Sandstorm

Military Working Dog Sandstorm, aka Stormy, was the very first dog I trained from puppyhood when I was a Master at Arms in the Navy. He was a beautiful black-tipped fawn-colored Belgian Malinois. His eyes always had a glistening honey brown look to them as if they were holding a secret in their depths. He was always willing to put in work, and after two years of intense training, consistency, patience, and headache, he passed the test necessary to clear him in being an official MWD. What he excelled in most was detecting IEDs, (improvised explosive devices). I feared that upon graduation, we would be stationed in the blistering and unforgivable desert that most deemed ‘hell on Earth.’ No sooner had I prayed, that my commanding officer walked in to tell me the news.

“Well shit,” I muttered looking at the one living thing that held my life in his very nose, trying to keep the tears from welling up in my eyes.

My first visit to Iraq, only a month-long, was a scary one. August ‘11 in the desert was indeed hell. I couldn't fathom the idea of people living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by scorching sand, tin-made houses and nothingness. My sightseeing was cut short as we were immediately bombarded by gunfire. Handlers and their dogs have always been the preferred target due to their jobs of sniffing out the explosives. While most of the newbies hesitated, Stormy used the swirling sand and dust of the Black Hawk's rotating blades to his advantage and pulled me towards the entrance of base camp, leading everyone in my unit to safety. I remember looking down at him, hands on my shaking knees, trying to catch my breath. He sat so composed and unshaken, placing a delicate, reassuring paw on one of my hands as they closed the large steel gate behind us. I smiled at him and stood up only to see the current unit staring at me with shock and awe, visibly confused by my classification. What was an MA from the Navy doing in Iraq wearing a US Army uniform? Only I was to know that answer.

It was not until my second return that it raised further suspicion outside our base. At that moment in time I was a well-seasoned Intelligence Officer and part of the Special Operations Division. I set boots and paws on that 130 degree ground with more confidence than the time prior. I was there to take care of one thing, and one thing only- infiltrators. On my fourth day, fighting against my morality, I had to kill a teenager as he ran into our camp wearing a bomb and carrying an AK-47. Stormy was the one who raised the alarm before any of our soldiers standing watch had a chance to act. I shot him quickly, aiming at one of the bombs that he carried on his chest, causing it to detonate before he made it inside our fort. Stormy and I ran up to what remained of his body, grabbed the rifle still clenched onto his charred hands, checking for a serial number on the automatic. American. Ours.

"Ramirez!" I tossed one of the soldiers the unarmed rifle, while praising Stormy "run the serial on that bitch, please."

Within ten minutes, I had the information necessary to charge an American soldier for treason and murder for the untimely death of his team. Here in the military we were fucking family. Dishonor in the highest degree the moment he had condemned their lives for money.

On March 4, 2019 at about 0300 I received an urgent email from Stormy’s current handler, and upon reading the first sentence I dressed immediately and booked a flight to Hawai’i.

Stormy had been shot.

I had my life in the service with him flashing before my eyes, from the moment I held him as a newborn, to the last day when I retired and I handed his leash to his new handler. I felt myself slowly dying with him.

There was only one thing I learned throughout my years in the service, and that was if you were one of the few lucky ones to become a military dog handler, it is only then you will understand what it's like to have to depend on another living creature with literally your whole life, and visa-versa. To love unconditionally, to trust without bounds, and to live your life to the fullest. I have loved very few things in my life, but one thing I'm certain of: I truly loved Stormy to the very last day I held his paw as they put him to sleep. It was he that kept bringing me home, nothing else.