur, the red and white Iraqi mutt who charmed her 
way into the heart of an Army major a year ago and, after surviving an 
extermination campaign and two auto accidents, found a new life last month with the 
officer's father in Sleepy Hollow, Ill.

She is one of dozens of Iraqi dogs brought to the United States by smitten 
troops, continuing a long tradition of soldiers adopting their wartime mascots. 
But the journey from battlefield to bungalow can be treacherous, and not every 
animal gets a happy ending.

The lucky ones, like Bashur, end up with cushy lives that would be utterly 
alien to the feral, frequently abused dogs wandering Iraq by the thousands. The 
soldiers who befriend them say it's a just reward for the humanity a pet 
inspires amid the inhumanity of war.

"It was hugely important," said Maj. Mike Fenzel, 36, the Elk Grove Village, 
Ill.-born paratrooper who became Bashur's guardian. "To have the first face 
you see as you take your gear off, this beautiful dog whose tail is wagging, I 
never understood the power of that kind of companionship."

Fenzel's unit, part of the 173rd Airborne Brigade, dropped into northern Iraq 
at the start of the war last year and pushed into the strategic oil city of 
Kirkuk. When part of the brigade paused in a green and hilly village along the 
way, an intelligence officer noticed something in the grass just off the road.

It was a tiny dog, apparently just a few days old. Fearing the dog would die 
if left behind, the officer bundled her into a Humvee and took her to Kirkuk. 
There, after getting some shots from an Army veterinarian - whose primary job 
was to monitor food safety - the puppy was turned loose on an airfield 
occupied by the brigade.

As many as 300 wild dogs prowled the base, a common sight in Iraq, where dogs 
aren't normally viewed as pets. But the puppy, named Bashur after the village 
where the paratroopers landed, seemed to long for domesticity.
Strong and quick, with the thick body of a St. Bernard and the narrow head of 
a hound, she planted herself by the field kitchen each morning, coaxing 
soldiers into handing over their breakfast scraps. Despite being shoved away by 
troops who regarded her as just another potentially diseased cur, she wouldn't be 
chased away.

"She just kept coming back into the building," Fenzel said. "I remember at 
one point working on the computer and looking down and she's between my feet. 
After a while, everybody just had an innate respect for this puppy's 
stubbornness, and before you knew it, she was the mascot for the unit."

FORMING STRONG BONDS
Soldiers in war have always formed strong bonds with animals, from the 
original Rin Tin Tin, a German shepherd puppy rescued by an American soldier during 
World War I, to the scout dogs who alerted grunts to danger in the jungles of 
Vietnam.

But the brass doesn't always share the fighting man's appreciation of 
battlefield canines. General Order No. 1, which bars alcohol, gambling and 
pornography among troops in the field, also forbids keeping animals. Capt. Bruce Frame, 
a spokesman for U.S. Central Command in Tampa, Fla., said that's meant to keep 
soldiers' focus on their mission.

Some officers don't enforce the rule - one Army publication's story about an 
adopted dog said, "Soldiers in a combat zone sometimes need an unconditional 
canine lick" - but others take a hard line. Margaret McLuskey of Kuwait's 
International Veterinary Hospital said a few soldiers have told her that their pets 
were confiscated and killed.

Officials at the Kirkuk airfield tolerated Bashur, but life there was still 
hazardous. Fearing that the dog population was getting out of control, the Air 
Force began to shoot strays. Bashur's admirers gave her a red collar with an 
"Airborne" patch, hoping it would spare her from the culling crew's rifles.

Vehicles on the hectic base struck Bashur twice, crushing a paw the second 
time. Fenzel rushed from a briefing at the news and found Bashur on the 
roadside, her head cradled in a soldier's lap. He picked up the dog that had grown to 
60 pounds and hustled her to his room, vowing to keep her if she recovered.

With the help of the unit's medics, Fenzel helped Bashur recuperate, and they 
became full-time roommates. The two grew so close that Fenzel could interpret 
her signals: A sudden upward look meant that rockets were about to strike the 
airfield.

ANIMALS FROM IRAQ
As the brigade's exit from Iraq drew near, Fenzel searched for a way to send 
Bashur to the United States. The World Society for the Protection of Animals 
estimates that 100 pets have entered the United States from Iraq.

Fenzel first tried the Air Force and private shipping companies, but all 
turned him down. He tried the Baghdad Zoo, which had helped other soldiers, but it 
had to stop shipping pets when Jordan closed its borders to Iraqi animals.

Finally, in February, a few days before he was to join a convoy to Kuwait, 
Fenzel got word that the International Veterinary Hospital could help.

McLuskey, the hospital's manager, said soldiers bring in at least one pet a 
week to send to the United States. It can be expensive, but she said the 
relationship between troops and their animals is often profound.
"Being away from home and families and living with danger all around ... 
encourages them to lavish love and affection on the dog or cat they befriended," 
she said.

After a 600-mile ride in Fenzel's Humvee, Bashur arrived at the hospital and 
got a government health certificate, a shipping crate the size of a Sub-Zero 
refrigerator and a $1,600 plane ticket to O'Hare International Airport. Fenzel 
said goodbye, and Bashur was on her way.

His father, John Fenzel, who runs a Chrysler dealership in Hampshire, Ill., 
met her at the airport March 5.
Now weighing almost 90 pounds, she comes to work with John Fenzel each day. 
Well-gnawed toys are scattered around the sales office, and Bashur often 
sprawls by the door, awaiting her next pat on the head. At home in Sleepy Hollow, 
she lolls in the backyard grass, pawing at bugs, seemingly amazed at this new 
world.

Mike Fenzel is back at the 173rd Airborne Brigade's home base in Vicenza, 
Italy, awaiting what seems likely to be another tour of Iraq or Afghanistan. He 
doesn't know when he'll see Bashur again, but keeps close tabs on her 
adventures.

"There were so many problems we had to solve (in Kirkuk)," he said. "To be 
able to come back to my room and have nothing else to think of, being able to 
pet a dog with very few needs, was so important. Her only need in life was just 
to be a friend."
    
    
 
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