Death of A Warrior

At the end of the American cavalry era, the Army disposed of its horses by machine gunning them to death. In our war (Vietnam), the dogs were treated the same way. Only it was done in a more “humane” manner. Over 4,000 dogs served, some were reassigned to other bases and a few were shipped back to the US.   However, most were killed in a production line fashion. As the war ended, a few dogs were reassigned to other bases in the Pacific area. The majority were declared excess. 

In most cases the dog’s own handler had to take the dog in for this last trip to the vet.  This is very hard for a dog handler and is absolutely the worst part of the job. In the 90's a documentary about military dogs was shown on the Discovery Channel. News stories with interviews of former handlers exposed to the public the fate of Vietnam service dogs. Due to the public outcry, the US Military pledged never to dispose of military working dogs in such a manner again. 

But military dogs were still rewarded with a cruel death once they slowed down with age.  The public interest  prompted congress to write a law changing their retirement prospects from a drug induced death to a honorable retirement. In November, 2000,  President Clinton signed a bill to amend title 10, United States Code, to facilitate the adoption of retired military working dogs by law enforcement agencies, former handlers of these dogs, and other persons capable of caring for these dogs.

Now the dogs will have a chance to live out their lives if qualified people will adopt them. The key phrase is "qualified people".  This is a good chance for ex dog handlers to help. The dogs must go to responsible owners willing to accept the liability that will accompany the dog. The new owner will also be responsible for the medical care of the dog.

We know many handlers that have been able to adopt their former military dogs. We envy them for we were unable to.

The following story accurately depicts the previous fate of older dogs.

As much as we loved the dogs and the military depended upon them, we all let them down in the end. The dogs paid the ultimate price with their lives, despite their loyalties and the protection they provided. Other SEA veterans returned to society or furthered their careers. The dogs were treated as unusable, excess military items. As Vietnam bases closed, dogs were either turned over to the Vietnamese military, shipped to other PACAF bases, or were euthanized. As Thailand bases were later closed, a few dogs were shipped to other bases or the PACAF Dog School. SSgt John Grammer, a former handler TDY to the Korat AB closing, reported that up to 6 dogs a day were euthanized.

  Every time a military dog was euthanized (or “put to sleep,” as was the common vernacular), it was a somber experience. The dog was taken out of his kennel for his last walk. The assigned handler usually came in early to give him one last good romp—one last, long do-anything-you-want-Big-Dog stroll. It was normal for his handler to want him to have a last few happy moments since he was kenneled most of his life. They lingered on that walk back, though. The dog was groomed one last time to look his best; then fed a good treat by his stoic but caring handler/partner. And, he was finally permitted one last good WOOF on the military brass as he was casually walked by one of their assigned vehicles. He “saluted” his own tribute to his undignified end before he entered the vet clinic the last time.

  Long ago, the dog learned that different locations where he was muzzled meant either a brief inconvenience to be transported on a posting truck or another visit that developed into the associative fear engrained by painful experiences at the vet clinic. (Years later, the former would be known as “equipment association” and the latter as “avoidance behavior”). He growled and carried on; he even bared his teeth as he was muzzled. He had become keenly alert as he entered the examine room and was lifted onto the table. He anticipated a new pain, another violation of his flesh and his proud, fierce demeanor. He fought; he struggled valiantly.

  The vet came around to the business at hand with the infamous “green needle” which got its name due to the lethal drug’s color. The dog was forced to lie down on the table, all the while he struggled against his partner. The dog thought of another tactic—gave his handler that poor-little-puppy_dog look meant to free him—an invitation, a promise that he would behave if taken out of that place. NOW! The vet tech and vet worked in tandem to find a good vein one last time.

  He fought; he growled. Then, the needle was inserted, the syringe’s plunger was gradually depressed until all the deadly, cool green liquid was gone. Then slowly, slowly the dog became groggy, fighting the last long sleep as the deadly drug crept through his system. Although he fought less, his partner cradled him and held him closer, as one would a sleepy child. He stirred less and less, as though he was a seemingly recalcitrant toddler who yawned and muttered he didn’t want to go “nightf_night” just at the last precious moment, not just yet. WAIT! The last mid-breath protest fell silent as all motion ceased. His breathing became shallower still and finally, one last exhale. All done, all gone, all...DEAD. The vet checked his vital signs and annotated a death pronouncement as the final entry on his records. Then came the final insult—the necropsy. All military working dogs were autopsied upon death in accordance with regulations.

  Kennel attendants and/or handlers bore this warrior to his final, pre-dug resting place in the K-9 cemetery. A marker with his name and brand number witnessed this last indignity. Aligned with the other stark ones, row upon row,  it bore silent testament to the military solution of disposal, his life.

  Years ago before his time, it had been said that the coward died many deaths; however, the valiant died but once. Thus, that axiom became his legacy to haunt our thoughts all these years later.