thedrifter
08-26-07, 03:05 PM
Canines take on bigger role in combat
Vets take care of wounded dogs in war zone
By Jeff Donn - The Associated Press
Posted : September 03, 2007
When he came to, the Marine’s arm hung lamely. It was broken by ball bearings hurled so hard from a suicide 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. Blood poured from his chest.
“I didn’t care about my injuries, my arm,” his handler said. “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 service members. With noses that detect scents up to a third of a mile away, many sniff for explosives in Iraq. Their numbers have grown about 20 percent a year since 2001, said Air Force Capt. Jeffrey McKamey, who helps run the program.
Dozens of the 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 that wounded dogs are treated much like wounded troops.
“They are cared for as well as any soldier,” insists Senior Airman Ronald Harden, a dog handler in Iraq.
Their first aid comes out of doggy field kits with medicine, syringes and other supplies. Some dogs are evacuated to military veterinary centers, to Germany and the U.S. 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 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 took over. Poelaert departed reluctantly for his own surgery.
Flapoor — “droopy-eared,” in Dutch — would eventually go to Baghdad for more care of his punctured lung and belly wounds. He’d later rejoin his handler and fly to the U.S. for physical rehab.
Healing at Camp Pendleton, Calif., Flapoor is 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 said.
Dogs take their basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, where they learn to tolerate gunfire and helicopters. They are trained to sniff for explosives, freezing and staring at suspicious objects.
When commanded to strike, they can easily flatten a big man with one leap.
In Iraq, the demand for explosives-finding dogs has escalated.
The bombs have bulked up in past months, putting dogs and handlers at more risk. To protect handlers, some dogs are trained to wear backpacks with radios and respond to remote voice commands.
“As much as I love these dogs, their job is to take a bullet for me,” says Army trainer Sgt. Douglas Timberlake.
Care for wounded military dogs was more limited in earlier wars, and euthanasia typically awaited at the close of their careers — but that is changing.
Adopting working dogs
Since 2000, a law allows many to be adopted by police departments, former handlers and others if the dogs are placid enough. Tech. Sgt. Jamie Dana’s German shepherd Rex was plenty friendly but also young and healthy. The military didn’t want to let him go.
Rex ended up on an Iraqi roadway when a bomb blew the door off the Humvee he was riding in with Dana in June 2005.
He suffered little worse than a burned nose and cut foot, but Dana nearly died with collapsed lungs, fractured spine and brain trauma.
Dana’s days as an airman were over, but she missed her pal. Friends and family petitioned Congress, and a law was finally signed to allow still-able dogs to be adopted under unusual circumstances. Now, Rex lives on a farm with Dana.
Other dogs in the war zone aren’t so lucky. Although no careful count is kept, Army veterinarian Lt. Col. Michael Lagutchik, who supervises care at Lackland, believes about 10 dogs have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Injuries are common among the dogs. The most common injury is probably overheating from the desert sun, which can sometimes spur a dangerous stomach condition called bloat.
Less often, dogs on a mission get shot or bombed. Lackland trainer Trapanger Stephens, who did duty in Iraq, remembers seeing a vet rescue a shot dog with a breathing tube right in the field. The vet did surgery then and there.
Cpl. Megan Leavey and her dog ended up back at Camp Pendleton when another homemade bomb exploded in Ramadi. She got a concussion, and the animal hurt its shoulder. The dog underwent a regimen familiar to athletes: icing, heating, stretching and motion exercises.
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.
These days, he’s trying to move beyond memories of the Ramadi explosion, which killed dozens of people, including his best friend, fellow handler Adam Cann.
One image still inspires him, though: the sight of Cann’s wounded dog stretched over his body, as if to protect him.
Ellie
Vets take care of wounded dogs in war zone
By Jeff Donn - The Associated Press
Posted : September 03, 2007
When he came to, the Marine’s arm hung lamely. It was broken by ball bearings hurled so hard from a suicide 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. Blood poured from his chest.
“I didn’t care about my injuries, my arm,” his handler said. “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 service members. With noses that detect scents up to a third of a mile away, many sniff for explosives in Iraq. Their numbers have grown about 20 percent a year since 2001, said Air Force Capt. Jeffrey McKamey, who helps run the program.
Dozens of the 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 that wounded dogs are treated much like wounded troops.
“They are cared for as well as any soldier,” insists Senior Airman Ronald Harden, a dog handler in Iraq.
Their first aid comes out of doggy field kits with medicine, syringes and other supplies. Some dogs are evacuated to military veterinary centers, to Germany and the U.S. 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 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 took over. Poelaert departed reluctantly for his own surgery.
Flapoor — “droopy-eared,” in Dutch — would eventually go to Baghdad for more care of his punctured lung and belly wounds. He’d later rejoin his handler and fly to the U.S. for physical rehab.
Healing at Camp Pendleton, Calif., Flapoor is 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 said.
Dogs take their basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, where they learn to tolerate gunfire and helicopters. They are trained to sniff for explosives, freezing and staring at suspicious objects.
When commanded to strike, they can easily flatten a big man with one leap.
In Iraq, the demand for explosives-finding dogs has escalated.
The bombs have bulked up in past months, putting dogs and handlers at more risk. To protect handlers, some dogs are trained to wear backpacks with radios and respond to remote voice commands.
“As much as I love these dogs, their job is to take a bullet for me,” says Army trainer Sgt. Douglas Timberlake.
Care for wounded military dogs was more limited in earlier wars, and euthanasia typically awaited at the close of their careers — but that is changing.
Adopting working dogs
Since 2000, a law allows many to be adopted by police departments, former handlers and others if the dogs are placid enough. Tech. Sgt. Jamie Dana’s German shepherd Rex was plenty friendly but also young and healthy. The military didn’t want to let him go.
Rex ended up on an Iraqi roadway when a bomb blew the door off the Humvee he was riding in with Dana in June 2005.
He suffered little worse than a burned nose and cut foot, but Dana nearly died with collapsed lungs, fractured spine and brain trauma.
Dana’s days as an airman were over, but she missed her pal. Friends and family petitioned Congress, and a law was finally signed to allow still-able dogs to be adopted under unusual circumstances. Now, Rex lives on a farm with Dana.
Other dogs in the war zone aren’t so lucky. Although no careful count is kept, Army veterinarian Lt. Col. Michael Lagutchik, who supervises care at Lackland, believes about 10 dogs have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Injuries are common among the dogs. The most common injury is probably overheating from the desert sun, which can sometimes spur a dangerous stomach condition called bloat.
Less often, dogs on a mission get shot or bombed. Lackland trainer Trapanger Stephens, who did duty in Iraq, remembers seeing a vet rescue a shot dog with a breathing tube right in the field. The vet did surgery then and there.
Cpl. Megan Leavey and her dog ended up back at Camp Pendleton when another homemade bomb exploded in Ramadi. She got a concussion, and the animal hurt its shoulder. The dog underwent a regimen familiar to athletes: icing, heating, stretching and motion exercises.
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.
These days, he’s trying to move beyond memories of the Ramadi explosion, which killed dozens of people, including his best friend, fellow handler Adam Cann.
One image still inspires him, though: the sight of Cann’s wounded dog stretched over his body, as if to protect him.
Ellie