War Dogs Read Online Free PDF

moment of clarity managed to prick its way through the fog of Lulofs’s complacency. While he and Farnsworth were out together on a mission, Lulofs saw a master gunnery sergeant, with Special Ops standing a few feet away, watching the pair of them. The sergeant walked over and looked Lulofs straight in the eye. “You two have been here too long,” he told him.
    The sense of fearlessness and invincibility he felt on missions was, he would realize later, purely selfish, and it put him recklessly close to the edge of death. Looking back now, Lulofs believes he survived the war because of two things. One of those things was luck; the other was Aaslan. The doghad been his lone emotional crutch and the real reason why he’d been able to retain as much of himself as he could hold onto in Fallujah.
    The other men relied on Aaslan too. During their deployment in Iraq, Lulofs had one rule about his dog. No one could pet Aaslan while they were working. The Marines on their patrols knew this rule and respected it. They would wait for each mission to be over because that’s when Aaslan was free—free to be loved on, free to play.
    There would be a lot of bad days in Iraq, “bad” meaning that they had severe casualties. After one very bad day, Lulofs and Aaslan were waiting with the Marines to remount so they could get back to their base. Lulofs watched while one Marine broke down, put his head on Aaslan’s shoulder, and wept.
    Any handler who has brought a dog with him or her to war will say it made all the difference in the world. They will say that the dog by their side provided them with something more than just a living, breathing piece of home—the dog acted as a talisman, insulating them from whatever horrors unfolded, bringing them peace in turbulence, offering companionship in times of loneliness. The dog’s presence made the path through war bearable, the unendurable somehow endurable, and many will say they came through the other side more stable.
    During wartime or otherwise, no matter how far one strays from working dogs, whether to venture into different military jobs or once back in civilian life, K-9 is a lifelong state of mind. It’s like a bloodline, deep and tangled, the mark of which lives on long past the dogs, long after the wars are over.
    Sean Lulofs knew he wanted to be a handler when he was five years old. His mother brought him to a police demonstration. He watched as an officer placed a bag of cocaine in a woman’s purse. Then a dog was brought in and, within minutes, found the cocaine. Awestruck, he turned to his mother and declared his life’s goal—to become a K-9 police officer.
    Dog handlers are their own breed. In Lulofs’s estimation handlers have their own place in the military world; they are like drops of oil floating in water—distinct, separate. It’s all part of the personality, he says. They seethemselves as outsiders within the larger world of the military. Shunned, misunderstood. “Leadership doesn’t understand us,” he says, “because they don’t understand our mindset. They don’t quite grasp us because they don’t understand dogs.”
    Even though he didn’t fully leave the MWD program, Lulofs stopped handling dogs in 2009 to take a managerial role. Advancing as a dog handler in the military often means giving up the work he loves—the higher the rank, the further into the world of administration one goes, and the further he is from working with the dogs. Still, the familiar ring of K-9 pride colors Lulofs’s voice. It’s the same sound that carries in Ron Aiello’s voice, just as it does with most handlers whether they’re retired or active, young or old.
    A scout dog handler who served in Vietnam, Ron Aiello still beams with pride for Stormy, the dog who accompanied him to war. From the way Aiello talks about her—immediate, vivid, and joyful—it’s as if