Warrior Dog (Young Readers Edition): The True Story of a Navy SEAL and His Fearless Canine Partner

INTRODUCTION

This may not be quite the story you are expecting. I might as well make that clear now.

I served thirteen years in the US Navy, including eleven as a member of the elite Sea, Air and Land (SEAL) teams. I participated in hundreds of operations as part of the global fight against terrorism.

I was on the ground in Pakistan in the spring of 2011, when the world’s most wanted terrorist, Osama bin Laden, was finally brought to justice.

It’s fair to say that I have seen some battles. But that is only part of the story here, and not the most important part. I had the privilege of serving alongside some of the bravest men you could hope to meet.

But I also had the honor of working with an unsung hero whose role in the modern military is hard to comprehend—unless you served with him or one of his fellow four-legged warriors.

I grew up with dogs, but I didn’t understand how much canines were being used in the military until I became a SEAL and began to hear the stories. I remember walking into a training room once, early in my career, and hearing the following order:

Raise your hand if your life has ever been saved by a dog.

Most of the men in the room lifted their arms. They did not laugh. They did not smile. This was serious business.

A dog can save your life? Absolutely. In my case, many times over. Both on and off the battlefield.

This is my story, but it is also the story of one of those military working dogs, or MWDs. To be precise, he was part of a highly trained subset of MWDs known as combat assault dogs. And he was the most famous combat assault dog ever, thanks to his participation in the raid on bin Laden’s compound. He was a canine SEAL named Cairo, a seventy-pound Belgian Malinois who jumped out of planes, fast-roped out of helicopters, swam across streams, sniffed out roadside bombs, and disarmed bad guys.

Cairo did everything expected of his human counterparts. He did it with loyalty and courage. I would have taken a bullet for him, and he did, in fact, take one for me. This is his book as much as it is mine. Maybe more.

I first met Cairo in the summer of 2008. I’d been in the navy for six years, almost all of it as a SEAL. I was stationed in Virginia, satisfied with my work, and not really looking for any big changes. But then I was introduced to the canine program, and it caught my interest.

Fortunately, in those days, experience was not a requirement for becoming a dog handler. All I had to do was express an interest in the job, and suddenly there I was, attached to a magnificent Malinois! German shepherds, Dutch shepherds, and Labrador retrievers have also been used in the military. But the Malinois, which is basically a smaller, more agile version of the shepherd, is the ideal military dog.

Not everyone is a dog person. And not every SEAL wants to babysit an animal both at home and when they are on deployment. (A deployment is a long trip overseas to perform a series of missions. Most deployments last a few months.) My fellow SEALs were all happy to have Cairo out in front of us when we approached an enemy compound in the middle of the night. And when not on the job, he was a playful, friendly dog. Just about everyone loved him.

But to take on the burden of being a dog’s handler? That was left to someone who really wanted the job.

That was me. Cairo was my dog. And I was his dad.

The relationship between a handler and a canine SEAL is profound and intimate. It goes well beyond friendship. The training is challenging and endless. It is designed to foster not just expertise but a deep and complex attachment.

Anyone who has ever shared his life with a dog understands the two-way nature of the relationship. A dog relies on his master for food and shelter. He responds with unconditional love and loyalty. Take that relationship and multiply it by a hundred, and then factor in the almost unimaginable bond that is forged when a dog risks his life for you.

Then you’ll get an idea of what it was like for Cairo and me.

So, yes, in a very real sense, I was Cairo’s dad, as close to him as a father is to a son.

He was three years old when I met him. He had already graduated from a class of potential military candidates. He was a dog with not only freakish athletic ability but a tireless work ethic.

In other words, he was a dog who might become a SEAL.

But there was something else about Cairo that made him special: a laid-back personality that in other dogs might be cause for dismissal. A military working dog must be a fighter. In many cases that trait is not easily paired with companionship.

Cairo was different. He had the ability to throw a switch. He was gentle with people of all ages. But when it was time to go to work, he would work. He had a ferocious drive to hunt, perform, and serve. He was fearless.

That isn’t quite true, of course. Everyone who has walked into battle experiences fear, pain, and exhaustion. Dogs are animals, driven by instinct. They naturally withdraw from danger. They rest when they are weary. Just like humans. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to learn that it’s almost as rare for a dog to become an MWD as it is for a human to become a SEAL.

It isn’t for everyone. Let’s face it: Most people don’t want to enlist in the navy. And most people in the navy don’t want to endure the agony of SEAL training. Of those who do take the plunge, most soon discover they are in over their heads. In fact, only 20 percent of the men who enter the thirty-week SEAL training program known as Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) complete the program. The rest are weeded out not through injury or failure but through the simple act of surrender.

They quit.

The whole point of BUD/S is to find the true warriors—men who will not quit under any circumstances.

The same idea applies to developing military working dogs. Physical skill is useless if a dog freezes at the sound of a rocket propelled grenade (RPG) exploding into a hillside, or if he is afraid to enter a dark and dangerous building.

It’s not natural for dogs to do these sorts of things. It’s not … normal. But some of them do. Cairo was one of them. Did he realize he was risking his life for me and my brothers? Probably not. But he knew that his work was dangerous; I don’t doubt that for a second.

In the mountains of Afghanistan, on mission after mission, Cairo was a fighting machine. He was a military asset as valuable as a rifle or night vision goggles. But when it was time to go home and hang out with Dad, he could do that as well. We’d sit on the couch and watch movies together. He’d eat steak right next to me. He would sleep in my bed. He could be trusted with strangers and kids.

He was a nearly perfect dog.

This book is my tribute to Cairo. It’s a story about the amazing work he did in support of the US military, as well as what he did for me personally. We trained together, fought together, and lived together. He was, in many ways, my closest friend. I lost him for a while when our careers went in different directions, and then got him back long enough to care for him when his health failed. In return, he cared for me when I needed him most.

There is a code of selflessness among SEALs. While the work we do is serious and important, we are not, individually, special. We are a team united in purpose, none of us more vital than the next. I am proud of my military service, and of my work as a Navy SEAL, but I know there are men who sacrificed more. I share this story to honor my fellow soldiers, including a dog named Cairo, who often seemed just as human as the rest of us.

This is for you, buddy.

CHAPTER 1

Five feet ten inches tall. One hundred seventy-five pounds.

That’s the average size of a US Navy SEAL. Not exactly a superhero. The truth is, SEALs for the most part look like ordinary guys. Fit and strong, yes, but not in a larger-than-life way. It’s what’s inside that counts. You can’t judge a book by its cover.

There is no typical SEAL. We come from all walks of life, and from all parts of the country. I knew guys who struggled to get through high school. I knew others who were straight-A college graduates. Most of us were in our late teens or early twenties when we entered the SEAL training program. Others were much older. What we all had in common was a desire to serve our country at the highest level.

SEALs are involved in some of the most difficult missions in the military. The training is brutal because it is designed to select the people who are best suited for this kind of work. And it’s always been this way. Although modern-day SEALs can trace their roots back to the underwater demolition teams of World War II, the official SEAL program did not begin until the 1960s. Since that time, BUD/S has been very effective at ensuring that only the strongest candidates reach the finish line and become SEALs.

SEALs are expected to be more than just physically fit. They must be smart and creative. They need to understand teamwork and discipline. SEALs frequently encounter unexpected situations, often during combat. They learn to think quickly and respond accordingly. It’s a job with high stakes, so it makes sense that the training program is designed to find the people best suited to this type of service.

What made me think I could be one of the 20 percent who survived BUD/S? I don’t have a good answer for that. Thinking about it now, as a thirty-four-year-old veteran, it seems almost crazy. I enlisted in the navy, entered the SEAL program, and … well, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. There was nothing special about my background. I was an ordinary kid from a small town in Texas. I wasn’t very big (five feet nine, 170 pounds). I wasn’t a brilliant student or a great athlete. But I wouldn’t quit. I knew what I wanted, and what I wanted was to be a Navy SEAL!

I graduated from high school in the spring of 2002. By that time, I had already enlisted in the US Navy. I was a senior in high school on September 11, 2001. On that day, terrorists hijacked two planes and flew them into the Twin Towers in New York City; another plane was hijacked and flown into the Pentagon, in Washington, DC; a fourth hijacked plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. The attacks killed thousands of innocent civilians.

Like everyone else, I was saddened and angered by a horrific event that has come to be known simply as 9/11. I wanted to get out there and help find the people responsible for the attack. I wanted to help make sure that it never happened again. I enlisted in the navy, but my plan all along was to try to become a SEAL.

I want to be honest about that. There is nothing wrong with traditional military service. It’s vital to the American way of life, and the freedoms we value. But I was a seventeen-year-old kid itching to leave Texas and do something special with my life.

For me, it was the SEALs or nothing.

The thing is, in order to become a SEAL, you start by enlisting in the navy. I did that several months before graduating from high school. Because I was only seventeen, I needed my parents’ permission to enlist.

My mother had some reservations. She questioned whether I knew what I was getting myself into. After all, our country had just been attacked by terrorists and at that time no one had any idea how our military would respond. My mother was scared that her son might be going off to fight a war. She was scared I might be killed. My father, however, was excited and proud that I wanted to be a SEAL. And that’s the way I presented it to my parents. Not, I want to enlist in the navy, but rather, I’m going to be a SEAL. Not because it sounded better, but because it was what I believed.

To get into BUD/S, I had to go through basic training, also known as boot camp. I also had to pass the SEAL physical screening test (PST) test. The PST is designed to separate the wannabes from the serious candidates. I had spent a big chunk of the summer after I graduated from high school trying to prepare appropriately. I did a lot of running and swimming. I went to the gym and lifted weights. I was in good shape. But in boot camp, we also spent a lot of time in the classroom, studying navy customs and culture. It was important stuff for anyone who would be spending the next four years serving in the regular navy. But I started to worry about getting out of shape and not being able to pass the PST.

Fortunately, the recruits who had expressed an interest in the SEAL program were allowed two days of physical training per week. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The physical training was directed by a pair of men who represented my introduction to the world of Navy SEALs. One guy was in his early thirties and incredibly fit. The other guy was probably in his fifties and also in great shape. They pushed us hard in training, but they were also supportive. It seemed like they wanted us to believe that we could one day join their