All of us
were shocked that he pulled a knife out and we all raised our
weapons to him. He looked very frightened and assured us that he
meant us no harm. He explained in gestures that he was just going to
prepare the dog for us. We were confused and then he made the motion
of drawing his knife across his neck to tell us that he was going to
kill the dog and dress it out for us to Chop-Chop. I can only tell
you that the anger level went up 100 notches at that suggestion. We
then realized that the dog was being raised to eat by the villager.
I unbuttoned my flak jacket and reached in and took the dog from his
hands. I threw the money on the ground and placed the pup next to my
heart so I could carry him up the long torturous climb back to our
base camp.
The first event that
happened was all of us knew that it was going to be a challenge
to get our superiors to allow us to keep him. It was a miserable
walk back to our hill. Our fears were baseless because we had a
wonderful Captain, named Capt. Silva, and he allowed us to keep
the puppy as a mascot. We loved him before, but we really loved
the Captain after that. Next we had the heated debate on what
the dogs name should be. It was not an easy process since
marines are very bull-headed and strong willed. After much
serious and highly intelligent discussion we arrived at the
unique name of Brown Dog. You have to know Marines to appreciate
this.
Brown Dog was the
darling of the hill and only one Marine hated him and that was
OK, because we all hated him too. We all decided that if Brown
Dog didn't like him that there had to be a damn good reason.
Later he proved to be a coward in combat and was removed from
our hill before he had an Accident. Brown Dog was very happy
that he left. I lost a stripe because I caught this guy kicking
at Brown Dog and I explained to him not to do that again. I
explained a little too harsh and the 1st Sgt.
explained to me the error of my ways.
Brown Dog had a
ritual of his life on the hill. At night we were in bunkers
staring out into a dark, fog filled jungle. We were issued
Seismic Listening Devices which consisted of probes planted in
the ground in front of our bunkers. We had a small console
inside that had earphones. We could hear footsteps approaching
or animals moving. We got pretty good with the device. Brown Dog
would make the perimeter of our positions and visit every bunker
to check on His marines. He was always a welcome visitor and
he spent all of his non patrolling time in his daddys bunker,
MINE! He also went on patrols with us and had an intense hatred
for the Vietnamese. He would growl and really act up when he
would see or smell one.
On April 1, 1967, we
were dug in and the fog was pea soup thick that night. I was in
the machine gun bunker and we were really spooked. About 3 am
Brown dog shot up and went on full alert. I rang the field phone
and informed the Command bunker that Brown Dog had alerted. Our
Lt., ( Naval Academy IDIOT) advised me to trust my Seismic
Device and not a damn dog!
My bunker was the
forward bunker and the most vulnerable. I looked at my machine
gun crew and whispered that I was going to disobey the Lt.s
stupid order. They all nodded as I prepared the pop-up flare to
shoot into the sky. I popped the flare and Lo and Behold we had
Beaucoup Gooks in the wire! All hell broke loose and it was a
very violent battle that night. It was up close and personal
fighting and many people on both sides were killed and wounded.
Brown Dog was hit by shrapnel but continued to fight the enemy.
I saw him attack the leg of a NVA before he was zapped.
The attack failed
and for what seemed like an eternity, we waited for the sun to
come up. There were dead people in the wire, burning, and
moaning out in pain in the darkness. I held Brown Dog in my arms
and awaited the medivac helicopters that were coming to help our
wounded. I really thought Brown Dog was going to die in my arms.
When the choppers
came I handed my baby to the door gunner and asked him to get
him medical help and told him that we would all be dead if it
wasn't for Brown Dog. Marine to Marine, he gave me his word and
I watched the dust-off. My Capt. pulled me aside and told me
that he was glad that I never followed orders. He rubbed my head
and told me that he was going to call to headquarters and tell
them the story and he ASSURED me that Brown Dog was going to get
the best of care.
Brown Dog had lost a
lot of blood so I really didn't have much hope. The next day we
received word that Brown Dog had been taken to Army Vets and
they had saved his life. He had over 100 stitches, needed blood
and antibiotics but he was going to live. He was the hero to all
of us. He received a canine award for heroism and we promoted
him to Cpl. I also got my stripe back much to the chagrin of the
Lt.
Cpl. Brown Dog
returned to a heros welcome as we had a full formation to
welcome him home. I left the hill June 9th, 1967 and
he was in very good hands with the Marines on the hill. I tried
to take him home but that was impossible. I really hurt having
to leave him on the hill, but I knew the Marines would take
excellent care of him.
I have always
thought it was so ironic that once he was going to be eaten by
the Vietnamese and in turn he caused the death of so damn many
of them!
All of my friends
still have his picture and we all know that we would not be here
today if it were not for a little, mixed breed dog named Brown
Dog. He will be in our hearts until we die and a part of our
souls forever.
When we assemble for
our reunions, we always toast Brown Dog.
Rest in peace little
Warrior and wait for Your Marines to join you. We will always be
Semper Fidelis to you and your memory. A Salute and three cheers
for the finest Marine on our hill!
Ooo-Rah
Brown Dog!
Cpl. Charles Patrick
Dugan
2164539 USMC
Vietnam 1966-1967
Machine Gunner -
Infantry
