05/12/2023
Rule 22. “One day you and your dog are gonna walk out of the Timber for the last time, make every moment count.”
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...The story begins in the late summer of Iraq serving as a Sniper Section Sgt for the 10th Mtn. Div. Morale, or what amount of it we had remaining, was little to none and our hope was fading. When every day seemed to bring with it another scoop from our shovels, digging the mental hole that we laid in deeper and deeper. As we carried out our orders, a light found us, not that of the mid-day sun...this time it came in a ball or fur...
We had the pleasure of working with Military Police (that will be the only time I will ever say that!) and their Military Working Dogs (MWD). They would typically stand guard with us to assist our guys with security checks of the locals and any vehicles. This was typically our jobs when we were not conducting patrols within the local area of operation. What they really did was keep us alive, the morale boost from such a simple sound of hearing paws hitting the ground could turn anyone’s numbness to a smile instantly and I mean INSTANTLY. I fully credit those amazing animals and their handlers for keeping us alive over there.
When I returned stateside after my tour, I brought home demons, just like every other vet. I found myself in a dark place following the realization that something was wrong with me after deployment and being honorably discharged from service. I thought I was broken and the only way out was to end it all right then and there. At the time of me realizing these things, I had just brought home my first ever gun-dog puppy “Banjo” who was 10 weeks old at the time.
Leaving Banjo asleep on the third floor, I slowly and quietly closed the office door taking once last look at him. I went to the basement and to spare the next part I found myself with a pistol to my head. With my eyes closes and slight pressure on the trigger, all I could feel was a strange “wetness” upon my face... When I opened my eyes, there was Banjo licking my face...how?