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Overview
"With some dogs you share a boil in the bag breakfast and maybe a blanket on a cold desert floor. Some you wouldn't leave in charge of your Grandma unless you wanted to find out just how fast the old girl could run. But, if you're very, very lucky there will be the one dog you would lay down your life for – and for me that dog is Buster."
Buster, an English springer spaniel who has served his comrades and his country with unstinting devotion, has saved thousands of lives. This is the story of his partnership with RAF Police Sergeant Will Barrow, told by Will himself, describing how each came to save the other's life. It is a relationship that produced some heroic feats—including sniffing out explosive vests that led to the arrests of two suicide bombers—in the dust and desert heat of Afghanistan and beyond.
Buster, uniquely, has served five tours of duty in three theatres of war (Bosnia, Iraq, and Afghanistan)—more than any other military dog. He also won the prestigious Crufts Friends for Life Award in 2012, and has gone on to become the official lifetime mascot of the RAF Police, the only dog in history to have been honored in that manner.
A best friend in dog's clothing, an RAF dog with his mossy feet firmly on the ground, Buster is truly a dog in a million.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466887862 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 10/27/2015 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 256 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
RAF Police Flight Sergeant MICHAEL "WILL" BARROW joined the RAF at 18. He then specialised as a Drugs Detection Dog Handler and an Arms and Explosives Search Dog Handler, and has served in the Falkland Islands, Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Afghanistan and Iraq.
ISABEL GEORGE is an international bestselling author who writes with a passion and respect for animals in war.
Read an Excerpt
Buster
The Military Dog Who Saved a Thousand Lives
By Will Barrow
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2015 Isabel GeorgeAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-8786-2
CHAPTER 1
A Great Dog
Just five months before we found ourselves in the belly of a Viking under fire, I was on a specialist police dog course at the Defence Animal Centre in Melton Mowbray in spring 2007 when I was approached about a new assignment. They wanted to utilise the exceptional tracking capability of the RAF police dogs in Afghanistan, and the provost marshal's dog Inspector wanted me to head the team. This particular idea was soon canned as tracking in that environment was going to prove too problematic and dangerous. However, I was still going out – but as an Arms and Explosives Search (AES) dog handler instead. This was more within my area of expertise.
When I joined the RAF Police at eighteen I knew that I was destined to be a military working dog handler, and I was right. After an 'apprenticeship' of twelve years with German shepherd patrol dogs, more affectionately known in the trade as 'flesh seeking missiles' and 'furry crocodiles' I moved on through the ranks with drug and detection dogs and then on to arms and explosives search dogs. The job was taking me all over the world but not always to the safest places. I had served in Northern Ireland on two separate tours and done a tour of Bosnia. They had both had their moments of excitement and dread, but I knew this was going to be totally different. I didn't quite know how different though. I had heard stories from my wife Tracy who is also in the RAF and other colleagues about Iraq, but this was going to be like nothing else ever.
All I needed was the right dog. Course over in late June, I returned to RAF Waddington (that's 'Waddo' to anyone in the service) in Lincolnshire, the headquarters of No5 RAF Police Squadron, where I was Senior NCO in charge of the Dog Section and Squadron Dog Inspector, and started asking around.
There's a certain type of dog required for Afghanistan. The desert terrain, the heat and the fact it was a war zone would require a dog with loads of drive and an exceptional nose. The dog would need not just to cope but thrive. There were several arms and explosive search dogs in the RAF system at the time, but I needed a dog that had the vital combination of battle experience and high drive. When you are out with soldiers on patrol, and it's your dog's job to go up front, you need that dog to be focused and driven. A search dog without drive is about as useful as a car without an engine.
If you're anywhere near a group of military dog handlers you will overhear plenty of dog talk. The good dogs, the bad dogs and even the indifferent dogs make their mark on a handler. If you share everything from your food and your friends to your bed, in the shadow of war, bonding is inevitable. But it's the dogs with personality – the ones who are almost human and challenge you as you journey together – that really carve an imprint on your soul. They are the ones you grow and learn with, and the ones who get to know you more than you know yourself. They are the ones you trust with your life when mortality stares you in the face.
It was early July and I called Corporal Nick Lyons, one of my handler pals, whose recommendations were always spot on. He immediately suggested his dog.
'Buster is three years old and has two tours of Bosnia-Herzegovina to his name. He's a bloody good dog and his work rate is second to none. Will, if you're looking for a great dog for a demanding job this is the one you want.'
It may seem strange to some that Nick would so willingly offer up such a special dog, especially one who was clearly so close to his heart. But the fact was that Buster was a working dog, not Nick's pet. Nick knew all too well that Buster had to go where he was needed, for the greater good. And as a career dog, it's what Buster would have wanted too. That didn't mean it was going to be easy to say goodbye.
Nick and Buster were stationed at HMS Caledonia, now MOD Caledonia, the Royal Navy base in Rosyth, where the dog was assigned to the RAF Special Investigations Branch. I had to see this dog – he sounded like the only one for the job – so the next day I headed up to Scotland with the hope of bringing him home with me.
I told a few colleagues that I was going to meet Buster and I suddenly found myself inundated with testimonials. He was quick, efficient, dedicated and a bloody excellent worker, but when I heard, 'Buster? Oh he is a great dog and a true pal,' I knew he was a bit special. After a six-hour drive, my expectations were high.
Nick had suggested we meet a short distance from the base, where there was an area for Buster to run around and play. I could see him in action and get to know him a little – well as much as you can in an hour or so. I saw that Nick's dog van was already parked up and waiting, so I pulled up alongside it and had a quick look through the window, but Buster must have been in the back.
I already felt a bit sorry for Nick. He had served with Buster in Bosnia, and was about to give up what sounded like the dog of his career. All handlers think their dog is the best but I could tell that Nick was not just proud of this dog, clearly in awe of the dog's skills in the field, but he liked him too, like a mate.
Buster, by all accounts, was a 'character' and in the job we are very aware of the interpretation of 'character'. In my experience that can mean anything from a loveable creature that licks your face and brings you your slippers at the end of a hard day, to a hard-arse heap of solid muscle that would eat your face and your slippers all at the same time. I was guessing that, at best, Buster fell somewhere between the two.
Nick went to the back of the van and out jumped Buster. When I saw him jogging towards me I couldn't help smiling.
'So you're the famous Buster?' I said out loud, as I met the soft brown eyes of the handsome chunk of springer spaniel in front of me. 'Now, are you going to lick me or bite me fella, because I've been told you can do both pretty well?'
He didn't know me well enough to nip me so he just collected a helping of fuss from me instead.
He sat in front of me looking every inch a dog you would choose for a special operation. To be honest, I had never really thought about a dog having military bearing until I set eyes on Buster. Head held high, chest thrust forward, body weight resting back on his hind quarters, he was definitely sitting to attention. He looked proud and wise, and I was beginning to see why the men who knew this dog had so much respect for him. Then he lifted his liver-coloured head and, like a brigadier casting his eye over a raw recruit, he threw me a look and shook his head.
'Oh don't worry, he does that!' said Nick. 'It's his little joke. He's a good all-rounder this one, Will. He's not just good at his job but he's a good lad, if you know what I mean? But you have to be one step ahead of him as he's been here before and knows all the ropes and all the tricks, as I'm sure you will find out.'
The military lists its working dogs as 'equipment', but for a handler out in theatre, in a war zone, their dog is much more than a machine with a heart. A dog is a companion by day and by night. I wanted to get to know Buster, so after all the usual dog handler banter Nick suggested we run him and his other dog, Sprout.
Like a wild thing released, Buster dashed off the lead and tore into the grass with his chocolate nose sniffing over the sweet earth and his powerful hind legs kicking up the turf. He had all the moves of a dog who felt he owned the place, and I felt guilty that in about an hour's time I would be taking him away from Nick and all that was familiar to him.
To give Buster a good workout in one of his favourite places, Nick suggested we gather up the dogs for the ride to the coast. I saw Buster sitting in the front of the van looking out of the window and taking in the scenery. He must have recognised the route and as we got closer to the water he did just as Nick predicted; he started a frantic little dance and his lips wobbled as he let out a little whining noise like a crazy spaniel speak.
Seeing Buster swim that day is something I will never forget. Unless I'm very much mistaken, I'm sure he smiled as he threw himself into the ripples. Catching the salt in his nostrils he started a pattern of dipping in and out of the chilly, grey water and then checking back every now and again with Nick just to make sure it was OK to go back for more.
It was a lovely summer afternoon, warm and still. Perfect for a visit to the coast and watching the dogs just enjoy being dogs in the sparkling depths. When Nick gave me the nod that it was time to go, I walked towards Buster who was totally immersed, except for his silky auburn head, which frequently bobbed to the surface. The swim was a good idea – a sure way of guaranteeing Buster would be exhausted for the journey to his new home. Better for him if he could sleep most of the way.
Nick called to Buster who turned a deaf ear a couple of times before he eventually dragged himself onto dry land and shook his dripping coat, right to the tip of his stumpy tail. He sat at Nick's feet while his lead was re-attached.
'Well, here he is,' Nick handed me the lead. 'And I'm sorry to say,' he added, 'he's all yours. Look after him for me, won't you? Because I know he will look after you.'
As Nick walked away I looked down to the end of the lead at the brown-flecked chunky dog. He was sitting proud, his forelegs positioned neatly together and his feet turned outwards like a bow-legged ballet dancer.
'Look at you, you bandy-legged sod,' I said, hoping he didn't understand me. 'Hey, never mind mate, the rest of you looks alright. Come on, let's get going. We've got a long journey ahead.'
Buster shifted around to keep an eye on Nick and Sprout, who were now standing together. I guessed they would stay there until we were out of sight. Caught up in the emotional goodbye, I let Buster sit in the van with me. He was wearing an expression that I would see on several occasions in the future, and each time no less heart-wrenching.
As I drove away I couldn't help thinking how difficult the handover must have been for Nick. I could see that he was a bit choked and I know how that feels. I've had to say goodbye to several working dogs in my career, and it's easier with some than others. Most times the split comes after a tour of duty, when the dog enters quarantine and the handler goes on leave. When you find a dog that is special, being forced to let go, with the whole thing being out of your control, is just dreadful. There's only one thing worse, and that's the heartbreak of seeing that special dog working with someone else. It's like seeing your wife with another bloke!
That said, emotional outbursts aren't welcome in the mess. Let's just say it takes a dog handler to know a dog handler. I empathised with Nick completely that day.
After several stops along the way we reached Scotch Corner, our final comfort break. I wandered off with Buster, who was happy for the chance to stretch his legs. He jogged along, gazing at the ground, and I guessed he wasn't ready to have a conversation with me yet. I decided to let him do his own thing and not make a fuss. He would come round in his own time. And besides there was another priority – I needed something to eat.
I was tired and the service station didn't offer a vast choice of meals so I settled for a quick and tasty burger, which, after an afternoon by the sea, smelled absolutely delicious. As I took my first bite I had an idea. I know it's not a dog treat that anyone, especially a vet, would recommend, but I needed to offer Buster the hand of friendship – what better way than to offer it holding a burger?
I went back to the van where Buster was pretending to be fast asleep. His nose twitched and in an instant his head was off his paws. Eyes wide and not knowing if he needed to sit or stand to get a fix on the source of the warm, meaty smell, Buster jigged about, his ears swishing from side to side.
'So Buster, how's about a quick treat? Here you go. Enjoy it. You'll be back on RAF dog rations later, and I'll bet they don't taste anything close to this!'
The lump of burger was visible for a second before Buster wolfed it down. He looked at me. It was the look I had been hoping for since we left Scotland. We had connected thanks to the power of fast food, and it felt good. I savoured the comforting noise of Buster licking his lips the rest of the way.
I'm sure he was missing Nick, but by the time we reached Waddo there was only just enough time to take him for a short run before settling him into his new kennel. 'Hey Buster, you OK lad?' I asked, just before I was about to close the kennel door. He looked sad. In the circumstances, who wouldn't? I opened the door again and I knelt down and ruffled his curly coated ears and the top of his head. His nose lifted up to catch my hand and then he looked me dead in the eye and I told him, 'You're going to be OK, you know that, and we're going to be mates. I'll look after you and you look after me, that's the way it goes.'
If anyone says to me that dogs can't talk I will argue till I'm blue in the face that they certainly can. I swear that in just one look Buster told me that I had better not turn out to be an arrogant arse, otherwise he would have to teach me a lesson. I wasn't going to challenge him, after all this was a dog with campaign medals all of his own. I had high hopes for tomorrow – day one of our five weeks' training before deploying to Afghanistan.
CHAPTER 2Playtime is Over
The next morning I woke with a schoolboy excitement. I had a new dog to play with and it felt like Christmas morning. Of course I couldn't be sure that Buster would be feeling the same sense of joy. At three years old, Buster was onto his third handler and, as a military working dog, he could quite feasibly have another three or four people to call master before his retirement in around four years' time.
When I reached Buster, he was pacing and every now and again looking up to see who was coming. He recognised me immediately and bounded up to the kennel door to take a closer look. He gave me a very cool once-over and then threw me what I can only describe as another frown. I got the distinct feeling that, in the bright light of a new day, he was slightly under-impressed with what stood before him. Not to worry, onwards and upwards, and besides I had another piece of bribery that was bound to cement our friendship – this time proper dog treats.
'Sit. Wait. Go!' I was right. The first treat disappeared without a trace. I'm not sure if the treat had the casting vote but, whatever it was, Buster was soon a very changed dog. He was round my legs as if they were covered in sirloin steaks. Bouncy, happy, ready for his walk, his breakfast and a bit of grooming. Nick was right, this dog did know all the ropes and all the tricks and he was only three years old! I wondered how many others he had fooled with his 'I'm so upset' act, before holding them to ransom for a tasty treat. Clever bugger!
This happy version of Buster was more like the dog I wanted to spend the next six months with. Who I could imagine sharing my most intimate and fear-ridden moments with in our darkest hours. A part of me admired Buster for seeing right through me and holding out for the food.
Trotting happily at my heels he could have been out on a country walk with his new master, and not a care in the world. He looked confident and I was pleased, but this was the moment of truth: if I let him off his lead, would he stay or would he run like the wind? Waddo, like most airfields, is home to a million rabbits and so far that morning they must have wondered why the new recruit wasn't giving them the expected runaround. On the lead, Buster didn't even give them a second look and for me that was a big positive. If free-running rabbits didn't bother him at home he was less likely to be distracted by all the tempting sights and smells in Afghanistan.
'Well done Buster, nice work. But if you run now I promise I will be right on your tail mate and don't think I'm joking.' I slipped the lead off his collar and we carried on walking. Within a few feet Buster realized that he was 'free' and for one heart-stopping moment I watched him bolt towards the perimeter fence.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Buster by Will Barrow. Copyright © 2015 Isabel George. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page,Copyright Notice,
Dedication,
Prologue,
A Great Dog,
Playtime is Over,
Desert Dog,
Buster's New Friends,
Under Fire,
River Dog,
Pulling the Pin,
Downtime,
Kabutlins,
Dangerous Days,
Buster the Talisman,
Working with Uncle Sam,
Stuck in the Mud,
Christmas in the Desert,
Who to Trust?,
Home at Last,
The Last to Leave,
Buster the Famous War Dog,
Afterword,
Acknowledgements,
About the Authors,
Copyright,