 
Raves for The War Dog Epic!

This usually isn't the type of novel I would read, but once I began, I couldn't stop. The adventures, both the soldier/dog dyad and the dog's amazing journey are well written and spell binding. A terrific tale that leaves one wanting more!

Vimala McClure

Random House Author

As a high school teacher, I will be using this touching and warm-hearted story in my classes to teach life's lessons to my students through real life drama. I am looking forward to more writing by Jean Vives.

Lisa Broderick

Napa, California

A great read-along chapter book, the characters and the setting draw you in and call to every reader to their own greatness with this story of heroism.

Carol Myers

Boulder, Colorado

On the surface, The Epic of Dexter is just one more man and dog story. When the reader delves deeper, however, this epic is more - much more. The core of the story is the bond between a soldier and his War Dog, a theme that hearkens back to Jack London's Call of the Wild. Best of all, The Epic of Dexter is a great read.

Barry Bley,

Westminster, Colorado

The book was a lot more than just about dogs and soldiers. It really drilled into the training of the dogs and their soldier masters. The book is a great story of determination and the will to survive and succeed following a terrible ambush that leaves dog and soldier injured and separated. A fantastic book! Enjoyable and exciting.

Christi Cantrell,

Aspen, Colorado

Other Books by Jean Vives

Hiking With Lamas

Backcountry Skiing

Ski Randonnee!

Snow Camping the Everest Way

Mountain Weather for Hikers

Mountain Weather for Backcountry Skiers

Copyright, Sept. 2015 by Jean Vives

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Create Space.

401 Interlocken Drive, Broomfield, Colorado 80021

Jean would love to hear from you! : j2vives@aol.com,

www.Facebook.com/dexterthewardog

Twitter: @wardogepic

Goggle: wardogepic.com

ISBN 978-1530840496

ASIN BO1BPKKEGTE

Layout and design by Jean Vives

Photographs from ThinkStock Images and Jean Vives

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents

  1. The Encounter
  2. Training
  3. Afghanistan
  4. The Incident at El Alzaref
  5. Captured
  6. Landstuhl, Germany
  7. Intel Briefing at FOB Alpha
  8. The Rescue
  9. The Homecoming
  10. The Quest Begins 
  11. The Lion
  12. Idiots, Snakes and Storms
  13. The Help of Strangers
  14. The Bounty Hunter
  15. Wolves Pick Up the Trail
  16. A Man Wearing Blue
  17. Desperate Crossings
  18. A New Battle Awaits
  19. Discovery
  20. Reunion
  21. Epilogue
  22. Notes
  23. Resources
  24. About the Author

Acknowledgements

A great book deserves great editors. Vimala McClure, Carl Schneider, Bruce Johnson and Barry Bley helped to shape it into a readable text. A big thank you to all those who have inspired and helped me along the way.

I dedicate this book to my parents and for all that they have given me
1: The Encounter

Staff Sergeant Marc Majors was drinking a double shot tall latte while sitting outside at his favorite off base Cafe in Colorado Springs. He was enjoying the bright Colorado sun and some time alone away from the family and work as a soldier at the Army's nearby Fort Carson - Mountain Post.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slender fawn colored dog approaching him begging him for some scraps. He had sad eyes and was frightened to come close. He approached anyway. He was hungry and hopeful that the soldier with the kind eyes and calm vibe would be generous. He was used to living on the streets. He ate what he found in trash cans and dumpsters. He occasionally caught rabbits that were everywhere in this town that was so close to the mountains. Strangers would often beat him just for fun. But he was starving and had to take a chance that this person would be different. He had belonged to a migrant family who had abused him. They chased him away before leaving for Texas to harvest the incoming crops. Dexter approached Marc with his head and tail low. He looked at Marc side- ways like a dog does when he 's not sure if he will get hit.

Sergeant Majors was a member of the K-9 unit in charge of base security. He had been working with dogs for nine years. He knew more about dogs than most people in or out of uniform. The young dog seemed to be in pain. Looking closer, the soldier noticed that the dog had several porcupine quills stuck in his nose. "Ouch! That must be painful," he thought. It would make foraging for food difficult for a street dog. The dog whined and tried to swipe at his nose as if thinking he could pull out the quills using his paws.

Marc encouraged the dog to come closer by offering him a small piece of doughnut. Marc saw that the dog was a Belgian Malinois. This was a breed that was developed as a sheep dog but more recently had become popular for military and police work. They were in demand due to their endurance, speed and the ability to acclimatize to hot weather.

The soldier said, "Well boy, here's a treat for you." The dog's eyes brighten as he took the morsel gently from the soldier's fingers. Suddenly, the owner of the cafe rushed out with a broom to chase the dog away. "Get out of here, man!" he yelled. He looked at the soldier and complained, "He comes by here all the time to get scraps. But, I've never seen him come this close before." The soldier told the shop owner to stop hassling the dog if he wanted him to be a repeat customer. The shop owner explained, "I could get a citation if the health department catches me with dogs on the property. There's a table just on the other side of the fence over there that you might like. How about a refill on your coffee!" Marc responded, "Sure, sure, I understand, it's cool!"

Marc got up from the table with the young dog watching his every move (as hungry dogs do). He sat down at his new table. The cafe owner poured him some new coffee with a smile. All was forgiven. The dog lay down at Marc's feet on the concrete sidewalk. Marc read the dog's well-worn dirty red collar. Hanging from the collar was a beat up nametag. It read, "D-e-x-t-e-r". "So Dexter!" Marc said, "My name is Marc! How do you do?"

Marc liked the dog. He seemed calm even though he was in pain and looked hungry. The soldier couldn't stand nervous dogs that barked a lot. A thought suddenly came into his head, 'would this dog be a candidate for the K-9 corps? ' There was only one - way to find out. He decided to take the dog back to base - only a mile away. If nothing else, he could get the porcupine quills taken out of his nose at the base vet hospital.

"Do you want to come with me, boy?" The dog's tail wagged. His eyes brightened, and he threw up his head playfully. The soldier got up and told the dog, "Come on boy! Stay with me!" The dog got the message. After all, if the dog remained a street dog, he would certainly be picked up by Animal Control and be impounded under poor conditions. The dog walked a few paces behind him as they went down the busy sidewalk on the way back to the base.

They had come to a pedestrian crossing that traversed a very busy avenue. It was approaching the noon lunch hour, and people were rushing everywhere. There was a heavy flow of cars and trucks. Marc wasn't paying attention. He was hoping to find a break in the traffic to cross the road quickly.

He was at the edge of the pavement and was about to run across with the dog. Suddenly, the dog ran up to him and seemingly without reason, he placed his body sideways in front of the soldier. Dexter wouldn't move. He persisted in stopping Marc from getting around him. He was blocking him from crossing the street!

"What's going on boy? We have to get across! Let's go!" he said with some annoyance. Just then, without warning, a huge yellow construction truck roared past kicking up exhaust fumes and dust! The truck driver was speeding and had gone through the stop - light!

Marc stood back in shock. He had to catch his breath. Dexter had just saved his life! 'This dog is one special animal," he thought. He had a quality that most candidates to the canine corps lacked, this dog had an invaluable gift - he had "street smarts," something that could not be taught. It had to be learned through the classroom of hard knocks by surviving on the streets with wits and cunning. As Marc bent down on his knees to pet the dog, the dog licked his face. Marc said to the dog, "Do you want to come home with me?" Dexter barked with enthusiasm. "Alright!" said Marc. Little did they know of the life and death dangers they would face together as they walked through the main gate of the Army's "Mountain Post" on that bright sunny after-noon. 
2: Training

Marc was 28 years old, from Boulder, Colorado. He was 5 feet 8 inches in height with brown hair that was prematurely thinning. He had a weight lifter's build. He had always been involved in sports. He especially loved skiing and football. As an accomplished ski racer, he was a member of his high school ski team and was on the volunteer ski patrol at the local ski resort outside of Boulder. Marc also played football in high school as a right tackle. His high school was ideally situated across the street from his house, which had a spectacular view of the Flatiron cliffs west of town. Marc lived in the nation's mecca of outdoor sport. Boulder and El Dorado Canyon were famous for rock climbing and every other imaginable outdoor sport. The city had become the outdoor sports retailer center of the nation if not the world. Almost every climbing and cycling company in the world had an office if not a headquarters in Boulder.

His dad had worked in high tech while in Buffalo, New York. With a promotion, the family moved from New York State to fill a position at a computer plant north of Boulder. His mom was an emergency room nurse who was small in stature but big on discipline. She made sure he did his homework. She didn't tolerate any messing around.

He volunteered for the Park Service during the summer. In the winter, he was a member of the junior ski patrol for the local ski resort. He spent much of his time finding gloves and hats that fell off in the out - of - bounds area under the ski lift. As a result, he became very service oriented. He had decided early on to make the Army his career. He signed up for the Army as an infantryman at the age of nineteen.

Marc did his first tour of duty during the first Iraq war as a combat soldier in an infantry division. He later graduated from Special Forces training at Fort Benning, Georgia. During his deployment in the Iraq War, he was shot in the shoulder. He was treated in a field hospital and released. He returned to active duty within a few days and received a battle star for valor in combat.

After that deployment, he left military service. He lived in San Diego to experience the beach life. During that time, he became an avid surfer and ocean lover. But he was a little shy and didn't socialize much. Marc was still a loner. One day he received a call from some military buddies who were heading to Afghanistan. They tried to convince him to join them on a new adventure. It didn't take much effort. He had not adjusted to civilian life very well. He felt best when he was with his "brothers" either on base, in training or battle. He re-enlisted.

He volunteered to be a dog handler since he always loved dogs and thought it would be cool to go into battle with a dog by his side. He was approved as a canine handler after passing a long and challenging course given by the Army at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas.

Later, he was stationed at the Army's "Mountain Post" in Colorado Springs, Colorado about 60 miles south of Denver, Colorado. He was a member of the base security and a trainer for the canine training center on the base. He was far away from the ocean his second love, but close to the mountains where he grew up. Also, it was his sheer luck that he happened to meet the love of his life.

Her name was Jill, an emergency nurse at the base hospital. She was originally from Chicago. Her mom was a combat nurse in Patton's Third Army during World War II. Jill was inspired to become a nurse by her mom's service. She enlisted in the Army to take advantage of the educational benefits that the Army offered. Jill was assigned to the Balad Field Hospital north of Baghdad during the first Iraq war and later at the U.S. Army military hospital in Kuwait as an ER nurse. After that assignment, she decided that she had had enough desert living. She stayed in the Army but moved to the mountains of Colorado. There she was assigned to the Hospital at "The Mountain Post" in Colorado Springs. She liked the fast pace environment of the ER, and she got the assignment she wanted near the mountains that she loved.

Over the next five years, Marc and Jill had two children: Billy and Anna. Many years passed on the base in his chosen profession as a dog trainer and security expert on the base. But Marc was still listless and wanted more adventure. Marc and Jill often argued about him returning to combat. He felt useless just doing routine tasks everyday. It was the excitement and camaraderie that he enjoyed in battle with his brothers. Marc decided if an opportunity came up to go overseas he would take it.

Marc wasn't gravely concerned about Dexter's porcupine quills, but he wanted to get them checked out anyway. Dr. Eden Phillips DVM was one of the best veterinarian docs in America. Eden Phillips was a big man standing six feet tall and even taller in his cowboy boots. He was an imposing man. His only weakness was for any animal large or small for whom he had devoted his entire life of medical practice and teaching.

He had helped to build the Fort Carson Army Vet Hospital into a world-renowned animal hospital that had affiliations with many teaching universities in America including the one up the road at Fort Collins, Colorado - the famous Colorado State University Big Animal Veterinarian College and its adjoining vet hospital.

For Dr. Phillips, Dexter's quills were a nice break from the more complicated injuries he was seeing on dogs returning from the Iraqi-Afghanistan Theater. He had been doing a lot of revisions of amputated legs and chest wounds on dogs who had been treated in the field and flown directly from Afghanistan to Fort Carson on the same planes that were carrying wounded soldiers. Military dogs were now important enough to get the same medical treatment as soldiers. Many dogs gave their all for their fellow soldiers. The lucky ones ended up at Fort Carson for surgery and rehab.

Dexter's nose was nasty. It needed a numbing - antiseptic spray before and after the extraction of the quills to prevent infection. The trouble with quills is that they have barbs on them that required a gentle touch to pull them out without too much damage to the nose. The doc wasn't a rookie at quill removal. He had grown up on a big ranch in Southern Colorado where the dogs were always getting into trouble one way or another.

Marc reassured Dexter that he was part of the family and that he wouldn't leave him during the whole procedure. Doc Phillips told Marc, "You caught these quills just in time before they got infected." The doctor carefully lifted the dog onto the examining table. "Well, big fella, where did you get these ugly things? Don't you know porcupines don't taste good?" As he was talking, he was gently petting Dexter around the ears distracting him expertly while the vet assistant injected some extra pain killer into Dexter's flank. Dexter didn't notice the needle at all, having been expertly distracted by the doctor.

"Where did you find Dexter?" the doctor asked. Marc recounted his meeting Dexter while he was having coffee. "Dexter was looking hungry and in pain. I couldn't leave him like that." "That's because you're a dog person Marc - always have been. Ever since I've known you." The doctor looked across the stainless steel examination table in the state of the art examination room with its radiant heated floors and LED low glare lighting. This was a room that could be turned into an operating room within minutes if needed.

Dexter's face was turning one way then the other looking at both men's faces at the same time with anticipation. "Doc, do you think Dexter has a chance at becoming a special operations dog? Do you think he would be a good candidate to enter the K-9 corps?"

"Well, you can't lose anything by having him take the screening tests. But you just met him. Get to know him some more. See how he gets along with the family. Military War Dogs (MWDs) need to have many talents. They have to get along with lots of different people from prisoners to babies all in the same day without overreacting. He's a street dog Marc, so don't get your hopes up. Some street dogs make great special ops dogs since they are so adaptable. Others have been so mistreated that they have anger issues that manifest themselves at the wrong time.

Dexter needs affection and good grub. We'll bring him up to date with all his shots. In the meantime, you can be filling out the application form for Dexter. You'll need to supply as much detail about Dexter's past as possible. The Colorado Springs Animal Control Office might have a file on him if he was impounded. The next scheduled screening rounds are in two weeks. They'll let you know if he's the type of material they are looking for in the special ops forces."

Dexter's ears perked up when Marc said, "Do you want to come home with me, Dex? Do yah?" Dexter barked with excitement and he almost seemed to be smiling.

Marc took Dexter home that afternoon. His kids ran out to meet them. They had been so excited ever since they received their Dad's cell phone call. His daughter's name was Anna, and she was six. His five-year-old son's name was Billy. Both were high energy happy kids growing up in the enlisted housing that was on the edge of the base's open space with the mountains beyond.

"His collar says "Dexter"! We love that name, Dad! It's fun!" Marc's wife Jill walked out to the front yard to see what the excitement was all about. She was wiping her hands from doing kitchen work and shaking her head in wonderment. "Oh, Marc! You didn't get another one did you?!" Billy said, "But mom, he's a Belgian Malinois--he's a special dog! The kids yelled in unison". "They're all special aren't they?" asked Jill, rolling her eyes. Marc broke in, "We don't have to keep him for long honey. He's going to K-9 school in a few weeks so he won't be a bother at all!" "Oh sure, honey, that's what you said about the other dogs. They were all 'special'." Marc exclaimed, "He's a very well-behaved dog aren't you Dex?"

Dexter knew they were talking about him. He barked twice with excitement. Jill said, "I give up! But you kids and your Dad have to give this dog a bath before he comes in the house!" Looking at Dexter's matted, dirty fur, she said, "Where has that dog been? Or maybe the better question would be, where hasn't he been?" She held her nose and walked back into the house.

Dad and the kids went into the garage and grabbed a pile of towels that had been collected over time while taking care of Marcs other 'pets.' They also grabbed some soap and brushes for the job at hand. It was June in Colorado and the sun was bright and warm - baking the front yard in brilliant light and warmth - a perfect day for a dog wash! They all helped to uncoil the garden hose still stiff from the long winter. Dexter was in for the shock of his life!

The first water coming out of the hose was freezing! Soon the warmer water hiding in the coils of hose made it out, and it was much more comfortable. Anna squirted soap on Dexter's back. Dexter had a quizzical look on his face that turned into one of pleasure as the kids sprayed him with water and then started to scrub his back with their little fingers. Marc was also washing and massaging him at the same time. Did that dog stink! They didn't have any particular dog soap, just the soap the kids used for their baths. Somehow, it seemed rather unbecoming to be washing a potential military war dog candidate with "Bubble Gum Candy" Soap!

That night over a hearty meal, Dexter felt safer than he had in many years. Humans often think that they are in danger of dogs. The reverse is true as well - dogs are fearful of humans. If the owner of the dog gives off a nervous vibe, the dog will learn from that and become paranoid of other dogs and humans. Dexter was used to sleeping in semi - dangerous environments. He was a street dog. He slept with one eye open at all times. Dexter had been through it. Would the recruiters-testers see that in him?

After the bath, the kids threw a tennis ball for Dexter. He loved it! The kids couldn't throw it enough. That night, Dexter slept on a blanket in the front room of a house for the first time in four years. Marc's family trusted him, and the feeling was mutual. He was on a blanket that the kids had put down. As he went to sleep, his tail wagged as each child yelled: "good night, Dexter!"

The next morning, Marc went to work at Base Security. He left Dexter at home to see if the dog would fit into his family. He called home at noon to find out that the kids were throwing the ball for Dexter. When Marc drove up the driveway after work, he found the kids still throwing the ball for him. Both the kids and Dexter were exhausted.

The two weeks before the special ops screening test went by quickly. The day of the screening dawned bright and sunny. It was a beautiful Colorado mountain day. This was the day for the dogs and their handlers to show their stuff. During the week, Marc had taught Dexter basic commands: "give," "stay," and "come." But that is not what the special operations screeners were looking for.

Marc didn't know it, but the kids had been doing the necessary work with Dexter just by playing with him. They had been reminding him of his built in instincts and skills. The kids didn't know that ball fetching and the desire to find the ball brings out the instinct called "prey drive"- an in born instinct of all dogs that is highly developed in service dogs. This was the natural instinct of a dog to chase a rabbit, a wolf, a man. Dexter had it in spades. He was obeying and following the kids. Dexter decided on his own to do so and had developed loyalty to his new family. He even allowed himself to be picked up and carried around by the kids - was a good sign of socialization. Dexter passed the screening tests, and Marc was chosen to be his handler! Both Dexter and Marc would undergo specialized training for military dogs and their handlers.

The family, especially Jill, celebrated that night because Dexter would be there to guard Marc on his next deployment. Of course, there would be months of training in Colorado, Texas and San Diego where water training took place. His name tag and collar were replaced with an Army standard issue collar with literally a metal "dog tag" that was covered with numbers. His name was not present. Only Marc and soldiers close to him knew Dexter's name.

The examiners had seen a lot that they liked in Dexter. His street smarts were observed by the trainers/screeners as a highly developed environmental awareness as was witnessed when Dexter stopped Marc from crossing the boulevard on the first day they met. His adaptability was built up by developing survival skills during his life on the streets. This involved learning to live in many different densities of people and different types of people - whites, blacks, drug addicts, kids, teen - agers and adults of all kinds and ages.

The training Dexter was going through wasn't a big stretch from the way he was already living on the streets. He had to be comfortable in tight spaces and high places. Dogs are not immune to vertigo or claustrophobia. These skills were taken for granted or ignored by the public. However, these were the skills that were important to the military.

According to Mike Ritland, a former SEAL member and special ops dog trainer in his book "Trident K9 Warrior" (1), it had been estimated that only 1% of any given dog population has the drive and instincts to pass successfully the SOF (Special Operations Force) training (2).

In San Diego, Dexter learned how to swim long distances with special operation teams far from shore. Sometimes, they swam so far that they could no longer see land. This freaks out many dogs causing their swimming motions to become confused and ineffective. In some extreme cases, dogs try to climb on top of their handlers as if they were islands. This presented a drowning hazard. Such behaviors could significantly reduce the stealth of a planned silent attack on a ship or a fixed water target such as an oil rig platform (3). This places an entire team into great danger if a position is compromised. It took Dexter many miles of swimming with Marc in the pool before he was ready for serious ocean swimming. Coming from a higher altitude gave Marc and Dexter an endurance edge since they were used to high altitude training. This gave them the stamina to handle strange water environments to which they were not accustomed.

Other training scenarios involved rappelling out of a helicopter at night with the dog in a special harness that clips onto the handler's pack harness. Stepping into space under whirling chopper blades is not a natural thing for man or beast. Jumping out of an aircraft at night is worse.

In addition to bomb detection, the dog's second job is also to physically protect his master and others against the enemy. He was trained as an attack dog with one twist. He did it silently - there would be no barking or growling if the enemy environment did not call for it.

During some scenarios, the dog is shown how to take down a bad guy. In one lesson, Dexter was taught to run directly into the victims mid-section. Dogs are trained never to leap at the enemy since exposing their underside can give the enemy an opportunity to shoot or stab the dog in the underbelly during an attack.

The most favorite exercises for the dogs involved biting. Dogs are trained to stay aggressive during the apprehension of a bad guy. Dogs are taught to bite and hold until commanded to release by the handler. In more advanced "bite training," the target may start to hit the dog or throw the dog to the ground. Even then, the dog must not let go of his bite until his trainer commands him to. Some dogs can handle this type of fighting and some cannot. This type of determination can be taught if the exercises are escalated in a stepwise manner. This is where the violence is increased gradually over many weeks.

Since that fateful day upon entering military training, Dexter had proven every bit as capable as Marc had thought he would be. Dexter was a Belgian Malinois that came from a long heritage of farming work dogs known for their endurance and ability to go without water for extended periods of time. Belgian Malinois dogs, like Dexter, are highly regarded by the military for their capacity to withstand hot weather extremes such as the ones encountered in Afghanistan. They are great runners on broken terrain. They have bodies that are built for speed by having an oversized aorta, the main blood supply to the heart. This feature allows the Malinois to go from a standstill to full burst speed in milliseconds since it allows the heart to instantly deliver massive amounts of oxygenated blood to the muscles. The Malinois can sprint across an open field at full speed, catch up with a bad guy and bring him down even if he weighs 200 lbs. They had been known to chase and kill a wolf attacking a flock of sheep for which they were bred in the first place. They are not big dogs but while up on their hind legs they can reach the top of a mans shoulders. They have tall pointed ears that have been shown to be more sensitive to sound. The Malinois is a dog that is perfect for military or police work.

They love to play fetch - the - ball. It is that instinct called "prey drive" that makes them well suited for being trained to find IED land mines. That same "prey drive" that a dog is naturally gifted with is made stronger through training. This makes the dog hypersensitive to many different scents including explosive residues and "marker chemicals" that allow inspectors to detect bomb making materials (4).

Marc and Dexter were always playing ball. Sometimes, Marc would hide the ball under the sand and make Dexter find it. This was fun, but it was also an important part of his training as a bomb-sniffing dog. Sometimes, Dexter couldn't locate the ball. If that happened, he would walk slow circles around Marc. These circles grew bigger in size. It was a search pattern that helped him cover a lot of ground in a short period of time. Sometimes, Marc played tricks on Dexter by hiding the ball in his back pocket! Dexter learned that trick fast and always checked there first before starting a comprehensive search around Marc.

Dexter learned to handle the noises of gunfire and explosions by being exposed to guns and explosives on the firing range and during life-fire exercises. He was also trained to obey both verbal and hand signal commands when silence was required (5). Dexter learned how to stay quiet for extended periods of time. He needed to obey his master instantly as if his life depended on it - as indeed it would. Nothing could prepare him for war: the sights, the smells, the sounds: of blood, of death. That time was approaching

Marc and Dexter were inseparable, and the family fell in love with him immediately. War Dogs don't always need to be "ON." These visits helped the dog to know the difference between military and non - military situations. Marc's kids - Bill and Anna showered Dexter with love at their first meeting. As the days passed during that long lazy summer, they came to love Dexter even more. They loved Dexter because he acted like a sponge for their love. The Army had warned Marc and his kids in turn not to get too close to Dexter. After all, war was dangerous; there was the chance of their dog getting killed in action.

In the past, Marc would disappear on classified missions; the kids never knew where he was going. Would he come back alive? Would he come back injured? Those were the big questions for the children. Those were the worries that hung over their heads and hearts. Would Dexter come back when he left with their dad? Would he survive? After all, he was trained to find bombs! They understood his function, but they were in denial that anything could happen to their dog.

During those long training missions that their dad would go on, the kids had found a great companion and listener in Dexter. They found a four legged playmate and guardian that could feel the sadness in their souls when their dad took on the Special Forces assignments with the K9 teams.

The kids liked to play with Dexter during those long summer days under the Colorado sun. They played keep - away with the ball, the kids throwing it back and forth in the yard or the house. Dexter usually got the ball away from the kids, and then they would chase him. He got them to run one way and then the other way driving them crazy! But they loved it!

Dexter was a military dog, so more often than not he slept on base. This was very disappointing to the kids. Dexter had to get used to the daily rhythm of the base. He also had to learn how to socialize other soldiers besides Marc. He had to get along with a lot of different types. Some of them didn't like humans, let alone dogs - they viewed dogs as objects, as pieces of gear. They needed the dogs for protection - to keep them alive during patrols in enemy territory. Aside from that, they didn't care if the dogs lived or died.

The training for going to war continued daily at the base obstacle course where they trained with other soldiers and dogs. Dexter spent the waning days of summer with the family just hanging out at home. On one particular day, Marc and the kids were on the grassy front yard playing ball with Dexter. From down the road, they spied a red, white and blue post office truck approaching the house coming up the road through the heat haze rising off the hot asphalt. A mail carrier got out and handed Marc a plain manila envelope for which he signed. The kids had seen this scene before, and it was something they had hoped never to see again. But it was happening again: Marc and Dexter had received their sealed orders for combat duty in Afghanistan.

Marc's family knew that this day would come. They had prepared themselves the best they could emotionally, but it was not easy. They had come to love Dexter. After dinner that evening, the family was gathered in the living room. Marc told them that it was time for him and Dexter to leave. Each member of the family grieved silent tears. They all hugged each other. Marc said a prayer: "May the time away from my loved ones pass quickly and safely. May Dexter and I return with all God's speed to the family that I love."
3: Afghanistan

FROM THE DEPLOYMENT NOTIFICATION: "SOLDIERS ARE TO BE ON THE TARMAC AT 0400 HOURS IN FULL BATTLE GEAR." Hundreds of fully outfitted combat troops were lined up to load onto massive heavy-lift C-17 air transports. The war was about to become real. The sober flat gray painted transport jets were lined up in rows. In the growing dawn, the tall tails of the cargo jets looked like the dorsal fins of so many Orca killer whales.

The flight would be a long one, taking two days. There was a stop over for fuel at the large U.S. Airbase on Guam. Meals were served to the men by orderlies in the commissary group. After what seemed forever, they finally landed at the primary operations U.S. Airbase at Kandahar, Afghanistan just outside the city. The weather was hot and quiet.

Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a hot hair dryer. It was 130 degrees. When they walked across the asphalt tarmac, it was so hot that pieces of melted tar stuck to their boots. They were led inside to a huge hanger where they would claim their gear.

Several things that take place during the arrival process. The combat battalion and their equipment were offloaded. This time they were equipped with new heavily armored Humvees that had additional steel plating under the floor. The whole body of the truck was also raised one foot or more off the pavement. This gave the explosive power of an IED more room to disperse.

A convoy was formed, made up of personnel carriers and fully armed Humvees that had turrets mounted with 50 caliber machine guns. These were stationed at the front, rear and middle of the convoy. There were also Blackhawk attack helicopters flying overhead providing force protection against a possible ambush from the sides of the road that they would travel. They headed into the desert toward Forward Operations Base "Alpha." Marc and Dexter had arrived in Afghanistan.

The forward base was built like a medieval fort with massive six - foot thick walls. The main fortified door was made of two layers of one-inch steel that slid sideways and overlapped on two metal tracks that were operated manually or mechanically as was the usual case. Marc and Dexter were assigned to take up patrol shifts at night around the perimeter of the camp with two other soldiers. The chances of a frontal attack by enemy combatants were small, but anything could happen and often did.

Life in the camp was pleasant and relatively safe. Marc and Dexter slept together with several other soldiers in a huge barracks tent. During the day, they played with the ball. Always the ball. Searching for the ball. "Where's the ball, Dexter?" This was a question that would become one of life and death before it would be all over. Naps were taken - during the afternoons when the sand temperature measured 140 degrees. Their time at the base was a period to adjust and acclimatize to the sights, sounds and smells of this particular base - since they were all different.

Dexter often slept on the floor next to Marc. At night, when there were strange noises coming from the surrounding desert. Dexter's ears would perk up. Dexter wasn't the only one listening hard to sounds in the night. Marc, like many soldiers, often stayed up late into the night staring at the ceiling of the tent, just listening. There were some sounds of the desert: small night birds and the usual howling of jackals in the distance. There was snoring coming from other soldiers. There was the muffled sound of a generator nearby that was used to make the base's electricity. Marc had received orders for their patrol. They were to be inserted into a Taliban stronghold on the next moonless night that was just a few days away. It was going to be a significant operation. On the day before the operation, Marc was nervous and was hugging Dexter. Dexter licked him. Marc missed home and feared that he would not see it again. 
4: The Incident at El Alzaref

It was 0200 at the desert base. Even at that early morning hour it was still hot from the day before. The camp was alive with troops gearing up. There were very few words spoken. Rifles and side arms were loaded. Ammo bags were checked. Camelback water reservoirs were topped off. It was as if everyone was communicating psychically. After all, these men had been together as a unit for five years - they knew what the other guy was going to say before he said it.

Blackhawk helicopters were warming up on the tarmac. The Special Operations Unit was comprised of Marc, Dexter and thirty other Army Rangers who were chowing down breakfast rations and coffee. It wasn't "eating," it was more like refueling. The soldiers were reloading their bodies in the same sense one reloads a gun with ammunition. The chopper flight would last one hour to a jump off 6 kilometers. from the target. El Alzaref was a large village that was known as a Taliban stronghold. Everyone knew it would be well defended.

Meanwhile, in the skies over the target, a Lockheed RQ-170 drone was sending real-time video to the Kandahar Operations Center using night vision video cameras monitoring enemy movements on the ground. The Target Packet would include overhead surveillance of the battlefield via satellite before and after the initial contact with the enemy. This would help the U.S. Forces a great deal. The only problem with satellites or drones is that they were not 100% accurate when the battlefield is obscured by smoke or cloud cover. The night was clear and moonless. Like the U.S. forces, the enemy was not sleeping.

A quiet tension had descended over the aircraft once the helicopter had taken off. It was a dark moonless night. Inside, the aircraft's interior was illuminated with red lighting so that the eyes of the soldiers could adjust more easily to the ambient light once on the ground.

These men were professionals who had done this type of operation many times. The only sound was the calm, meticulous "pilot-speak" broadcasted throughout the aircraft on everyone's ear buds: "Coming right two degrees, rotor speed 1500. Come left four degrees, speed forward 2, speed stable at hover, holding position."

In the low red light gloom of the aircraft, Marc was already placing a muzzle on Dexter. Dexter was used to this by now. It didn't bother him. It wasn't because Dexter had been bad. It was a requirement in case a dog gets anxious and is tempted to bark or bite. It was only natural under the circumstances where the lives of so many men would require absolute silence.

It was silent in the cabin except for the sounds of metal on metal - carabiners (snap links) being locked onto descending devices in preparation for the roped descent to the ground. There was also another louder metallic sound - the sound of so many rifle safeties being clicked to the "OFF" position.

Just before stepping to the doorway of the aircraft, harnesses were tightened, including the one Dexter was wearing. Dexter had done this before. It was always awkward to move to the edge of the aircraft door and get out the door. But, once they were free - hanging, ropes and descending devices for the rappel to the ground could be more easily organized.

Marc and Dexter were now on the rope descending smoothly down and away from the aircraft. They were dropping into the darkness - only accented below by a constellation of red headlamps of troops already on the ground. Looking east, the sky was dark with no hint of dawn. Dexter was shaking, and Marc said, "Take it easy boy - it's going to work out." Marc knew he was lying to himself and Dexter. Dexter's shaking wasn't from the cold. He could feel the vibes coming from his master. It was fear.

It was a long two-hour hike with fifty-pound packs to where they planned to infiltrate the city. There was no moon - just the way special op troops liked it. As they approached the outskirts of the city, Marc suddenly saw a Taliban sentry turn towards their direction. If he gave the alarm, their whole operation and the lives of many men would be in jeopardy. Dexter was with Marc, with the remainder of the men spread right and left in concealed positions.

Marc took Dexter off leash. He commanded Dexter to "Hit and Hold." Dexter knew the command. He quietly weaved his way through the desert bushes staying hidden until he was almost 10 yards from the unsuspecting sentry. He suddenly blasted into a high-speed charge. Dexter didn't growl or bark. He silently hit the sentry in the stomach like a bullet, knocking the wind out of his lungs. The guard's mind didn't even have the time to send a neural signal to his fingers to fire a warning shot. Dexter laid on the terrified sentry and showed his teeth. When Dexter was holding an adversary down, he was no longer the friendly pet that Marc's children had known. He turned into a blood- thirsty maniac! It would scare any captive: The dog growled from deep inside his body. His teeth chattered from tension and the huge adrenaline rush that he was experiencing. His jowls were quivering. Drool was leaking out of from between his sharp pointed teeth landing on the Taliban's face.

Even Marc had to be careful as he approached Dexter when he was in this state of agitation. It was a "Jekyll and Hyde" transformation that he had practiced to perfection. Marc quietly said "Good Boy Dex. You did a great job." He petted Dexter's back and side slowly to calm him down. Dexter suddenly stood down and sat by Marc's side. The prisoner was in shock. He stared at Marc with terror. Marc gagged the prisoner's mouth quickly. He placed plastic handcuff ties on his legs and hands. So far, so good.

The call to prayer had begun. The Taliban were, if nothing else, prompt. Therefore, it must be 4 am. The sky was filling with sunlight even though the actual sunrise was many minutes away. There was enough light now to move into the village and find the Taliban forces that they thought would be there. They infiltrated the deserted village. Marc was standing on a corner of a building with Dexter by his side. It was already so hot that sweat dripped off of Marc. Some of those drips were landing on Dexter's nose. Dexter felt Marc was worried and tense. He pushed Marcs legs with his torso. It was his way to tell Marc to relax and stay loose. "Thanks for the reminder, boy. But something about this doesn't feel right." Suddenly, a calm but a resolute voice whispered into Marc's radio's earplugs, "Move to the east two blocks; they know we are here and are trying to outflank us!"

As Marc and Dexter moved their position, the sun came out from behind the mountains. Even though the sun was buried behind the smoke of village fires and heat haze, the intense temperature increase was sudden and energy sapping. The radio was crackling - calling out positions of enemy fighters. It was also prayer time. The call for prayer was going out over the loud speakers of the Mosque in a deathly droning melody.

The patrol was moving down a long alley that was strangely deserted. The waves of heat coming off the sand would have blurred a camera lense if there had been anyone filming Marc's patrol. There was a sudden crackle on the radio earbuds. It was louder this time. The other patrol had made contact with the enemy! Marc could hear the small arms fire. The Taliban patrol moved through another alleyway 200 yards to the east and had run into the other American patrol.

Dexter was with Marc walking "point," i.e. taking the lead. This was Marc and Dexter's job - to find IED's before they killed or injured the U.S. forces following them. They were the pathfinders. If there had been a camera in front of Dexter and Marc it would have seen them in front of thirty combat troops working their way up an alley widening into a larger dirt boulevard. The U.S. forces were taking cover in deep door- ways as they went.

As they progressed up the boulevard Dexter sensed an IED close by. Marc would be happy if he knew Dexter had made a "find." Where was the ball? Where was it? Where was that ball? Dexter sensed that Marc was playing a game. Marc was standing on the very ball that Dexter was trying to find. Marc was very dehydrated. The lack of water in his system caused an imbalance of electrolytes and minerals, causing his body and brain to go into a mild shock typical of sunstroke. He didn't know that his judgment was confused. He wasn't standing on a "ball" this time was he?

Dexter suddenly jumped on Marc's chest pushing him backward off the mine. The IED blew up. There was flying dust, dirt, nails and metal fragments whistling through the 130 degree air at over 500 mph. The blast engulfed Marc and Dexter. Both Marc and Dexter went airborne from the explosive force of the blast. Their eyes were closed tight against the swirling wind and dust. The blast wave expanded out from the bomb casing as pure power and air concussing into Marc's body pushed the blood up his veins like a tidal wave into his brain where it hit his cerebral cortex like a tsunami smashing and tearing brain cells and arteries like paper. All they heard was a numbing loud ringing in their ears that enveloped their whole being.

When the rest of the unit heard the explosion, it dispersed into side buildings and alley ways to establish firing positions. Those few seconds that Marc and Dexter had given them allowed them to ready themselves for the vicious incoming attack from the well positioned Taliban forces.

They had walked into a Taliban ambush. Now the hunters had become the hunted. The U.S. patrol was surrounded. A cannonade of machine guns, grenade launchers, and small arms fire went off at the same time. The noise of battle was deafening. Mortar shells, hand grenades, and rifle launched rockets were sweeping the street. These Taliban were battle hardened and laid down merciless small arms fire on the U.S. troops. Taliban machine gun fire was shattering the dung colored buildings splintering pieces of plaster off the surrounding brick walls.

The leash went limp. Dexter and Marc had been separated. In the explosion, Marc had been blown one way. Dexter had been blown twenty feet in the other direction right into the side of a building. The dog was trapped under rock and debris after the explosion. The troops would have to leave him for now. 
5: Captured

Marc's blood was all over Dexter. He could smell it - the smell of blood of the closest human that he had ever learned to protect was all over him. If the dog had been human, he would have felt that he had failed to protect Marc. Dexter had barked at him. Marc had either not listened to him or did not hear him. Dexter tried to tell him. It hadn't been enough. Just that one time. But, one time was one time too often in this weird game of "hide the ball".

Grief came over Dexter. Within him, there was a great sense of emptiness. Marc wasn't there anymore. He was now alone! With all the shooting and explosives going off, it felt as if a brick wall had fallen on top of the dog. Which is exactly what had happened. Dexter was very sore and confused. He was buried by a pile of dirt and dust. A combination of drool and blood was running out of his mouth. His eyes were stinging from the dust and explosive materials in the air.

Dexter continued to hear the sound of the blast as if was being replayed over and over again in his head. Dogs are not immune to concussions having very sensitive hearing already. It was deafening and numbing at the same time. Behind him, there was someone digging the dirt off of his body. They grabbed what was left of his leash and were dragging him away.

He snarled in anger and fear. He snapped at his captors. He was held down by strong hands, and his mouth was duct taped closed. He didn't have the power to keep up the fight. He had a hard time breathing with all the dust and blood in his nose and mouth. Plus, he had not drunk any water since the morning before the battle began half a day ago.

He was shaking, and his body was icy cold. Why was his master gone? He was traumatized from the attack. The firefight was continuing. Dexter could see helicopters coming and going under cover fire from the Special Forces unit. Everyone was leaving except for him. Dexter was now behind enemy lines!

"He's my dog!" "No, he's mine!" yelled the kids. He was now a prisoner. He had been captured by a small group of teenagers who were aspiring Taliban. They wanted him alive for the reward money that was being offered for American dogs by the Taliban. They removed his collar with its name tags and put a rope around his neck. They threw his collar into the hole in a pile of bricks that they had dragged Dexter from. At that moment, there was not much hope of a rescue by American forces. They were probably still engaged in the fight. Perhaps, they didn't even know Dexter was gone.

The kids kicked him and argued over who owned him. He growled and resisted as much as possible. He was out numbered, and he knew it. They pulled him by the rope that was around his neck. The kids delivered Dexter to the Taliban soldiers. Everyone was laughing at him. In Afghanistan dogs were animals used to protect the sheep flocks from wolves. They were considered beasts of burden. Dogs were often beaten just for fun. Dog fights and gambling on those fights are common. They were not considered "pets" as we know them in Western countries. They were found to be unclean and stupid. It has been said that if a Muslim touched a dog, they would be unfit to pray to Allah.

Everyone was loaded into the truck except for Dexter. They pulled Dexter behind it. He could barely keep up. He fell once, then was dragged. They pulled him through the dirt, and everyone laughed. He got back up and kept running even though his captors didn't slow down. They were happy that they had killed so many of his fellow soldiers. Now, they were working on killing Dexter in bits and pieces. He was their source of entertainment. They finally stopped and placed their "entertainment" in the truck.

The dirt and sand mixed with the blood on his coat had turned his hair into a bloody crust. The road was rough. The truck's cargo area was covered to ward off the sun but super heated air still blasted in from the road. After many hours, they came to a rest stop in the middle of the country where they would make camp for the night. Dexter had gone to sleep in the truck due to his extreme fatigue. He had lost track of time. It was now nighttime. He could smell food cooking somewhere. He was starving. Dexter was given some green water in a bowl and a dirty old bone. There wasn't much on it.

The Taliban fighters ate lentils and rice in filthy wooden bowls that used to look like wood but now were black with grease, dirt, sweat, and soot. Dexter was tied to a tree. He laid on the ground and immediately went to sleep. It didn't last long. Dexter was awakened with a boot to his groin. Night had past too fast for rest. The sun was rising, and they were moving again. They were back in the trucks driving past bombed out villages, burnt orchards, and destroyed vehicles. Was it ally collateral damage or was it the Taliban? Did it matter? There was destruction everywhere in Afghanistan from a long history of warfare extending as far back as Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great up to modern day horrors such as the Russian invasion and more recently the Taliban. And we mustn't forget American airpower that contributed its fair share to the destruction.

They were heading higher into the mountains. Soon they were driving through a small village. Locals hid in their houses as the Taliban convoy drove by. This village was a well-established and ancient trailhead for the many trading routes that converged there. The village had several dilapidated teahouses. This had been an old rest stop for merchants coming from China on the Silk Route a thousand years ago. Now, it was weapons traders who came to exchange weapons for opium, drugs and cash.

The ancient trail systems had been used by the powerful and the poor. There were hardly any roads through these rugged mountains. Alexander the Great had even used the trails in his attempt to subdue Afghanistan, "The Graveyard of Empires". These mountain trails were the Afghanistan "highway system" that led from village to village through the many river gorges and mountain passes.

The trucks suddenly stopped at the outskirts of the village. This was the end of the road. Everyone got out of their vehicles. From now on, the Taliban patrol would be traveling on foot. The patrol formed a long line of hooded men carrying Kalashnikovs and rocket launchers. They began a well-paced trek up a very steep mountainous river valley trail. They climbed all day in the intense high altitude sun surrounded by towering snow-capped mountain peaks. The Taliban patrol sang in unison to maintain it's pace as it hiked higher and higher above the loud torrent of the river that was far below. The air was getting cooler as they climbed. For Dexter, this was another day that passed in pain and fear. It didn't seem like the group was any closer to their camp. Dexter had been dragged and hassled all day. The sun was starting to set when they finally saw the tents of the camp.

The camp had been a herder's camp before it became a terrorist's base. It was well organized. There were supplies of wood. Feed for the horses was stored in separate covered stalls, which protected it against the rain. There were rows of dirty tents that use to be white.

The warriors celebrated their victory over the American forces. It had been a big triumph. Adding to their jubilation was the fact that they had captured an American military dog. They paraded Dexter through the camp like a trophy. Out of fear and anger, Dexter attacked a fighter but was beaten for his trouble. They could have stabbed him. They wanted Dexter alive.

In the camp, young kids threw rocks at Dexter just like their elders had. They laughed at the dog and kicked him at every opportunity. One morning just before he woke up he felt a trickle of water on his face--it was warm and it stank. Some Taliban soldiers were peeing on him. He awoke with a snarl and barked in fury. The Taliban fighters ran away laughing their heads off!

That night was one of celebration. There were many bonfires for barbecuing meat. Everyone was drunk and on opium. Suddenly, a large group of men gathered around Dexter. They were yelling and jabbing Dexter with long pointed sticks. A huge man that looked like a commander came forward mocking Dexter with words of kindness saying how beautiful and strong he was.

Slowly, the Taliban leader pulled out a huge knife that shined like a mirror in the campfire's light. He poked Dexter with it as if he were a piece of meat. He asked him what he should do with him. "Should I kill you? Should I torture you? Should I just let you go? Oh no, my pet. I have a special treat for you."

Suddenly, three big men grabbed Dexter. They threw Dexter to the ground. They duct taped his mouth close. They pulled his tail straight behind him. They were going to chop off his tail! 
6: Landstuhl, Germany

Marc had not been conscious when he was found on the battlefield. He was flown to the field hospital at FOB Alpha where he was triaged. It was determined that he must be flown to the Military Hospital at Landstuhl, Germany for treatment. Marc was airborne in a hospital bed located on a C-17 transport. The cargo plane had been converted into a flying hospital, one of it's many configurations. He had tubes running into his arms and leg. He reached down to scratch his right leg, but it wasn't there. It had been blown off when the IED was detonated. So, this was the mysterious "phantom pain" that many of his wounded friends had talked about when they had lost limbs.

Marc was numb from the incidents of the last 48 hours. His dog Dexter was gone. Just by his presence Dexter had been a balm on his soul against the blood and gore of war. With his licks and barks, he had brought Marc's mind out of the ugliness of war and surrounded him with the unconditional love that only a dog can give. But no longer. No one knew anything about Dexter. The debriefing reports from the battle front stated: "no evidence of an Army dog was detected on the battlefield of El Alzaref."

Parts of the leash that was around his wrist were found. The leash broke from the heat of the explosion. The last thing he remembered was that Dexter jumped on his chest just as the IED exploded. That action saved Marc's life. Now, the dog was Missing in Action (MIA). The battlefield had been searched with no results. The Taliban had often captured dogs; teenagers usually stole them for the reward money they could get from the Taliban. Had he been caught by some Afghan kids who wanted the reward money that the Taliban were offering?

That was in the past for right now. Marc had to concentrate on healing himself. Landstuhl Medical Center had been built by the Department of Defense and the U.S. Army during the 1990's as mandated by the "Reorganization of the Military" directive. The hospital had 310 beds and was the largest military Level One Trauma hospital outside the U.S. under the U.S. Army Medical Command. It was within nine miles of the huge U.S. Air Base at Ramstein. The transport hub of the airport and the locale of the hospital made for a good fit.

The hospital itself was just outside of a small town of 9000 citizens located in the Kaiserslautern District of the Rhineland-Palatinate in southwestern Germany. The hospital was well known for its organ transplants that military donors had given to other soldiers and the public citizenry of Germany.

Most Americans only know of Landstuhl as a fleeting bit of information given on news reports of injured soldiers coming out of the war zones of Afghanistan or Iraq. For some, Landstuhl would be as far as they would get. Many more would survive due to the proficiency, military precision, and emergency-trauma knowledge that the medical corps there was famous for. Since it's opening, Landstuhl had handled over 30,000 wounded soldiers with severe battle injuries that spanned the gambit from heart attacks to double amputations and worse.

Once Marc left Landstuhl, he would be transferred to the burn unit at Brooks Army Medical Center (BAMC) in San Antonio, Texas. Brooks was known for its 24/7 burn flight team (BFT) that can go anywhere in the world to transport a severely burned soldier back to the States.

Marc was lucky that this unit was on station when he arrived at Landstuhl. His blast injuries weren't as bad as some other soldiers who were burnt over 30 % of their bodies. He was reviewed by the BFT team anyway to make sure his wounds were stabilized and on the mend. Marc would accompany the military transport that was taking the BFT home to Brooks Army Medical Center.

The military had a strange way of flying back to the states. Marc and the BFT team would backtrack to Afghanistan to transfer to a larger transport plane that would be flying the established route from Kandahar-Japan-San Diego Toro Military Airbase. From there he would travel to Joint Base San Antonio where the Brooks Burn Center is located. With time, he would eventually be transferred to the Mountain Post Hospital at Colorado Springs.

The transpacific flight had been uneventful. Marc had never laid down for so long nor in one place for such an extended period. His joints were killing him. Volunteers helped him move through the transfer terminal at San Diego along with his gear.

He arrived in San Antonio where he was admitted at Brooks. He began Physical Therapy almost immediately. Marc had lost his right leg just below the knee. His prognosis was good since he was strong and motivated. He gained some solace that many prosthetic designs would fit on the stump that was once his real leg. It would not be an easy rehab process for Marc. His hands had been burned in the explosion. Marc was a big guy of over 200 pounds, most of it muscle; it would be hard to practice the walking exercises between the omnipresent and hated parallel bars. But he had to do it. He was outfitted with specially padded gloves that fitted over the bandages on his hands.

One day he was the only one in the rehab gym. There was an all-encompassing silence that enveloped him in the inner sanctum of his physical struggle. Often, when he was exercising, he had great pain in both of his legs - not just the surviving limb. His whole being had been traumatized in the blast. Both mental and physical pain wracked his body. He wished Dexter was there to give him comfort and company. Suddenly, at the end of the parallel bars ramp, he saw his old friend. Dexter was right there. "Hi, boy! How are you doing?" Dexter went from a sitting position to a standing position. His big tongue dropped out of his mouth. He barked with excitement. "Quiet boy, do you want us to get into trouble? I need your help boy," Marc said. "Your old buddy is a bit beaten up. Can you stay with me a while Dex? I just need your company. It's like, I'm always alone. You stay down there, and I'll try to walk to you!" Marc made himself move his hands down the parallel bars. He moved his amputated leg- "Left leg, forward," he commanded. He pulled his leg and the temporary artificial leg through the bars. Dexter was waiting for him at the end of the parallel bars, prancing back and forth with excitement!

Marc struggled, sweat pouring off his face and down his arm. "Now, right leg forward." He pulled and muscled his right leg through. It was a painful process with his burnt hands. Dexter whined seeing Marc's pain. Thank you, Dexter, my beautiful dog. Thank you for coming to me!" Marc had been leaning over all this time concentrating on his movements. But, now he looked up. Dexter had disappeared.

He almost cried. "I hope he comes back. I need him so much." Suddenly, a woman Physical Therapist came into the gym area. "How are you doing soldier? You made it all the way down! Good job! Now, you need to make it all the way back to the beginning. You know you can do it--YOU KNOW YOU CAN!"

Marc would have to stay at Brooks for at least two more weeks before he could be transferred to the Fort Carson Military Hospital at his home base. He was in a ward of approximately 20 beds, all taken by fellow soldiers. Marc had the combination of wounds that were the blight of many soldiers returning from the wars in Afghanistan: face and head injuries from IED shrapnel. Also, there were arm and leg wounds also from direct IED blasts at close quarters.

Marc would go through several operations to make sure his injuries would heal as they should. The skin cuts had been closed quickly in the field by medics and cleaned at Landstuhl. Now, there would be more precision cosmetic closures that would use much smaller needles and very thin caliber sutures. This would result in a wound that would heal tighter and thinner, and would give the wound a better chance of healing leaving a minor scar.

So, there was Marc in his hospital bed. Hospitals are not known for being fun places. He did have a bedside television with headphones, so that helped. Boredom, immobility and pain medication can do weird things to an injured person.

One afternoon, Marc was laying in his bed with stark white sheets. He suddenly noticed bright red blood leaking ever so slowly out of the stump that used to be his leg. It was such a slow leak that someone would have difficulty seeing it growing.

Marc had time. He wasn't going anywhere. The soldier was so drowsy that he fell asleep. Upon waking, he saw that the stain had moved an inch across the stark white sheet. Then, he noticed that it was making a pattern. It looked like the state of Idaho. As time past, it morphed into the state of Florida. Before he knew it, dinner was ready.

His favorite nurse showed up to check if he was ready for dinner. "What have you done to your bed? There's blood everywhere! We're going to have to put you into a wheelchair while we change sheets and check your stump to see why it's leaking." Marc felt like a kid that was being scolded. He knew that the stunt had been a bad idea. He apologized profusely. He wasn't perfect after all.

Being treated and having the will to survive work together. Just because you are being treated doesn't guarantee anything. Many are the stories of rescued survivors who later lost the will to survive. Marc felt alone without Dexter but somehow knew that the dog wasn't dead. He knew how resourceful Dexter was. If the dog were able to find a way home, he would return to him.

In the meantime, Marc was in a sterile white environment where his own blood and pus were staining the sheets and stinking up a perfectly good hospital room, he thought. His wife and children decided to wait for him to return to Colorado to give him more time to heal. He had been in communication by phone and by Skype with his wife, Jill. She had seen his injuries. As an emergency nurse, she had seen it all before. But now the patient was her husband.
7: Intel Briefing at FOB Alpha

There were several lines of thought in command circles concerning the present disposition of the military dog known as "Dexter": The dog may have been released on purpose by the handler to "search off leash". For some reason, the dog never returned during or after the battle even though military dogs are very loyal and are trained to stay by their handler. Perhaps the dog's handlers leash had been blown apart allowing the dog to be lost in the surrounding battle debris.

In the past, the military viewed military war dogs (MWD's) as pieces of equipment - no more, no less. That view was changing as the value of well trained military dogs was becoming appreciated. Their training and capabilities were now classified if not secret information. In the case of a dog missing in action, a lack of acknowledgment from U.S. command would give U.S. forces more time to locate the dog and coordinate a rescue. If there were too much radio traffic about a "dog", it would make enemy forces search even harder for the dog, complicating search and rescue attempts.

Several theories were suggested: Perhaps the dog was temporarily incapacitated and could not move under its own power to return to his handler and his unit. There was also the remote possibility that the dog was killed. Was the dog somehow captured during the firefight by enemy troops? There were no easy answers.

The dog could be suffering from a concussion from the many blasts that followed the initial IED explosion. After all, it occurred at the beginning of the Taliban ambush. Little did they know that the dog had indeed been injured. His fur had been burned during the explosions. His left ear had been blown in half from shrapnel taking with it the identification tattoo inside the ear. Additionally, his paws had been scorched from walking on burning debris from the explosions that occurred during the battle.

To the astute enemy commander, military dogs aren't just dogs. Military dogs are information. Just the presence of dogs could be an indicator of the importance of the mission that the enemy was undertaking. Additionally, the dog's military markings could be used to determine if the force was a Special Forces recon unit or a standard Army patrol.

The capture of dogs was not acknowledged by the Taliban believing that it would prompt a U.S. attack. Muslims had a strange view of dogs. They were held in distaste. They were not viewed as pets but rather as dirty beasts best used for protecting sheep. Dogs are often beaten and chained just for fun. Even touching dogs or being close to dogs made their hands impure. In their eyes, this would make them unworthy to pray to Allah.

Dogs were also used for gambling. Dog-fighting matches were popular in Afghanistan. The dogs would be placed in a ring and made to fight. This was supposed to be against the Muslim religion. However, the Taliban did not follow their religion as closely as much as the outside world had come to believe.

Dogs were useful in other ways that made them valuable to the Taliban. They could be used as "suicide bombers" when they were outfitted with bomb vests that could carry IED'S. Dogs were perfect for this purpose since American troops loved dogs. U.S. troops often welcomed dogs no matter the situation. From a distance, any U.S. soldier would have a hard time detecting a dog wearing a suicide vest carrying plastic explosives. The bomb could then be triggered by cell phone. By the time U.S. troops saw the bomb package on the dog, it would be too late.

The Taliban hated American dogs. Taliban fighters had been ordered to kill the American dogs first before shooting at U.S. troops. The bomb-sniffing dogs were the ones that made their IED's ineffective. It was the ability of the dogs to find IED's that had indirectly cost them the lives of their soldiers. Military dogs were treated as fellow soldiers and were not going to be left behind. The dog was as much a soldier as the humans he went into battle with.

Special Ops planners at Alpha Base were designing a plan to recover the dog known as "Dexter". Patrolling drones had found a dog, hopefully, Dexter; in a suspected Taliban camp located at 11,000 ft on a prominent ridge high above the old trading town of Adabbah. Analysis showed that this was the same Taliban faction that had indeed ambushed the U.S. forces at El Alzaref. The decision to recover the MWD known as "Dexter" had been approved by South East Asia Command. The plan was a "Go".

The special ops unit would be flown to a drop off point six miles above the Taliban camp after sunset. They would then hike to the camp to arrive at the camp at 0200 in complete darkness. Many of the soldiers in the team knew Marc and his dog Dexter from his stay at Alpha Base. They were looking forward to revenging the deaths of fellow soldiers, the capture of Deter and the near fatal injuries received by Marc.
8: The Rescue

This would be a dangerous mission. As the Blackhawk helicopter warmed up, the six special ops soldiers loaded their weapons and packed on armor as if they were going on a holy war. This wasn't about a dog. It was about revenge for the friends killed in the ambush at El Alzaref.

The ridge that the Taliban stronghold was located on became a knife edge ridge higher up. In addition, real-time video showed that there might be up to fifty enemy fighters present. Entering the camp would be easy. Escaping the camp wouldn't. High mountain winds would be unpredictable and choppy. The Blackhawk chopper struggled. Even getting out the door would be difficult. If it got any windier, they would have to abort the mission. The first man's task was to find a spot on the knife edge where the team could assemble. A trooper descended the rope into the darkness and wind looking for a place to get his boots on. His boots landed on the rock but were jerked off by an upward lunge of the chopper due to the sudden winds. He flew over a 4,000-foot abyss as if on a trapeze. He waited until he was on the rock again. This time, the winds were calmer, and he was able to get a foot - hold. He put in some climbing anchors and let out some slack in his rope in case the chopper moved again. The engines of the Blackhawk whined and howled in the tempest. The trooper held the rope steady while his team - mates descended. They quickly joined him on the prepared ledge where they all clipped into the anchors provided. They had survived the first part of the mission.

It would take hours to get to the Taliban Camp. There were no trails. It was bush whacking all the way. The GPS coordinates of the Taliban camp showed that it was five miles away. The sergeant calculated that they would arrive at the enemy camp at 0200 hours. The moon was still in retrograde. There was only starlight to guide them.

The special ops mountain troops knew how to move fast on alpine terrain. The GPS coordinate numbers of time and space ticked down as they approached the camp's location on the sergeant's GPS wristwatch display. Now, they were 1 km away from the camp. Now, 100 meters. Now, the target was in sight!

The special ops team came up over a small hill. Looking down through the thick trees they could see a big bonfire. The Taliban warriors were drunk on Johnny Walker Red and high on opium, celebrating around the campfire and pointing at Dexter.

Commands came over the ear buds - "Two-three spread right. One-four spread left". The special ops team was small yet deadly. They had come a long ways and were not leaving without Dexter. The commander was Sergeant Chuck Phillips. He had been in special ops for ten years. He knew Marc and Dexter from his training days in San Diego. He wanted to get Dexter back and would kill to do it.

They moved carefully through the forest so as not to step on dry branches that would make noise and alert the enemy of their presence. Phillips suddenly came close enough to the camp to have a clear view of the Taliban fighters. He saw that they had Dexter on the ground.

All the men wore night vision goggles. However, the flames from the bonfire produced flashes and glare in the lenses. Phillips couldn't see precisely. Even though he was frustrated, he stayed calm and took off his night vision lenses and sighted through his rifle - scope with its infrared targeting system. There was no time to think. His instincts made the calculation - "bright metal = sword + dog = shoot." He aimed at the Taliban's forehead. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The swordsman suddenly froze, his eyes wide in shock. Slowly he lost his grip on the sword and fell over like a big tree. Suddenly, all the U.S. weapons ignited in a silent unmerciful barrage on the Taliban camp. The U.S. guns were fitted with silencers to confuse the enemy by masking the noise and location of the weapons firing on them. The killing was quietly coming from unknown forces - from unknown directions - of unknown strength.

The live drone video was being monitored at Kandahar Headquarters. On the overhead flat screen monitors, special ops planners watched the whole slaughter unfold with satisfaction. The images looked like an old fashion negative due to the night vision technology of the drone cameras. It showed the Taliban falling dead like so many rag dolls. Silencers had their uses.

The killing was not reserved just for the elders but also for the terrified teenagers who were firing blindly into the woods the most aggressively. It was a one sided attack on the ambushers who had killed so many U.S. soldiers at El Alzaref. They had met their fate.

The U.S. forces finally stepped out of the forest into the light of the bonfire. They entered the burning camp. All the Taliban were dead. It had been a devastating attack. No, it wasn't just about a dog. It was about revenge.

A soldier carefully removed the duct tape from around Dexter's mouth. He gave the dog a sideways hug as he sat next to him in the dirt. The soldier noticed that his left ear had been blown off. The left ear had a tattoo bearing an identification number so Dexter could be found more easily. But, it didn't matter. The soldier began petting and comforting Dexter. The soldier said, "It looks like they took it out on you, didn't they, buddy? Well, we paid them back, you can be sure of that!"

The soldier and dog circled the perimeter of the camp. Taliban bodies littered the ground. They walked past the body of the slob of a man that had tried to cut off Dexter's tail. Dexter stopped and peed on his face.
9: Homecoming

The flight from Brooks Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas to Colorado Springs, Colorado was a short one. Marc was very excited and a little afraid of how his family would react to his injuries: a lost lower leg, and significant scaring on his face from shrapnel. Plus, he had all the psychological symptoms of PTSD. This plagued all combat soldiers on their return to the states. They had been relatively happy before his deployment, but what would it be like now? He prayed hard that all would go well.

For hours, he watched the heartland of the U.S. go by under the wings of the C-17. This was the land he was fighting for. This was the country that so many soldiers had died and suffered for. There were good people down there. Simple people who worked hard everyday to make a living in every imaginable trade possible. He was proud to be a soldier. Suddenly, he saw his home mountains that he loved the most: The Rocky Mountains above Colorado Springs, his hometown.

The wheels touched down at 1300 hours. He had seen videos of other homecomings: the cameras, the wives and husbands hugging and kissing. Would he and his wife be hugging and kissing?

He was worried. He was a different person and was scarred inside and out. He was missing a leg and in a wheel chair. Jill knew all about that. Marc had warned her via Skype. She had seen his face and wasn't intimidated. She was an emergency room nurse at the base hospital and was used to caring for hurt soldiers all the time. She knew what to expect.

The ramp was lowered on the aircraft. His wheelchair was held in check by a flight nurse. He reached the tarmac and was wheeled to the elevator. He was getting more nervous by the second. He thought his heart would burst with anticipation and anxiety. He was in the elevator and felt the floor lifting higher and higher. Suddenly, the elevator doors opened. There was a huge burst of clapping and cheering. There was his wife. Their eyes engaged--she still loved him--she understood. How could he have doubted her? His kids were there too. Anna and Billy locked eyes with him. He could see their love. They were jumping up and down with excitement. He was incredibly relieved and so grateful. The families were finally allowed to go to their soldiers. Jill, Anna, and Billy rushed over to him with flowers. They hugged and kissed him. They told him how much they missed and loved him. They were glad to have him home again. Their father and mother hugged for a long time. She had missed him deeply.

They had also suffered from this war as well. Marc had forgotten that they too had gone through a private hell of not knowing if their loved one was alive or dead. In all his concern about how he was feeling, he had forgotten about the traumas they had gone through.

He didn't know that Army representatives had arrived at the family's front door saying that Marc had been severely injured but was still alive and being cared for in a military hospital. The family also asked about Dexter. "He's missing in action right now kids," the Army caretaker stated. "But, if he is alive, the Army will find him." The kids cried over Dexter's loss.

Marc knew that there would be many challenges along the way including a new way of living. The house would need to be remodeled to make it handicapped friendly. He now needed a ramp to get up to the front door. Metal grab bars would be installed in the shower. Wooden grab bars would be installed everywhere. He would learn how to use a metal pole that had a pincher on one end and a pistol grip on the other end. With it, he would grab items in the kitchen cabinet that he used to get when he was able to stand upright.

The Lions Club and other charitable organizations helped veterans returning from Afghanistan. In the following months, they donated construction labor and materials. Marc felt frustrated that he couldn't help the construction crews working on his house. He had never had to ask for help before. It was tough to ask for it now. Thankfully, the hospital and the military had an outreach program that cared for the individual needs of their wounded warriors. He didn't have to ask. It was a given on the base where he lived. Because he wasn't the only one and therefore he wasn't alone. There were many men and women in his situation. The Mountain Post took care of it's own.
10: The Quest Begins

Dexter watched the Black Hawk helicopters coming in to pick up the special ops team that had rescued him. The unit would return to FOB Alpha where they were based. FOB Alpha was where Dexter and Marc had started as well. There was a ritual that all troops went through upon their return to base. They were "debriefed". Drone video of the firefight and the dog's rescue were examined as if it were NFL game tape.

Even if they knew the identity of the soldier handler, it just wasn't a priority for the military to spend time and effort to reconnect a lost dog and soldier. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and the healing effects of a soldier's dog didn't even register in the Army's consciousness at that time in history. The military had a lot of dogs and handlers, and they weren't going to make a big deal over one dog and one man. Because of that, a massive black hole in the military database opened up and swallowed them up.

They read the reports of the battle that Dexter was in, and they could see that the handler was gravely injured by an IED. The ensuing firefight had lasted most of the day. Marc was not conscious when transported to the field hospital at the forward operations medevac center. Sergeant Marc Majors had then been flown to the Landstuhl Regional Military Hospital in Germany the same day that he had arrived at the FOB Alpha.

In the ocean of military red tape, Dexter and Marc had lost each other. Dexter now became just another military dog with a new assignment and a new handler. His new master was Sergeant Jeffrey Hunter. He was a good man and a dog lover. He even gave Dexter a new name: "King." Since his dog collar had been buried by the Taliban on the battlefield and his ID tattoo on his ear had been blown off during the battle Dexter didn't have an identity. Sergeant Hunter had just finished the military dog handler course at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. Now, he and Dexter would get to know each other. Over the weeks on base, he helped Dexter to regain his health and strength. The many small wounds gained during the firefight had finally healed with time.

Dexter's tour of duty was coming to an end. The unit was going stateside. Winter was coming to the southern hemisphere. Military operations were slowing down due to the increasing snow on the higher passes and the rain down lower in the valleys. This affected both sides of the conflict. It was time to go. There were several days of packing and decommissioning equipment. The day to fly out finally came. Huge lines of men and materiel were formed on the landing strip at the military air base at Kandahar, the main Army base in Afghanistan.

Their unit was loading up for the last time. The base was closing. The American footprint in Afghanistan was getting smaller. For most of them, the next stop would be the Toro Air Force Base north of San Diego, California. This was the main air base for the military near Camp Pendleton north of San Diego.

The return flight from Afghanistan to the United States mainland was as long as the initial flight to Kandahar. The aircraft of choice for the US military was the C-17 transport. They carried a lot more than a 747, but they also flew slower. They used more fuel as well so that an extra stop for refueling was needed. The transport was built to carry tanks and trucks. It could also be reconfigured to carry passengers as well, when an artificial floor and seating was installed. Dexter was placed in a large canine transport box. He was loaded into an area at the rear of the cavernous aircraft behind the troops.

During the flight, Jeffrey snuck back and visited Dexter to be sure he was OK. He would only give him small amounts of water and food due to concerns that he might get airsick. He scratched his ears and reached into the transportation cage to rub his stomach. Jeffrey was very kind to Dexter and was growing attached to him. Jeff knew that his family would love Dexter as well.

From Afghanistan, the flight again landed on Guam for refueling. In-flight meals were loaded onto the plane for the long nine-hour trans-Pacific hop. The trip seemed endless. Two days of flying made everyone tired and a little irritable (as any international flyer can testify). The flight ended at the Toro Naval Air Base north of San Diego. The plane was parked on the tarmac. The massive rear door was lowered, and the ambulatory patients disembarked first. Then, litter attendants came on board and offloaded the bedridden patients. It was a long walk from the aircraft to the next terminal. As Jeffrey and Dexter walked through the Military Terminal, a strange thing suddenly happened to Dexter. His senses had picked up the smell of a hat on the ground behind some chairs in the waiting area. He dove straight at a crumbled soldiers cap. He got it in his mouth and wouldn't let anyone take it from him. "What do you have, boy?" asked Jeffery. When he tried to take it from Dexter, the dog growled. The dog knew that the hat belonged to Marc. Jeffrey figured the dog just grabbed it to make it into a toy.

Dexter sensed that Marc was alive. How else could the hat have ended up in the military terminal so far from where they had been? The dog only knew the passage of time and space as a part of instinct and memory. Dexter had picked up the scent of his master. The scent was not that old - maybe several days at that. If Marc had been killed, his hat would not have ended up in that terminal.

How animals precisely "feel" about humans is unknown although most would align it with the perception of "love". Do animals feel emotion? Researchers are exploring canine perception more than ever due to the growing roles that dogs have in military, police and civilian search and rescue.

Research at Emory University has shown that the strong distinctive scent of the dog's owner "lingers like perfume" in the dog's brain. According to Gregory Burns of Emory University in Atlanta Georgia, "When humans smell the perfume or cologne of someone they love, they may have an immediate, emotional reaction that's not necessarily cognitive. Our experiments may be showing the same process in dogs. But since dogs have so much more olfactory capacity than humans (their sense of smell is 100,000 times that of a human), their responses to odors would be much more powerful than the ones we might have." Burns adds, "Canine brains can be triggered by something distant in time and space. It shows that dog's brains have these mental representations of us that persist even when we're not there." Another interesting fact was discovered in his research: Dogs which had received training as service dogs showed greater acuity for the scent of a familiar human as compared with other dogs (6)."

There are many stories of pets traveling thousands of miles on quests to find their masters and loved ones who for some reason left them behind (7, 8). Animal behavioral science and everyday media provide us with many examples of the miracle of "psychic" navigation that may yet be explained in the future. Dogs can only obtain information through their senses and instincts that are indeed powerful. What other talents do dogs have that we are not aware of? Could emotion and instinct combine to build a bio - psychological map that would pull Dexter towards Marc?

Dexter would have to trust his instincts like never before. He didn't "know" but he could "feel" in his body and mind that there was a direction that he needed to go. Dexter's internal compass "knew" that he would reach him by seeking out the energy of the rising sun. Even in the darkness before the dawn, there is an energy that radiates electromagnetic waves from the east. So, it was towards this energy that Dexter would go.

Army Rangers are taught how to travel undetected at night. Dexter had also chosen to travel at night, it being the safest time to travel. Military dogs have often been termed "guardians of the night" since a dog's night vision is far beyond that of a human. According to Paul Miller, Ph.D., clinical professor of Comparative Ophthalmology at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, dogs pound for pound have a larger pupil than humans. Their retinas have more light sensitive cells that work better in dim light. Dogs can see perfectly in light that is 500% dimmer relative to the human eye. Additionally, in the dog eye, the lens is located closer to the retina responding better to lower light. But what is different in the dog eye is the "Tarentum" that acts like a mirror reflecting light back into the retina giving the retina a second chance to register the same light twice (9).

Dexter's time with Jeffrey's family had been healing. Jeffrey's kids and relatives had loved him. Their home overlooked San Diego and the Pacific Ocean and backed up to the coastal open space that extended inland to the desert. Dexter didn't know how far Marc was from him, but it felt like a great distance.

The time had come to begin Dexter's quest - to find Marc. One night, he found an open window. He jumped. His senses and his heart were pounding as he jumped through the open window. It was if he was jumping through a "time portal." One life was ending, and another was beginning. He was now entering an unknown world. The green grass was moist and soft on Dexter's paws. The soreness that wracked his body for so many months was still there due to lack of exercise. His war injuries were still healing. The horror of the past would always come back to remind him of where he had been. Looking backward wouldn't tell him where he needed to go. He had to move forward.

He was on his way. Whatever the obstacles, he was determined to find his master. He could sense him as a very, very faint pull. Still, that pull was unmistakable. To him it was real. All Dexter had to do was to let go and trust his instincts. The first few days on the trail were confusing since he was not used to traveling alone. He also had to get used to navigating by his senses. He was trying to avoid people by staying in wilderness areas and local parks. This would reduce the possibility of capture or worse. After a few days of moving east, he felt more clear-headed and physically stronger.

Dexter traveled mostly at night. That's the way he had been taught. He was also taught to go around people, machines and man-made obstacles without being detected. There were always metal fences to get around or under. There were tracks of steel where huge locomotive monsters with blaring lights and blasting horns came and went. He wasn't frightened by loud noises. After all, he was used to the din of Humvees, tanks, and bombs. These new noises and lights were just different - they didn't scare him. His training made him very focused on getting around these obstacles and onwards to his objective. The miles and days passed slowly.

Dexter lived off the land. There were streams and roadside gutters where he could sip water. There were mice and rabbits that he easily caught when he was hungry. At night, Dexter saw the eyes of animals all around him. He was not afraid. Dexter felt that he was not alone. His master Marc was always there beside him, instructing him on what to do next. Marc knew how to travel quietly and quickly through unknown and hostile environments and had transferred much of that knowledge to Dexter.

Dexter had been trained with Marc to go beyond his normal capabilities. He was always scanning his environment for danger. Humans were definitely on the top of the threat list while animals were at the bottom. Humans were the most dangerous foe of all. He sensed and scrutinized the ebb and flow of the air with great acuity as if he had radar. From the "radar" came a returning vibration of knowledge that gave him a "go" or "no-go" signal.

One late night, he was skirting a housing development in the hills east of San Diego. A car slowed and stopped suddenly on the road above him. A bright beam of light came on and was searching the scrub bushes for something. Was Dexter that "something?" A large man with a black uniform got out of the car and shined a powerful Xenon flashlight in his direction. Another police officer continued to search the thick mountain sagebrush with the car's high-powered searchlight. They had been radioed to look for a military dog described as "a muscular slender Belgian Malinois that was smart and cunning." Dexter fell to his stomach and flattened out under the thick brush. He froze. The light scanned right over the top of him milliseconds later and then it was gone. He had not been seen. So far, so good.

Suddenly, Marc appeared in front of Dexter. He was bending down in front of Dexter. His hand reached towards Dexter's face to pet him. He felt the gentle hand of his master. Marc began to speak. "Dexter, you are doing great! Good job! Remember how I showed you to back up on sand by pushing with your front paws? Do that now - you aren't playing a game this time. The police will keep looking for you. You have to get out of here!" Dexter stopped and became very quiet as if he willed himself to disappear. He stayed low and crawled on his stomach in reverse. After twenty feet, he got up and ran away as fast as he could.

Dexter was now approaching the great deserts of the southwest. The smells were different, the noises were different, but after Afghanistan, it was just another desert to Dexter. He was getting used to traveling at night. The canopy of stars overhead rotated brightly above him. The stars were so bright in the clean arid air that he could easily travel by starlight alone. The night had quickly passed its mid point and was now moving towards the dawn. Before the actual rising of the sun, animals can detect the radioactivity that is felt before any sunlight is seen. This pulsating electromagnetic force is felt strongly. This is their dawn--the sunrise of the animals. It comes in advance of visible light by an hour or more. It warns the night animals to return to their nests where there is safety. Above, flying predators such as hawks and owls flew low over the ground looking for breakfast. Like the night animals, Dexter was tired and searched for a good bivouac spot for the day. Dexter looked hopefully for the dawn.He found a thick clump of bushes with grass beneath it. He laid down to rest. 
11: The Lion

He slept all that day and partly into the night. The terrain was changing from arid hill country into desert. He was crossing more sandy and rocky terrain. It was 0300 hours when Dexter suddenly realized that he was being followed.

There was movement on the ridge above and behind him. It was a big cat - a desert cougar. This was not good. Desert Lions are very territorial, and this female was ready to defend her space, especially if she had new kittens to protect. Because it was spring, that was a real possibility. It was still dark, and the light was hours away. She had seen Dexter crossing a ravine on his journey east. The lion was hungry. Her kits needed feeding. The cat was being cautious, stealthy and looking for a meal. A cougar is a formidable foe, and it would take some quick thinking by Dexter to stay out of its way.

There was one chance for escape. Dexter could sense a body of water ahead. A river? He wanted to run and hide, but there was no place to run and hide. There was only one to get away from this cat - he must cross the water ahead. There were two questions: Could he make it across the open space between him and the river fast enough to evade the cat? And once in the river, did he have the strength to outswim the cougar? It is a popular myth that mountain lions don't like water. Unfortunately for Dexter, wilderness cats are excellent swimmers and are not afraid of water.

There wasn't much of a choice. This was a battle of survival for both of them. Dexter would have to outmaneuver the cat. She was circling behind Dexter. She wanted to get to a high point so she could see him better and make sure he couldn't escape.

Dexter wasn't without plans of his own. He could play the same game. He planned to outflank the cat and make her think he was not going to the river. He would backtrack on his old tracks and circle behind her. This way he could get the upper hand. In effect, the hunter would become the hunted. It was his only chance. It was his last chance.

The dawn was approaching. The chirping of birds and the movement of other animals were replacing the silence of the night. Background noises could blur and distort sound. But it worked both ways - both of their movements would be less detectable to the other. Dexter made his move.

He ran from behind her, but Dexter's theory didn't work this time. She sprinted like lightning attacking the dog from the side right on the edge of the water. Soon they both were in the water rushing down the raging river. The lion's sharp claws and teeth dug into his tired body.

The cat's teeth and claws felt like needles and razor blades. It wasn't the pain of the attack as much as the sudden shock of it. Also, they were both going from a very hot environment into cold water that had recently been spring snowpack days before. They were both trying to survive the frigid and turbulent waters while trying to kill each other at the same time. Both were gasping for air and trying not to drown.

The pain suddenly drove Dexter's adrenaline into overdrive. He had to either out swim the lion or kill her. It was him or the cat. Dexter felt like he was suddenly having an out of body experience watching the whole fight go on. It was as if he was in a helicopter or a drone right above the fight. He heard the thrashing, snarling, yelping and screaming. The lion's breath was in Dexter's face. It smelled like blood and sweat. Their bodies were twisting around each other trying to get a toothy grip into each other's wet fur.

Dexter refused to be stopped by this monster. He bit into her ear and pulled as hard as he could. It came off! The dog tasted warm blood. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and grabbed her face. He bit as hard as he could. One of his big teeth dug into her eye. He tasted more blood. Suddenly, the cat backed off. She swam away towards shore to tend to her wounds. Dexter was safe from the cat, but he was still in a fast running river.

Dexter swam hard and kept looking for a spot to get out. He kept paddling. All he could see was rocky cliffs. Wasn't there a beach that he could climb out on? The water was picking up speed as it rounded a bend. The current pushed him into an eddy pool and finally a beach. He made it to the opposite shore. He laid down on the sandy beach and rested. Now, the sun was finally coming up. The warmth of the sun would heal his cut and beaten body. He had just crossed the Colorado River.
12: Idiots, Snakes and Storms

The rivers edge evolved from beach sand into coarse desert sand. It stretched off into the distance to the east. Dexter was still in a semi-arid area and not in the extreme desert environment - yet. There was still the occasional water from small springs. Dexter was in the Palm Desert south of the Sierra Mountains. For many days, he saw no one. The picture was one of a solitary dog crossing the desert with the backdrop of the far-distant mountains to the north and east.

Suddenly, humans appeared. They came out of nowhere. It was very late in the afternoon. The air was hot, but the sun was descending slowly, and the promise of cooling was in the offing. The humans were on ATV's and motorcycles. They were racing around the desert leaving a cloud of dust behind them. They were shooting their guns at anything and everything. They had the music cranked up, and both the beer and marijuana were flowing freely. They were right in Dexter's path. He needed to travel from one low point on the desert to the higher desert plateau. In short, he needed to cross the open plains of sand dunes that the ATV's were tearing up without being shot.

They finally spotted Dexter. He would be great sport if they could track him down, but his luck was holding - so far. They were coming fast over a dune but didn't see the cliff until it was too late. Their dune buggies flew off the cornice of the sand dune and flipped over and crashed. They were drunk, and now they were angry. They shot bullet holes into the ATV's they were driving. They weren't hurt except for their pride. "Now, where is that wolf?" they all said in unison. They started scanning the terrain and caught a glimpse of Dexter -- just enough to fire off some shots. They weren't even close but close enough so that Dexter didn't want to hang around.

He had buried himself under the shelf of a stream bed overhang. As far as they were concerned, he had disappeared into the desert vastness. They wouldn't be able to find him unless they got off their machines and started a systematic search of the area on foot. In their drunken state in the extreme heat they were in no shape to search for anything, let alone go on foot in the 100-degree weather. Dexter was safe. He pressed on.

Dexter by himself made a pitiful yet noble sight if seen from 1000 yards out. There was a dog by its lonesome. Behind him was the space of desert stretching to the mountains beyond. The extreme space, void, and silence was peaceful, lonely and daunting all at the same time. The heat of the desert sand rose in liquid waves. The dog was tired and hot from the day's sun.

Often, while walking in the desert, Dexter would feel Marc's presence. Marc would often appear to Dexter, walking beside him, just to keep him company. The desert void around them was silent, endless and seemingly inescapable. Marc sounded worried and somewhat angry, "Dexter! Dexter!" Dexter heard Marc and looked to his side. He saw Marc and was overwhelmed with joy.

Marc said, "Dexter, you must travel later in the cool of the night. It is too hot right now. You have not drunk in days! You will not get far in this heat." Dexter thought he was seeing Marc. He didn't know about mirages, but he did believe in Marc. He was not obeying his own rules - walking during the night and resting in the heat of the day. After a few minutes "Marc" disappeared. Dexter's loneliness became worse when "Marc" left him. He was determined to continue regardless of his misery.

Dexter would often travel in old riverbeds or "wadis" as they were called in Afghanistan. They were natural walkways since the bottoms of the riverbeds had been packed hard into sidewalk firmness over the millennium by yearly flash floods. This hard surface prevented one from sinking into the sand and made walking easier and more efficient. Also, there weren't as many thorns and stickers since the wadis were more solid rock than sand.

Military patrols had often used wadis in Afghanistan as a means of traveling. This would give them a lower profile if they were being watched. This tactic presented less of a silhouette to enemy snipers that were looking for targets. However, the enemy had picked up on this trick and often buried many IED's in these areas because they knew that the U.S. patrols would be using them. It was a natural trap that many American soldiers had unknowingly walked into.

Dexter used these waterways to travel faster and easier. Occasionally he would be lucky enough to find an old watering hole that held water from the last storm. He could smell the water in the sand. When he found such a spot, he would dig down until the dry sand became wet sand. Then, he would dig deeper. He waited until the hole filled with a puddle of water. It would be muddy, but it was water.

The sunset slowly came and with it the cooling night air. The weather was good with a sky full of bright stars. He could hear thunder in the distance. He saw flashes of lightning on the horizon. There were storms in the mountains, but it was dry where he was. It had been a quiet day, and he had gotten good sleep under some thick desert brush, so he was well rested for the night's trek ahead. The walk down the long riverbed had been quiet and uneventful. The wadi sand presented firm and easy walking.

As he came around a corner, he saw that he had to jump about three feet into a small amphitheater of sand that the river had carved out. It looked easy, so he jumped and landed in soft sand. He suddenly heard hissing coming from his right and then to his left. He tried to understand what was happening.

He had just jumped right into a nest of rattlesnakes! Suddenly, he was running down a riverbed that had more than a few snakes. He tried to climb up the sides of the riverbed but the sides were too steep and he could not get a foothold. He ran forward and jumped over one snake to be confronted by another. Suddenly, there was a roaring noise and a flood of water coming down the wash! The rains in the mountains! The storms had produced a flash flood that was coming at Dexter. In addition to the flood that he was struggling to swim in, the storm now pounded him with blinding arcs of light and torrential rain. For a minute he was underwater in the powerful surge of the flash flood taking him down the stream bed. The snakes were also in the water! The rattlesnakes bit him. Eventually, the big wave of water passed. The water lifted him to where he could reach a ramp to climb out of the stream bed. He was able to get out. He was safe. The snakes had been swept down the gully. He felt his back legs going numb - he had been bitten!
13: The Help of Strangers

The snake-bites that he had received the night before made him sick, and he could barely move. Dexter was limping slowly when he first saw the trailer. He stopped at the edge of the clearing to find out who the inhabitants were. It was an older couple camping out in their smooth silver Airstream trailer in the middle of nowhere, miles from any paved road. They were sitting under the trailer's awning reading in some lounge chairs. He needed food and water urgently. Dexter was weak from dehydration. The dog was in great pain and his mouth felt as if it was full of cotton.

He slowly moved towards the trailer. The couple was startled at first. They weren't sure if he was a wolf or a coyote. His collar had a San Diego Animal Control license and a dog tag that said "King." Little did the couple know that they were helping a military dog. His ear had been blown off during the battle of El Alzaref along with the Army ID tattoo that identified him as a military dog. To these people he was just another dog.

The old man said, "Boy, you're a long ways from home! You must be starving! Lay down here boy and I'll get you some water." He went inside for a minute and came back out with a large pan of water. Dexter stuck his snout into the sweet water. It was like drinking oxygen. The water went into his body, and the healing began almost immediately. He felt so thirsty he could've drunk forever. The old man anticipated Dexter's hunger and disappeared into the trailer. He reappeared with some leftovers that were from a steak they had cooked the night before. Dexter ate like there was no tomorrow. Again, the nutritious food was going straight to the tissues that needed it so much. "Will you look at him, Mildred! Look at him! He probably hasn't eaten for days! "

The old man said, "He has rattlesnake bites! It looks like he tangled with a nest of them. I wish we could take you to a vet, sweetheart, but the closest one is 12 hours driving from here. We have some ice we can put on those severe bites. With some rest, you'll be okay."

He made sure that Dexter had a shady place to rest under the trailer away from the sun. There was a slight breeze that added to the cooling effect in the shade of the trailer. Dexter slowly recovered from the heat and trauma from the last few days. He could rest there for a day so he would be in better shape to continue his journey. He thought of Marc - where was he now? How will I find him? After two nights and a full day of rest it was time for him to continue his journey. He left late in the evening of the second night. The older couple was sleeping soundly when he left his resting spot under the trailer.

The night passed without incident. After many hours, the sun came up on his right side in the early morning hours. He knew it was time to find shelter and sleep to gain strength for the next night's journey. During the day, the weather grew dark. The rain started in the morning and didn't let up. He found a cave under a big rock that was dry as could be. The thunder and lightning were deafening. He didn't get the sleep that he would have usually gotten. But it wasn't as hot either - so it was a trade-off.

As he traveled north, the desert started to morph into mountain vegetation. Thicker brush and then evergreen trees began to appear. There were deer and elk. Squirrels and voles became a bigger part of Dexter's diet. There were more streams, so water wasn't a problem as it had been in the desert. With cooler weather, he slept better during the day. He continued to travel at night since it was safer for him not to be seen by animal or human eyes. The days and miles passed.

He was always in "enemy territory" where the wrong eyes could cost him his life. He was still aware of that. He knew that he had to be careful. None-the-less, the mountains felt safer to him than any other environment. His mission was still engraved on his heart - to find his master and the tender hands that were connected to it. He knew that Marc was alive. He sensed it now, more than ever.

The monotony of the day after day slog caught up to him. On this day, he was not careful enough. As he was walking he saw a piece of metal crossing the old animal trail he was on. He misread it as a part of an old fence. It wasn't a fence. It was a coyote trap! There was a loud "snap!" Pain shot up his left rear leg. He couldn't escape. Dexter became a prisoner of his own doing. Somewhere out there was a human who would come by to get the rewards of his traps. But when? Would it be hours? Days? Two hours passed. Four hours passed.

Dexter was in agony when a young boy showed up on an ATV. "Oh my god, you poor dog! You stupid dog!" he yelled. He was in a panic. He didn't know where to start. He went looking for a stick while Dexter howled with pain which drove the boy into a guilty frenzy. Where was a stick when you needed one? He attempted to release Dexter's leg. It was a big trap meant for coyotes. The boy needed a big stick to get in between the teeth of the trap so that he could lever the jaws of the trap apart. But the stick had to be small enough to get in between the teeth of the trap. He started with a stick opening the trap a quarter inch at a time until he could almost pull Dexter's leg out of the trap. Then the dry, weak stick broke with a sickening snap! What was worse was Dexter's agonizing scream as his leg was jarred again with pain.

"I'm so sorry!" yelled the sixteen-year-old. He then started working with a bigger stick that was greener and stronger. He again pried the stick into the trap. This time, the trap opened up all the way. Dexter was able to feebly pull his leg out. He was free. There was a deep gash in his leg. Dexter feared that it was broken. With trepidation, he stood up on it expecting to fail, but it held! What a relief! He couldn't run, but he could walk. He was lame for the time being. The kid petted him and said that he was horribly sorry for what he had done. The boy started to talk to Dexter. He explained that his dad had wanted his boy to be a man and to "take responsibility" and to "carry his weight." Part of his chores was to tend to the coyote traps on their part of the BLM land that they used for cattle grazing.

He brought Dexter water in his hat. Dexter drank until he couldn't drink anymore. Dexter was bleeding from a four-inch gash on his leg where the trap had held him. The boy poured some clean water over the injury that was covered in trail dirt. The boy wiped off the dirt and cleaned the wound as best he could. He then bandaged it with a handkerchief and some duct tape that slowed the bleeding. He petted Dexter gently and said, "What are you doing all the way out here? Where are you heading? I'm going to camp here a few days; why don't you stay with me? It will be safe here. I won't let anybody bother you." Dexter believed him. The boy seemed genuinely sorry and that his desire to help was sincere.

Dexter did camp with him that night. The boy had some dehydrated meals that he cooked up. The boy ate a dehydrated meal of "Beef Stroganoff." He gave some to Dexter, who devoured it. That night, the boy gave Dexter a wool blanket to sleep on inside his white canvas cowboy tent.

In the morning, the boy made a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. He gave Dexter a bowl of oatmeal and brown sugar. Dexter wasn't crazy about oatmeal, but he gobbled it up. It helped to stop the hunger pains in his stomach that had been there for days. The pair were in a high alpine meadow with a beautiful stream going through it. They were surrounded by fairytale looking mountain peaks that were jagged and covered with snow. The weather was warm and sunny. The boy and dog didn't do anything all day but rest, which was good for Dexter since he was still in a lot of pain. The wound was healing, and the bleeding had stopped allowing the boy to take off the makeshift bandage and expose it to the sunshine. The sun heated the injury which helped to dry it out and sanitize it.

The boy went fishing that day and caught a lot of Rainbow trout. He threw Dexter a couple of fish. They were fun to play with as they slithered all over the grass. Dexter loved that part - it was fun to have fun for a change. It also motived him to move his leg. The activity helped to get blood into the wounded area which contributed to relieving Dexter's sore muscles.

Dexter was finally able to catch one in his teeth. The boy thought it was funny to watch the dog try to grab a fish. Dexter had watched a shallow part of the stream for an hour. A small trout was grounded in the shallows. He swiped his paw at it throwing it onto a patch of grass, but he couldn't pick it up! He tried biting it but it was so slippery that it slipped out of his paws and mouth. The boy was laughing hysterically at the dog's attempts to catch the trout. Finally, Dexter held the trout down in the grass so that it couldn't escape his paws. He bit down and felt the soft inner tissues slither down his throat. His eyes brightened. The trout blood tasted like heaven. The flesh was sweet and tender and went down his throat easily. It was pure protein. It was reenergizing!

That night was clear and cold. The boy slept in the tent. Dexter slept outside on the grass under the stars. The stars shined in the clear mountain air as bright little diamonds. There were shooting stars here and there. Dexter turned his head this way and that as they went over. They were especially intense later in the night. Dexter grew sleepy after a long day in the sun. All those trout helped to stop his hunger pains. A full stomach allowed him to sleep the best sleep in many days.

The following day, he woke up early. It was time to go. The boy sensed the dog's movements. He knew that Dexter had to go. He petted Dexter and said. "Safe journey boy, wherever you are going. Good luck and may the dog - gods watch over you!"

Dexter ran up to a high point that overlooked the boy's camp. The boy was there, waving. Dexter gave him one more long look before turning and trotting away to the north. 
14: The Bounty Hunter

The days passed as the dog climbed in altitude. Dexter was now in a habitat of thick green forest. There was even some snow at the higher elevations. The creeks were running high with cold water. They were also full of very lively fish. Dexter had come to like the taste of fish. They added protein to his diet thus helping him to heal from all the traumas he had suffered. Plus, they were fun to catch and to eat. He was travelling both at night and during the day, as he felt safer at the higher altitudes. Maybe that's where Dexter made his mistake.

One day when he was by a stream looking for fish, a gunshot rang out. The first shot hit the tree right next to him. Tree bark chips spat out from the tree trunk. Dexter didn't want to stay around to find out where the next shot would land. He ran into the deeper forest. But again a bullet found its target right next to Dexter. It must be a hunter who thought Dexter was a wolf or a coyote. The bullet had come close. He had disobeyed his number one rule: Always travel at night! He had gotten too sure of himself travelling during the day. He sprinted again into the woods. Again, there was another shot. The bullet splintered the wood right above Dexter's right ear. Couldn't they see that he had a collar? This person didn't care what they where shooting at as long as they were shooting at something.

Dexter didn't know it but there were a lot of sheep in the area and there was a bounty on wolves and coyotes. Wild life officials wanted bounty hunters to bring in just the cut off ears of the wolves or coyotes for proof that they had made a kill. Government officials were not known for their anatomical knowledge of how a wolf's or dog's ears differed. The bounty hunters definitely didn't care as long as they got their money. Ears were ears, as long as they were fresh and bloody.

Dexter had to loose this killer. Maybe the rapids he heard up ahead would save him. He could hear a big waterfall, but he couldn't tell if it was up stream or down stream from his position. It didn't matter at this point. He suddenly skidded to a halt at the edge of a ten - foot cliff. The water was moving fast below him. There was no choice! He could either be shot dead or take his chances with the river. At least there was some chance of survival in the water. There was no alternative.

He ran up to the edge of the cliff and jumped. He hit the water hard. The water was pure ice having just melted off the snowfields high above. Luckily, water was also deep enough so that he didn't hit any rocks when he landed. He was caught up in the jaws of the strong current. The higher water levels were caused by the rising air temperatures which increased the snowmelt of spring. He started swimming for his life. He now could sense that the waterfall that he had heard earlier was downstream not up- stream as he thought. He would have to go over it. There was no escape!

There weren't any beaches or other chances of escaping the torrent. He didn't know how high the waterfall was nor did he know what was at the bottom. It didn't matter. He had to go over the falls. Would he die by landing on a big rock or just drown in an undertow?

The waterfall became louder and louder. There was a swirling eddy pool in an amphitheater of rock just before the water went over the edge. He tried to climb out of the pool up the rocky side. Adding to his bad luck, the rock was covered with moss that was slick as ice. He slipped and fell back into the icy pool. Dexter was getting more afraid by the moment. He saw the edge of the waterfall coming. There was a loud steaming snake like hiss of water at the precipice's edge. He was now airborne -- falling.

The falling was almost peaceful. Falling, falling, falling. He hit the turbulent vortex of water at the bottom and was dragged into the underwater world. He was alive - he had survived the fall! Bubbles and currents were all around. It was a grey bubbly underwater world. Dexter had missed the big rocks that surrounded his impact zone by inches. It was all in slow motion - it was a silent underwater world until he popped up to the surface. He was back in the nightmare of water roaring at the base of the falls. He was up and swimming down stream. Like many waterfalls there was an eddy pool at the bottom of the precipice. He headed to the sandy beach at the edge of the pool. He swam and swam. Finally, he could feel the sandy bottom of the pool touching his paws. He was alive and on shore. He laid down exhausted and relieved. He crawled up the beach until he reached some bushes. He slept buried in the brush through the night. 
15: Wolves Pick Up The Trail

It was very early in the morning on a mountain spring day. It was not quite light enough to see. Dexter was moving anyway. As he ascended into the higher mountains, Dexter heard the voice of his master. "Boy, remember- always look behind you and all around you at all times." Dexter obeyed his master's words. He maintained the rule of constantly looking behind himself to check to see if he was being followed. On this morning, that habit paid off big.

Wolves! They had been tracking him for some miles now. He had heard them howling over the last few nights. On this day, they showed themselves. The Wolves had closed the gap! They saw how slowly he was moving due to his mishap with the coyote trap days earlier. This gave the Wolves an invitation to attack. Dexter was the target, and he knew it. He looked down below to see wolves charging up the valley in unison. They were no longer six separate animals. They were now of one body, one mind, with one goal: kill Dexter!

Against all of them, Dexter didn't have a chance of surviving. He was one dog against several wilderness hardened wolves. They used fang and claw to get what they wanted. It had been a hard winter and hunting had not gone well. They were hungry, very hungry. The wolves had shortened their distance substantially during the night. Instead of three miles, it was now one mile.

The climbing was getting steeper. Because it was late spring, there were some remaining snowdrifts from the winter. During the Spring snow melts from the top down and also from the bottom up as the earth warms with the seasonal shifting of temperatures. This pattern of melting became a problem for both the hunter and the hunted: the snow would not hold the body weight of either. This produced a weak snow pack that could collapse to the dirt or rocks underneath. In some cases, this space can be large enough so as to cause injuries such as sprained ankles or broken legs. This can give the advantage to the hunted if he has a sufficient lead over the hunter. The snowpack holds together much better at night when the air temperatures were lower. When dawn approaches and the sun starts its ascent, the warmer air temperatures cause the fragile snowpack to support less weight. This gives the pursued a bigger advantage since he doesn't need to run as hard which disturbs the snow pack less, resulting in fewer falls and higher travel speed. Dexter had the lead, and the snow was supporting him, so he had the advantage - for now.

It was a spectacular setting: five huge wolves were chasing a single dog on a high rocky ridge profiled with a pointy white peaks background behind them. The wolves were gaining on Dexter even though they were taking their share of stumbles. There was a leader in the pack: a white albino wolf. No other wolf in the pack would dare pass him. The albino wolf was leading even though he was breaking through the hollow snow. He was so strong that he was the one making the biggest strides. The space between the pack and Dexter was shrinking.

Suddenly a helicopter appeared out of nowhere. It was circling above. There were gunshots. One wolf dropped. The snow turned red with its blood. Another shot and another wolf fell dead in the snow. After that, the albino wolf jumped into a snow crevasse that hid him from the helicopter. The chopper flew by Dexter. Perhaps they had seen the chase so could see Dexter's collar. Whatever the reason, no shots were fired at Dexter. The silver helicopter flew off. The chopper was part of the sheep rancher's effort to kill wolves that were attacking their flocks. Dexter couldn't see the wolves behind him any longer. Either, they had lost interest or were still in hiding from the chopper. All that mattered was that they were gone. They were no longer coming after him.

One problem had been solved, but he was still on the shoulder of a Colorado mountain high above tree line and sensed he had to go towards the rising sun. That meant he would have to climb over the top of this massive mountain. He had just come from Afghanistan - one of the most mountainous areas on earth. This was just another mountain. He had been in the mountain world for many years. Dexter didn't know it, but he had just crossed into the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

He felt his master beside him guiding him up the mountain. All he had to do now was to stay on the ridge and go over the summit. It didn't look impossible. He was climbing on soft tundra - a grassy moss found on high peaks. The running and climbing came with a price. Dexter was exhausted, deeply exhausted. There was plenty of snow to eat to get water. However, there was no real nourishment in the form of attainable food. The Marmots and Picas were too hard to catch. He had to eat the moss from the rocks and the occasional grass from the rocky outcroppings.

The rocks were getting bigger as he climbed. He had to jump to get up onto some of them. Occasionally, some of them had ice. He would jump up, but he would not be able to get a grip. He then would fall onto his back with a yelp. At least he had avoided a fall over the southeast face that yawned 2,000 feet in one massive drop down to his right.

After an hour of effort, the terrain eased. The rocks were getting smaller. He heard the mountain marmots chirping a warning to their fellows as he approached. These were the permanent occupants of the high mountains who lived year round at these high altitudes. They were often referred to as big rodents or ground hogs. They are members of the rodent family, but their ability to adjust to horrible mountain weather conditions made them the object of respect among all mountaineers both in the U.S. and in Europe. Overhead, huge Ravens cruised the mountain air currents scouting the boulder fields below for small Picas - the mouse like resident of the boulder fields who made "chirping" noises to warn their fellow Picas to know that danger was near. The "chirp-chirp-chirp" was a constant reminder to humans that life existed under those massive boulder fields on the high alpine peaks.

The snow leveled out and soon the summit came into sight. The wind was icy cold as he ascended, but finally, Dexter was on top. No, wait a minute; he wasn't on top of the summit of the mountain. He was on a false summit. There was another peak to ascend. He began to climb again up the slippery blocks of granite. After an hour, he was again on a summit or what he thought was the summit. Again, there was another summit hidden from him another hundred yards ahead. Again and again, he had to surmount multiple false summits. He climbed the blocks and scrambled up the smaller rocks. The hours passed. The Picas and the Marmots couldn't believe they were watching some dog, all by itself, climbing this steep mountain.

Finally, he did reach the major and last summit. The sky was so blue it was almost black. It was as if he was on the edge of space itself. It was a solitary feeling of desolation. There were no humans here. The view was endless and extended to the curvature of the earth. Where were the humans? There were none up here. Why was he alone?

Again, he could feel the pull of the one human that was his quest. It was coming from the same direction. It was coming from the east. Far off to the east were the expansive eastern plains of Colorado and Kansas, the direction he needed to go. He walked east and then he slowed down and came to a stop. There was a cliff, about twenty feet high above a steep snowfield. Would he be able to climb down it? Below there was a solid sheet of snow and ice extending down a huge bowl for a thousand feet. Now, what? Could Dexter get down this snow without sliding out of control? Would slide all the way down into the rocks below kill him? Dexter would have to take that chance; there was no other way. He moved down the rock face carefully trying to slow down his descent down the steep rocky crag itself, but he ran out of rock. The rock turned into air. There was only one place to go - it was forward - into space. He jumped.

He saw the snow coming at him fast. Suddenly, he was sliding down the snow and accelerating. It seemed that he was falling faster on the snow than he did than when he was in the air. Dexter couldn't control his speed and felt fear in his stomach. He was going too fast and was spinning around. He couldn't tell up from down.

The terror was real. Would the snowfield end up in a cliff and a drop off to certain death? Or would it allow him to slide at high speed into a pile of rocks and possible injury? It was only luck that he had dropped down the east face of the mountain that had received some of the morning sun. This allowed the snowfield to melt slightly causing the snow to soften so that he could finally get his dull and bloody nails into the snow to slow his sliding. By chance alone, this braking caused his body to spin around so that he was now facing up the slope instead of facing down it. Now, if he did land in a pile of rocks at the bottom of the snow slope, he would hit with his butt first and not his face.

Dexter had finally descended to a spot where bare dirt and rock were showing. He would be able to stop on one of the rocky outcrops and rest. The constant sliding and braking were fatiguing. He didn't want to take any chances in losing control. He was out of danger for now and was safe from the wolves and the helicopter. He found an outcrop of rock and dirt that even had grass. There was also a trickle of melt water coming from the snowfield above. Dexter had not drunk for hours coming over the mountain. His throat was parched from breathing the dry air that made it difficult to catch his breath. The cold water was soothing to his throat.

He felt his energy returning, but there was no real place to lie down. He had to move twenty feet across the slope to a bigger grassy knoll where there were more grass and water. He started traversing over to the grassy knoll. A loud call came from a Raven high above; it grabbed Dexter's attention. It seemed like a warning shout! Suddenly, a massive rock, the size of a small car, crashed into the very spot where he had been drinking. The boulder even brushed his rear leg! Dexter had not been paying attention.

That close escape woke him up now. He didn't need to sleep anymore; he just wanted to get down and away from this beautiful, yet deadly environment. The sun was now fully up. Smaller, but harmless rock fall was starting further up the mountain from the twenty - foot head wall he had descended earlier. He continued his descent down the mountain from the thick snow above down to where the snow ran out and evolved into a creek. The waterway now flowed down a small valley filled with aspen trees. After many miles the creek joined a river heading east into a great open valley that extended to the horizon beyond.
16: A Man Wearing Blue

We enter the back gate of the hospital grounds and see a patient in the distance from behind reclining on a lounge chair on a large grassy area. The grass is so green it hurts the eyes. We are in the secluded and quiet backyard of the military hospital on the Mountain Post, Fort Carson, Colorado Springs, Colorado.

It is a bright sunny spring day in Colorado. The air is clear, cool and invigorating. There are spectacular views of the snow capped mountains off to the west. The soldier is wearing a blue hospital robe. The lounge chair is a classic wooden rocking chair. He has a blue towel around his neck to keep him warm. He is under a huge cotton-wood tree that is finally sprouting new leaves after a long winter. There is a cement patio off to the right that enters the back doors of the Fort Carson Mountain Post Hospital in Colorado Springs, Colorado, approximately 60 miles south of Denver.

We very slowly zoom into the face of Staff Sergeant Marc Majors. It is his third week of rehab after being flown from the Army Hospital at Brooks Medical Center, San Antonio. The man has tears slowly falling down his face from behind his sunglasses. He is staring skywards and wondering about his lost dog Dexter. He had gotten the news that the dog escaped from his new owners in San Diego. Marc has been diagnosed with Concussion Induced Depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). He is usually in a daze and sometimes doesn't know where he is. He is thinking, "Where could Dexter be?"

An injured soldier who has lost a limb or limbs goes into Physical Therapy as soon as possible. The reasons are many both psychological and physiological. The therapists want to use the strength gained from his soldier's training to the best advantage. Healing also begins much faster if the patient is moving. This causes a higher rate of circulation of the blood providing the removal of toxins and the flow of good blood to the brain and injury site. On the psychological side, lying in bed allows too much time for the soldier to worry and fret over his condition. The physical therapists and psychotherapists had seen these conditions too many times during the wars in Southeast Asia. A physically challenged soldier needs time to ready his body and mind to a new reality.

The reality is that he may not be able to hold a job and support his family for up to a year. Secondly, the dog that had been Marc's primary support both physically and mentally may be gone forever. Perhaps, the dog is dead. "Perhaps", that is the grim reality that he cannot face. This ultimate reality was the hardest to face. How could he bear it? How would he come to terms with it? He prayed for Dexter's safe return every day. As much as he wished, his prayers may not be answered.

The face of Staff Sargent Marc Majors is blank; he is deep in his thoughts. The psychiatrists and doctors helped all they could to get Marc to where he could go home. A hospital can only do so much. Now Marc would have to face his demons and the injuries of war on his own. He was discharged into the care of his wife, Jill.

His wife thought that he needed more psychiatric help. She felt that he could get into even deeper psychological problems by being a recluse. Marc had a habit of reliving the past over and over again as people with Traumatic Brain Injury often do. Jill knew that he needed to get out of the house and meet other soldiers who were going through the same thing. She told him that maybe working at the base's veterinarian hospital would be good for him. Maybe it would help him deal with the loss of his dog. "No!" he yelled, " don't make me relive Dexter. He's dead--I can't accept it - if he is lost. I am lost."

He was in despair. At night, he had horrible nightmares of his dog being blown up by an IED. He saw the mangled body and the amputated legs of his animal friend. It was a terrible, terrible sight. How could he keep on living with these horrible thoughts and visions of death? He would wake up in horror with sweat streaming down his body next to his wife. She could feel the fear and sadness around him. How would this all play out? What was the remedy to this? Was there one? Who or what could help us?

She urged him to start training dogs again. "You would be able to train the dogs for use by injured soldiers. The coaches there would show you how to be a trainer. You can do it!" His wife encouraged him. She felt the despair and wondered how her husband was still alive with all the grief that he felt.

Jill was a short blond with an athletic figure and had a big heart. She loved her husband and felt despair herself from the condition she shared with him. As a nurse, she knew that the road ahead would be long and arduous, but she had also seen many suffering soldiers conquer depression and battlefield stress. Most of them returned to somewhat normal lives. The wounds and disfigurement she had seen had been horrific. It took an unyielding woman to confront the physical damage that she had seen that had violated so many soldiers, both males and females.

Now, it was her husband, her lover that she worried the most about. Marc was a soldier that was struggling. He was taking so many drugs for physical pain and psychological depression. It was an endless battle. There was OxyContin for the physical pain. Zoloft was often prescribed for the depression. He could easily overdose. She knew that deep inside him there was a part that wanted to quit, that wanted to take all the pills at the same time and be done with all the pain, depression, loss, and agony. Sometimes, he wished he could and just be done with the whole mess.

There was also another part that didn't know the word "quit." He would always be a Special Forces guy. When things got tougher, he got tougher. He would spend hours at the physical therapy ward practicing with his artificial leg. He walked through the horizontal bars with his therapist to help him develop his gait. He lifted weights to build upper body strength.

Deeper down he wondered, "What am I suppose to do? I'm missing a leg and part of an arm. My face is scarred for life. What can I do with my life? I am worthless. Who will hire a soldier with my injuries? I am a man trained for war. How will I make a living in peacetime?"

Marc didn't like the way things were going at home. There was a lot of tension, frustration and sadness. Marc was always fighting with his wife. He didn't like fighting with her. Marc loved her. He needed her kind words, not her sharp words. Their relationship had come under much stress since his return from Afghanistan. The Army had cut back his pay with the shrinking military budget. Also, the Veterans Administration that the government had promised to fix was a mess. There were still lots of hoops Marc had to jump through just to get the therapy he needed. At least for now, he was on base, and the hospital PT clinic was nearby. Marc could go there without too much trouble. The base's adapted shuttle for the physically challenged was a blessing - it took him to therapy each day. His wife had a steady job as a nurse, and she was good at it. She liked her job, but it didn't pay enough. She could never be paid enough to endure all the suffering she saw in the eyes of the soldiers she saw on a daily basis.

From Marc's viewpoint, she was coming home to face another patient at home: her husband. Marc received a small salary from the Army since he was technically a soldier. They had two little kids to care for. Anna was six and Billy were five. They were afraid of him at first since he looked so scary with his facial injuries. After a few weeks, they had come to understand that Marc was still "Dad." They were still worried that he might not recover. Would he be this way forever?

They went to a school on the base. Their classmates also had fathers in the military that had been injured. The kids supported each other. They were brave children who had grown up fast while trying to understand the ugliness of war. Their fathers were also disfigured and maimed. They weren't the "military brats" that some people think about when talking about upper echelon military families and their kids.

The worse part of it was the depression. The psychologists and physicians had prescribed psychotherapy twice a week. The war left far more than physical wounds. Each battle encounter, each week away from home drilled holes in the spirit of the soldier. Over time, these holes joined and caused a wound in the soldier's soul.

His suicidal thoughts were almost constant. Maybe his family would be better off without him. He was ugly. He was in pain. He was a burden. They would have to care for him for years. Maybe forever. He was their father. He should be the breadwinner. He should be the one picking them up when they fell. Now they were the ones having to pick him up after his many falls during his endless rehabilitation.

He struggled to accept his misfortune and make it better, but the prison bars were too thick. While Marc considered his situation, he was unaware that the world was moving on, and about to learn all about him. 
17: Desperate Crossings

Colorado is not all mountain. Dexter's journey through the mountains was coming to an end. The mountain range that he had been traveling along was tapering, flattening and turning into farmlands. In front of him were endless fields of irrigated pasture land that extended to the horizon.

There were rows and rows of potatoes, corn, and melon extending for miles. The dirt roads there were long, dusty and monotonous. The sky was almost bleached white with a bright piercing sunshine that blinded the eyes. It reminded him of the poppy fields of Afghanistan that also reached to the horizon. This was indeed "big sky" country: endless land, endless sky.

The fields were almost void of any human life except for the occasional farm worker. Sometimes there would be Mexican laborers who came by to check the irrigation ditches to make sure that the water was being delivered to all the rows evenly. Each row of plants had a white plastic pipe that took water from the irrigation ditch over a little dike into the watering rows that went the length of the fields

The fields grew food crops, but there was no edible food aside from some rabbits and insects like crickets, and they were hard to find. At least there was water. He did run into some pheasants that made for a good meal when he was able to catch one. The weather was getting hotter since he was no longer in the temperate mountains but now on a flat prairie. The blistering sand he walked on reminded him of Afghanistan. A warm breeze stirred up the dust in his path. Small dust tornadoes stirred up here and there in the vast flat fields all around him.

His senses kept leading him north. After a few days in the fields, Dexter reached a large obstacle that he could not get around: a very broad irrigation canal. It looked more like a river. This was one of those massive government built water diversion projects that carried whole rivers of water from one part of the state to the other. It was about 30 feet across. It was so deep he couldn't see the bottom. The water was moving fast. But he had to get across it. There were no bridges. The only choice was to swim across it.

Dexter jumped in and started to swim as hard as he could. He knew instantly that he had made a mistake. He made his way to the other side of the irrigation ditch without too much trouble. Then his troubles really started. Both sides of the ditch were built of smooth cement. Over the years, the cement had grown a layer of slick algae. It was slippery as fish skin. There was no way to get a grip. He was moving fast down the canal, swimming hard and trying to keep his head above water. In a few minutes, he probably had floated two miles to the west. There was not much he could do. His special forces water training was serving him well. Dexter kept his head above water and searched for a way out.

After a few minutes, he heard the roar of engines. The flow of the water was starting to slow giving some relief for his aching muscles. But the water was slowing for a reason - one that would make him fear for his life. It was a holding pond for industrial turbine pumps - the 1,000 horsepower water pumps that kept the water flowing to the west. If he got caught in one of those turbines, he would be drowned and ground into a pulp.

The water was slowing down. But this was not enough to help him get a grip on the slippery hillside of the cement retaining wall of the irrigation canal. In front and all around him was a steaming vortex of a whirlpool waiting to devour him. The sound of these pump engines was deafening.

The ditch did have one final feature that could provide a means of escape - a metal grate bordered the edge of the holding pond. It was there to provide a barrier that would stop large pieces of debris from entering the pump engines, which could ruin them. The grate stood up two feet from the edge of the cement retaining walls. Dexter would have to climb sideways vertically and on his side up the retaining wall for about ten feet.

Luckily, the fencing had a checkerboard pattern of 6-inch square holes where Dexter could get his paws and legs into. It was steep climbing. He barely could make progress up the slippery metal. Each paw hold was tenuous since they were covered with algae. If he fell back into the water, he would not have the strength to swim back to the grating. He was terrified. Finally, after a half hour of struggle and near panic, Dexter was on top. He was safe from the fast moving waters below. By some miracle, Dexter had escaped the machines and the rushing water!

The strain of his near death was real. He felt sick. Dexter fell over on the ground. He couldn't get up. He was exhausted and breathing hard. Even though he did escape the turbines, there was anxiety in his eyes and fear in his heart. He was feeling weaker.

How long did he have to go? His wandering sometimes seemed aimless. What was he doing? Could he trust his instincts to keep on going? Would he find his master? His body was beginning to hurt all the time. The cuts, the bruises, the blood lost...

Dexter's heart and body would not accept giving up. In his heart, there was no giving up. He willed to go on. He would never give up. Never. Never. Never. He would see this thing through to the end.

Dexter rested for an hour without moving. Suddenly, his eyes blinked open, and he looked down the long road ahead. Dexter got up and started to walk. That night he rested. The night was quiet and cool. It was a good night for rest after the escape in the irrigation ditch. He lay down under some thick brush. He was covered and hidden from prying night eyes.

Humans don't know what animals go through to survive the dangers around them. Nor do humans understand the fear and trepidation that animals constantly have in their day - to - day lives. The danger doesn't always come from humans. There are powers that animals have that humans have no knowledge. Predator animals see better at night than humans do during the day. There are animals with low light vision and infrared sensing. Humans like to think that they are the top predators. Humans are defenseless in the wilderness without their tools - guns and knives. With only their hands and teeth they would be dead.

Why did humans and dogs get along so well? In the prehistoric past, dogs were initially attracted to the food and shelter man provided. They taught dogs to be their bodyguards and alarm systems. Man was surrounded by unseen and unheard predators and felt safer with a dog by his side. Dogs were able to alert humans to all the invisible data that surrounded them. Dogs sensed danger before humans could. They turned those sensations into alarm "barks" thereby alerting the humans of approaching danger. This gave humans the time to arm themselves and get ready for an attack if one was coming. The dog was mans first high-tech device!

Man needed this new companion. The dog would be their nightly sentinel protector while they slept. At the entrance to their cave was a dog who originally came to them for food and shelter. But there was something else that was more intangible - affection. Did the dog need humans? Why did he stay with Man? What was the primal need for the dog beside food? "Love" is as good an explanation as any. Love isn't defined solely as the mushy emotional type of love. It was a deep loyalty based on what they felt for the other. This was the kind of love that was pulling Dexter north toward his master.

Dexter felt that he must go more east through the vast agricultural fields of Colorado. Now a massive freeway lay in his path; the first major road that he had encountered ever since leaving California. There was no way under it or over it or around it. There was only one way. Dexter had to cross it. On either side laid expanses of empty fields of wild grasslands. Occasional trucks and cars passed during the day. This was an important interstate trucking route - the major north-south freeway connecting the north and southern parts of the U.S. There were, in fact, more trucks during the night than there were during the day.

Truckers don't know nor care much about the four-legged creatures that try to cross the roads upon which they travel. Truckers live in a world of their own. They make money by driving trucks on schedule. They work long hours. Their eyes get sore, and their backs get tired. Unfortunately, they have little sympathy for anything in their paths including four- legged creatures. There is a daily carnage of animal victims on freeways ranging from deer to raccoons to dogs and cats. Motor vehicles are the number one predator of deer in the U.S.

Crossing a freeway for four-legged creatures is not an easy undertaking. Animals don't understand the concept of crossing a very broad expanse of non- dirt, i.e., cement or asphalt that is scalding in the summer or slippery and wet in the wintertime. The concept of traveling in a perpendicular line of travel from one edge of the road to the other side without making an arc or spending undo time in the danger zone of the roads boundaries is foreign. Animals get confused with all the straight lines. They sometimes get stuck within the roads' borders. They misinterpret roadway railings as being solid instead of being something they can jump through.

Dexter felt the danger. He jumped over the railing and was on the freeway. The bright lights were coming straight towards him. He immediately pulled back and laid low on the edge of the road where he had entered the roadway. A truck roared past him. The wind from the vehicle brushed his hair. It was a close call. Ironically, he was sitting right below a highway sign that stated, "Caution: Animal Crossing."

He tried once more to cross the freeway with both fear and determination. The road was quiet when there wasn't any traffic. It was late at night, and it was dark and windy. He could smell the sweet smell of grasslands to the East. He quickly moved across the road to the center median of the road. A new two-foot median wall had been constructed to keep traffic separated. He jumped over the cement retaining wall.

But he hadn't been paying attention! The wall had shielded the lights of fast moving cars heading straight towards him from the opposite direction. A car blew its horn and swerved to avoid him. The night lit up in a blaze of lights and sound. It missed him. He was O.K. That was too close for comfort. He jumped over the far railing and was in a grassy field. He was safe. He had made it. He was one of the lucky ones.
18: A New Battle Awaits

That night Dexter slept in deep grass in an open field many miles east of the freeway. The next day dawned clear and hot. At mid - day Dexter was walking on dirt roads in the middle of nowhere when he heard gunfire. It wasn't far away.

It wasn't a dream. It was real. He looked down over a battle landscape that disappeared towards the east. He couldn't grasp that he had walked into a battle. The pull of his master was stronger than ever. Was Marc close? It was a primal force as great as gravity. It was the inner force that the human had projected into his life and psyche. Was he in this battle? He trotted down into a broad valley where there was a village made up of brick and mortar. There was utter chaos. He started to encounter combat troops spread out over a vast area. He walked amongst them. The soldier next to him was already bleeding from a head wound. There was blood all over his clothing. A medic was attending to his laceration the best he could.

There was a constant drone of loud Arabic - Muslim music coming over a loud speaker. If it meant to broadcast fear -- it was working. There was fear in the eyes of the soldiers. Finally, one soldier patted him.

"Hey, fella, I don't know where you're from, but we could use your help right about now!" The soldier had recognized his military collar. Dexter could hear the fear and worry in his voice and his need for a military dog by his side. Even though Dexter didn't have a leash, he stayed with him as they advanced on the small village below.

The automatic instincts trained into him overtook him. The soldier smelled of the heavy sweat of work and fear; not the sweet smell of a pleasant workout like jogging or walking. They went down a narrow street hugging the walls trying to stay invisible and hard targets for the enemy snipers above. Dexter walked ahead of the soldier smelling and sensing the ground and air in front of him. Suddenly, he detected that there was explosive residue immediately in front of him. Dexter froze and sat down - the sign of danger that bomb dogs are supposed to give when they detected an IED. The soldier behind him held up his fist - the soldiers' universal stop sign. The soldier Deter had befriended came up to him and said, "Good Boy! You found it. Good job." Suddenly, the fighting stopped.

There was a sudden calm everywhere. A Humvee drove up behind them. Dexter sat on his haunches and watched the sergeant he had made friends with talk with other soldiers. This was a strange battlefield. How can the fighting just end? "He's not one of our dogs sir," said the soldier. "We use only German Shepherds. This is a "Belgian". Where do you think he's from?" "Where are you from, boy?" he asked Dexter as if he could talk. The Sergeant was talking to the Colonel. "It looks like he has been through it!" We need to find out who he is. He needs medical attention. Let's take him to the base vet hospital."

Dexter was gently picked up and placed into an awaiting helicopter. Dexter had no idea that he had wandered into Colorado's Fort Carson-Pinon Canyon Maneuvers Training Area south of the Army's impressive Fort Carson Military Base also known by its nickname "The Mountain Post" at Colorado Springs.

When he heard heavy weapons, he thought he was close to home. The fighting had been staged for training purposes. It had been custom designed to scare soldiers before they had to face the real thing. It had certainly accomplished that.

As they placed him in the chopper, he knew that he was no longer his own master. But somehow that was all right. Dexter trusted the kindness in the voices. There were also the uniforms that he was accustomed to. These reminded him of his master. He suddenly became anxious. Would they stop him from completing his mission? For now, he was held captive. Dexter couldn't escape even if he wanted to. It was time for rest. He needed to trust someone. Was this the end of the trail?

Dexter's body was worn out and tired. The chopper flight was not long. As they landed, Dexter could see the snow capped mountains in the distance. It was not a new scene. It reminded him of Afghanistan - just another set of mountains - always the snow - always the dust.

Upon landing, he was driven to the base's state of the art veterinarian clinic. A soldier took Dexter to the emergency room entrance. He was being fed with intravenous fluids through a needle that a medic on the battlefield had applied. He was given a partial bowl of food that he chowed down. They didn't want to give him too much food in case he would throw up and lose all the nutrients. He would be eased into a feeding schedule that would be set up by the veterinarian assistants. He was also given water. They had to slow him down so he wouldn't get sick. He had not drunk in days except for the water the soldiers had given him from their Camelback hydration packs.

His fur was bloody and covered in dirt. A small leash pulled him gently. Dexter was somehow reassured that this would be OK. Dexter was taken into a small room and placed up on an examination table. Dexter was too weak to protest. A young woman in blue hospital "scrubs" was holding him. She was very kind. "You look like you've been on the road for a while, huh, fella?"

As she petted Dexter she was sneaking another needle coming from a Saline Bottle that was hanging from a bottle rack into his thick fur. Dexter barely felt it. This additional fluid was formulated for dogs. The liquid rehydrated his cells almost immediately. Dexter slowly regained his normal alertness. His eyes were starting to open up more and he sniffed the nurse's hair. He was apparently feeling better.

An older man in a white lab coat came in. He had gentle eyes and a pleasant voice. "It looks like you have been on the road for a long time, young man," he said. For how long he did not know. He looked at his paws. The doctor's report is summarized as follows:

"This dog shows evidence of having been in multiple combat environments. Also, his fur has been burnt in various places due to blast wounds gained during battle. His left ear was blown off approximately halfway down its shaft. This removed the "id" tattoo that was inscribed there. The dog should have been activated with an "id" chip implanted under his coat. However, that program was not in place on his deployment date."

His name, his origin, and his history are unknown. We will attempt to run a computer search of battles fought in the Afghan theater and try to backtrack where he might have come from. For the present time, he will be kept on this base in our hospital kennel. We will attempt to determine his history and find his last trainer-handler if he is still living-End of Report."

Dexter was picked up and placed on the cement floor. The veterinarian nurse was talking to Dexter: "You have lost weight, fella. But, don't worry; you'll like the chow here! We're going to take good care of you." The friendly woman vet assistant took him to a large kennel in a warm room. It even had a dog bed. "Here you go, big fella. Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, I'll give you a good bath and work on those cuts and wounds of yours!"

Dexter was back in a cage. This time, at least, it didn't seem like a prison. As usual, he was worried about being confined. It didn't look so bad right now. Dexter could sense the care and kindness in people's speech and touch. He needed to trust someone. The soldiers who had initially taken him in wore uniforms that he recognized who made him feel safer. He didn't know that it had been a training exercise and not real combat. The simulation had fooled him! However, the scars on the inside and outside of his body were not simulated. They were not gotten in a game. They were obtained in war. They would not go away.
19: Discovery

A corpsman that worked in the veterinarian hospital on the base had become fascinated with the unknown Belgian Malinois that they had found wandering on the training range. The dog had shown signs of battle. Additionally, the dog looked as if he had many months in the wilderness. Where was he from? What or who was the dog seeking?

Going over news articles from a year ago, the corpsman had discovered a small story in the San Diego Times and the base newspaper at the Toro Airbase also in San Diego. There had been a sidebar story of a military dog that had jumped from a second-story window of a house belonging to a soldier returning from Afghanistan. That was about ten months ago in a San Diego suburb close to the Camp Pendleton Marine Base. He was fascinated - was this the same dog that they now had in their kennel?

It was only a matter of days before the base newspaper at Fort Carson published the story. "A dog was taken in by a staff sergeant after his release from the military, in San Diego, ten months ago. That dog escaped via an open window in the sergeant's house. It is being suggested that this same dog has spent the last ten months traveling 1,200 miles from San Diego, California to Fort Carson, Colorado through rugged wilderness terrain comprised of expanses of deserts and mountains". The story was picked up by the social media in short order. The story was compelling and inspiring.

The response of the media was almost immediate. CNN's Anderson Cooper was the first to break the story nationally. "The Army has released information that has been recently declassified. A military dog - a Belgian Malinois, who is similar to the one used during the Bin Laden raid, is thought to have done what very few dogs have ever done. Apparently, the dog traveled 1,200 miles from San Diego, California to Fort Carson, Colorado in search of his former master from whom he was separated during a battle in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. In all, the dog is thought to have spent ten months on an incredible journey through remote and dangerous terrain through deserts and mountains. There are many stories of domesticated animals have taken similar quests in the past. They were often in search of their masters who had left them behind or simply lost them.

This dog's story is unique in that the dog was bonded to a soldier in Afghanistan. Their duty was to find IEDs. They were involved in an intense firefight in Helmand Provence two years ago. The dog played a significant role in that battle. Both handler and dog were at the head of a column of soldiers. Little did they know that they were heading into a Taliban ambush. The dog sat down suddenly - the proper signal to the handler that there was an IED buried at the dog's location. For some reason the handler did not listen to the dog's constant barking but moved to the dog's position and ended up standing on the buried IED. Because of his warning, the column dispersed into defensive positions. Just as his fellow soldiers took cover, the dog jumped on the soldiers chest pushing him off the buried IED saving the soldiers life.

"The IED suddenly detonated with such force that both the dog and handler were blown skywards in opposite directions and knocked unconscious. The blast severed the leash - actually melting the nylon at the point of failure. The soldier had lost a leg at the knee in addition to facial lacerations and burns. He was not responsive to medics in the field. The ambush by the Taliban was a textbook operation which caused the death of seven U.S. soldiers. If it had not been for the dog's alarm, the death toll would have been much higher. The battle continued for hours in street-to-street combat."

"Regardless of the battle underway, a medevac chopper flew into the battle zone while under fire. The medevac chopper landed under cover of fire from two air force jets sent in to equalize the Taliban fighters who were getting closer to the pinned down special ops forces. The patrol was now running out of ammunition after several hours of fighting. The soldier was flown to a rear position battlefield hospital. A search of the battlefield for the dog afterward was unfruitful. The dog had disappeared".

"That dog", Anderson continued, "is now thought to be recovering at the Army Base's Veterinarian Hospital in Colorado Springs, Colorado. In the meantime, military officials are conducting a search of military records to find out who his handler was on that fateful day in Afghanistan. Is he still alive? CNN will keep you posted on this very interesting story".

"USA TODAY" stated, "Animal activists and dog lovers everywhere are following the story of the "unknown dog" that is now recuperating in the kennels of the Fort Carson Army Base Veterinarian Hospital in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Army officials confirm that they think the animal accomplished an incredible 1,200-mile journey from San Diego, California to Fort Carson, Colorado most likely in a search for his lost master and ARMY handler we think being stationed at the Mountain Post in Colorado Springs."

"The dog and his handler were separated in the well-known Helmand Provence Ambush that killed several U.S. Rangers. The dog is given credit for providing a U.S. column of soldiers warning of an IED and the ambush ahead. In fact, his master was credulous about the dogs barking until he realized that he was standing on the very IED the dog was trying to warn him about.

"There is now search to find the dog's handler and to determine if he is still in the military and if he is alive or dead. Thousands of tweets have come into USA Today with tips on the soldier's location. None has proven fruitful."
20: Reunion

Marc woke up to another day. He lifted up his legs with his hands as usual and swung his one good leg and his left stump over the edge of the bed. Marc made sure that his stump was properly wrapped and tight, as the Physical Therapists had shown him. Then he picked up his new prosthesis and slid it on. It fitted perfectly. But, it still wasn't flesh. He still wasn't accustomed to it. He had gotten used to using crutches, however, and he was good at them.

He had to admit that the prosthesis was an excellent piece of engineering. It was all metal and nuts and bolts - all put together eloquently - if you could use that word for a chunk of metal. The joints moved the way they were supposed to. He was able to walk very well with it as long as he used crutches. The physical therapists thought he wouldn't need the crutches after awhile. He was dubious.

He reached the kitchen and pushed the coffee machine button to the "ON" position. Jill came over and kissed him on the cheek. "Good morning darling," How are you doing today?" Marc responded, "I'm okay, just working on this walking thing. Did you sleep well?" Jill replied, "I slept well until about 2 am when you were tossing and turning and sweating. I was trying to hug you. You probably don't remember. You were so agitated. You were grinding your teeth again. We need to get you a mouth guard - we can't afford dentures - she said half joking." Marc responded, "I can't help it, I see the dog, I see the men blown up all over the place. There was nowhere to go without stepping on someone's guts. I'm always afraid I'll slip on them and land in all the blood."

Jill came over and hugged him. "My poor darling, that is a horrible nightmare! It seems to be getting worse doesn't it? You need to see the psychiatrist soon and try to work it out." Marc was almost getting used to the nightmares. They were almost a nightly event. They were exhausting. They took a lot out of him and her both physically and mentally. Fatigue didn't help depression - it made it worse.

He finally made it to the living room with his cup of coffee. He opened up a copy of the base newspaper. He was drinking his coffee when he turned the page. At the top of the right page, above the fold, was a full-page story about an unknown dog. The article requested information from anyone who might know the location of the owner of the Belgian Malinois now on base in the veterinarian hospital. There in the middle of the page was a photo of Dexter. He stared in disbelief. He was speechless. Was it him? Was it him??

"Oh my God! It's him!" His heart was pounding out of his chest. Could it be him? "Jill!! You have to see this!" Dexter is here--on the base! Jill asked, "Where is he??" Marc responded breathlessly, "At the base vet hospital!" Jill, being very practical shouted, "Well, let's don't sit around here! Let's go!" The kids were at school, who Jill called the teachers to tell the kids to meet them at the vet hospital.

Jill put Marc into a wheelchair. They both thought it would be faster than messing around with the crutches. Jill wheeled Marc out the front door and down the wooden ramp down to the driveway. Thank God, it wasn't snowing. It was spring in the Rockies. It was a glorious day! The sun was warm on Marc's face--it felt good to have a glimmer of hope. "Could it be Dexter?" he wished so deeply inside.

The drive to the vet hospital seemed like it took hours instead of minutes. Marc and his wife were filled with excitement. Could it be true? They entered the sliding doors of the hospital. There was a great surge of anticipation. How would the dog react? How would Marc react? Would dog and master recognize each other?

They proceeded through security screening and wheeled Marc through the hospital lobby with great anticipation. The hospital environment had the usual sterile smell which increased their levels of hope and fear. They descended by elevator to the lower level where the kennels were. Being at the lower levels kept the animals cooler during the summer when the temperatures could be over a hundred degrees outside. The vet technicians and the head doctor of the base hospital were there doing their morning rounds. They also had been swallowed up by the story of the unknown dog. Were they about to witness a reunion? Outside, reporters who had been waiting for news of the missing handler sent out the word that the unknown soldier had been found and was already at the hospital.

Dexter was in his kennel. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by his master's presence. Was he dreaming? No, it was too much. There was no doubt. The vet technician undid the lock to give him his morning meal. Dexter sped right past her into the cement hallway that ran between all the cages. Marc was rolling down the hallway toward Dexter. The soldier felt the dog come closer to him. Tears started to run down the soldier's cheeks. The dog knew him. He looked into the eyes of the dog and knew. It was his dog. It was his very special friend, Dexter!

The dog jumped into his lap before the soldier could even say "Dexter!" The medics around him were about to pull the dog off of the soldier; in fear that the dog's weight might injure the soldier's legs. But the soldier was already hugging the dog. He loved Dexter. Marc felt a vast chasm being filled with the love of his dog. He loved this dog that by all accounts should have been dead a long time ago. This was a dog that had traveled almost 1200 miles to find him. He felt the scars under his fur with his hands. He saw the missing left ear. The kids finally showed up and surrounded Marc and Dexter with hugs and tears.

What this dog must have gone through! What stories this dog could tell; being alone for so long. How lonely the dog must have been. But not half as lonely as Marc had been for him. The dog had tracked him down through time and space. Now, the dog was by the side of the wheelchair turning his head continuously in disbelief that he was indeed beside his beloved master.

The soldier had no idea how famous he and his dog had become. The Army's policy did not allow military dogs to reunite with their handlers after active duty. They thought that the dogs were too battle hardened to be domesticated. A movement of animal activists had grown with an increasingly louder voice to give ownership rights of the handler to his dog if the dog was still alive.

From the standpoint of the media, the reunion of Dexter and Marc was a symbolic action that solidified the importance of the handler - dog relationship. It gave the animal rights movement one more reason to support the cause of reuniting military dogs and their handlers after the war. It wasn't just for the dogs healing but for the injured soldiers benefit as well. With the company of his dog, a soldier was stronger and able to heal faster.

Marc had no idea that he was embarking on a new future. He and his dog were about to campaign for the rights of soldiers to reclaim their dogs after their military duty ended. He couldn't know that he would be invited to appear on TV talk and news shows to present the case for the reunification of man and beast after war.

There was a large crowd of people and television camera crews waiting for him at the hospital entrance. The news had spread fast. A large crowd cheered as Marc, his family and Dexter exited the hospital entrance. Tears of joy and relief abounded. He couldn't respond to the reporter's questions right then. A hospital spokesman spoke for them. They were grateful for the public support. They were also thankful for the message from the President of the United States congratulating him on the reunion of him and Dexter. The president was particularly happy to hear of the military's review of the dog - soldier relationship and how it could be improved in the future.

After the continuing coverage on CNN and USA Today, everyone knew about Dexter and Marc. On that special day, even grade-schoolers watched the reunion on their classroom televisions not only in the U.S. but though out the world. People had figured out the incredible route that the dog had taken. Maps of the route were being published in newspapers and online. CNN had animal behaviorists dissect the dog's motivations and his behaviors and what he must have gone through. What dangers he must have faced alone in the wilderness. All said that it must have taken great strength and courage for the dog to travel all that way. For Marc, it was a new beginning with an old and faithful friend who had searched him out for over a thousand miles.
21: Epilogue

Dexter was awarded the National Medal of Heroism by the President of the United States in the White House's Rose Garden. It was on a warm summer day in July. Standing beside Dexter in the Rose Garden at the White House ceremony was Sergeant Marc Majors. Marc proudly wore his dress uniform along with his Ranger Beret. His face still showed many scars from the IED that Dexter had saved him from.

Attending the ceremony were several members of the canine corps representing the Army, Air Force and Marines. There was a very large contingent of the press that included CNN and the foreign press.

The Citation stated that Dexter warned U.S. forces of an IED and the ensuing ambush by the Taliban. Without the dogs warning, many more soldiers would have died in the first few moments of the ambush by the Taliban. The dog was also cited for saving the life of Sergeant Marc Majors by pushing him off the IED that had been planted for the very purpose of killing as many of the U.S. forces as possible.

In addition to presenting the citation, the President announced the formation of a commission to examine the possibility of building a National War Dog Memorial Cemetery at Arlington National Cemetery. This national cemetery for military dogs would symbolize the valor of the dogs that served soldiers so well in life. Now, they could be honored accordingly in death. The President added that military dogs should be treated with the same respect as human soldiers were after their duty. As the President bent over to pet Dexter, the dog suddenly gave him a big lick in the face, then he barked with joy. There was a huge cheer for Dexter and Marc. Now the healing for both man and dog could begin. It almost looked like Dexter was smiling!
Notes:

  1. Ritland, Mike (2013), Trident K9 Warriors, St. Martin Press, New York, New York.
  2. Ibid, p.50
  3. Ibid, p.69
  4. Paterniti, Michael (June, 2014), National Geographic Magazine, New York. Photos by Adam Ferguson, New York, New York.
  5. Berns, Gregory (March 19,2014), Emory University, Owners Scent Lingers like Perfume, The Telegraph, Britain, London, England. 
  6. Dog Travels Cross Country to Reunite with Owners, Stray dog travels 2500 miles, (June 17, 2010). KSND Television, San Diego, Calif
  7. Dog Ends Up in Pittsburgh after XC Trip (Dec 29,2014), WPXI News. com, Pittsburg, Penn.
  8. Miller, Paul ( 2007) The Vision of Dogs, University of Wisconsin-Madison, Madison, Wisc.

Please Support These Organizations

The Warrior Dog Foundation

PO Box 2450

Denver, Co. 80201

303-308-6413

info@wardogfoundation.org

The United States War Dogs Association,Inc.

183 Cummings Ave.

Long Branch, New Jersey 07740

www.uswardogs.org/

American Belgian Malinois Rescue (ABMR)

www.malinoisrescue.org

The American Kennel Club Rescue Network

The American Kennel Club

260 Madison Ave

New York, New York 10016

Tel: 212-696-8200

This is Jean's first foray into writing a novel. His love for dogs made this story a natural. Jean's own dog "Dexter" was his companion and inspiration. Jean is well qualified to write this book since he has survived most of the adventures described in the book. He is a wilderness guide, solo explorer and the original founder of Aspen Alpine Guides. Jean's family has a long history of adventure spanning the globe from Rio to Kathmandu. Jean has been a sports and travel writer focusing on adventure travel with articles appearing in _Ski_ , _Skiing,_ and _Outside_. His two books on backcountry skiing " _Ski Randonnee_!" and " _Backcountry Skier_ " are classics. His eight book Kindle outdoor educational series is entitled _"The Backcountry Pro"._ He lives near Boulder, Colorado. 
