“Is everything okay with the dogs?” Creed wanted to know.
“Oh sure. They're fine. I wanted to ask about quarantining some dogs in the new area of the clinic. Possibly in the next few days. I know it’s not quite finished, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to rush it.”
They had taken a separate unit and started renovations. The space would allow them to quarantine a few dogs at a time before they added them to the kennel. All of their dogs came to them after being in a shelter or after being abandoned. Grace had been dumped at the end of their long driveway.
“How many dogs are we talking about?” Creed asked.
“About a dozen.”
“A dozen all at once?”
“If we’re lucky. I was thinking we might be able to push out into the storage area temporarily. I can move a couple of the racks. That room is huge.” She looked from Creed to Hannah. “I don’t mind doing the work myself.”
“No,” Creed told her.
“No?”
“No, you’re not going to do it yourself. Jason and I will help. It shouldn’t take that long. Let’s get a list of everything we’ll need for them.”
Dr. Avelyn stared down into her coffee mug and went quiet. Creed glanced at Hannah again, hoping to see some explanation written on her face. When Dr. Avelyn looked up, she was smiling. Creed breathed a sigh of relief.
“You didn’t even ask where these dogs were coming from or why they need urgent shelter.” She looked down again and just shook her head. Now Creed could see the tear at the corner of her eye.
“I figure it must be from a disaster site.” Creed shrugged. But now he realized it might be something more personal.
He knew she was a member of an emergency response organization that sent veterinarians after mudslides or earthquakes to take care of working dogs and any other animals affected by the disaster. They were trained in protocol for decontamination as well as treating on-site injuries, dehydration and hypothermia.
“It’s something like that,” she said. “One of our members served in the Army as a veterinarian in Afghanistan. He’s been working stateside with a couple of former K9 handlers. They’ve been trying to locate and rescue the war dogs left behind. We’re hoping to get them back home. But it’s turning out to be quite the challenge.”
Creed felt a sudden knot twisting in his gut. As a military handler, he and others had their own personal stories of pushing for policy change, and legislation for how retired dogs were treated. After much lobbying, the dogs had finally been given concessions like the K9 soldier having a higher rank than its handler, so the handler’s number one priority was the dog. Robbie’s Law allowed for handlers to adopt their K9 after the dogs retired. But the military still wouldn’t pay for transport back to the states.
Still, all of that was better than what had been done in the past when dogs were simply left behind. And yet, here they were, again. All those concessions, all those “changes” had they been tossed out?
“We heard the rumors,” Hannah said, watching Creed out of the corner of her eye. “But the Pentagon claims they never left any dogs behind. Do you have any idea what happened?”
“In the days before the fall, we were told all the military dogs would be on flights routed through Europe. They said they’d let us know when they were arriving in the US, and that we should be ready to receive them. We’d need to process and quarantine them.”
A couple of dogs wedged themselves against Dr. Avelyn on each side, and her fingers absently petted them.
“Did they tell you how many?”
She shook her head. “Originally, no. We were working in real time, and we were only one of the groups receiving dogs.” She crossed her legs, readjusting to make herself comfortable when clearly the subject made her uncomfortable. “When we didn’t hear anything, Van Berg—the Army vet who was leading our team on this—hounded his contact.
“Even from a distance, we could see the evacuations were spiraling out of control. Next thing we hear is that a bunch of the dogs weren’t allowed on the planes. An animal rescue organization was trying to arrange charter flights. But they were told the area was too chaotic, and they wouldn’t even be permitted to land, let alone take off.
“Remember, all this is happening in real time. In a matter of hours. Frantic hours. Frantic even before the suicide bomber. Translators who were promised safe passage with their families were having a tough time getting on flights. And some of them were also told they weren’t allowed to bring their family pets. From what I understand, the panic and chaos at the airport made it terrifying.
“Then Van Berg gets a call.” Dr. Avelyn’s eyes dropped to the dogs and where her hands were caressing them. “His contact told him they wouldn’t need us. At all. The dogs had to be released at the airport or on the streets. They had to abandon them.”
There was silence. Even the dogs seemed to sense the need to be quiet. Creed’s immediate reaction? He wanted to pound his fist through a wall.
Finally, Hannah asked, “Hasn’t the Pentagon insisted those dogs released at the airport were not military dogs? I’ve heard them say they were under the care of the animal rescue organization that you mentioned. Or that perhaps, they were left by families not able to board with them.”
“All I know is that they told us to be prepared to receive, process, and quarantine dogs. Then suddenly, they told us the dogs were no longer coming. That they had no choice but to release them at the airport. They refused to explain why they abandoned them. Then, after a few weeks, they refused to admit any dogs were even released or abandoned.”
She took a deep breath and stretched her arms as if willing the tension from her shoulders. “Now, it’s been over a year. We’ve stayed in touch with that animal rescue organization. Their staff and our own sources in Kabul have been tracking, locating, and finding dogs. And they’ve actually been finding K9s that served alongside our troops. One of the handlers in our group recognized her dog from a photo.”
“So, the Pentagon’s been lying,” Creed said. “Imagine that.”
“Initially, their defense was that these dogs weren’t military dogs. They were contract working dogs.”
“Seriously? Like that would make a difference?” Creed shook his head. He knew the military couldn’t keep up training as many dogs as they needed, so they had begun contracting the work. Those contracted dogs worked alongside handlers no differently than the ones trained by the military. This was ridiculous. And cruel. But he wasn’t surprised.
“It’s not playing well after military handlers are recognizing their dogs from those captured off the streets back in Kabul.”
“And now?” Hannah asked. “Are you finally bringing them home?”
“Hopefully. It’s taking forever to secure permission. And we’re still having to depend on people we’re not sure we can trust. Of course, we’re not getting any help from D.C. They couldn’t even get the remaining translators out. Honestly, I think they want to push the whole debacle out of sight and out of mind.
“And things are so screwed up in Afghanistan. After the takeover, the rescue organization was told they wouldn’t be allowed to have female staff. The head of the organization is a woman. Somehow, she managed to get them to make an exception. But for how long? The Taliban keeps putting new requirements and handing over more paperwork. They don’t really care to facilitate the survival of these dogs, let alone exporting them.”
“The dogs were never a welcomed sight,” Creed said. “They taught their kids to throw rocks at them. Villages were afraid when we brought along a dog, almost as if they believed the dogs had mystical powers. We called our dogs truth detectors, because one dog on site could get people to confess easier than a brigade of armed soldiers.
“But the Taliban knew we had an emotional attachment to the dogs. And they used that against us. They targeted them. If they could take down a dog, we’d do anything to rescue it. And sometimes that included making mistakes.
“Now here they are again. Able to use one last vulnerability against us. Able to send us to our knees all over again.”