MY DOG THE WAR HERO

Before I adopted Dyngo, he spent nine months sniffing bombs and saving lives in Afghanistan. Could I help him settle back into civilian life?

- Rebecca Frankel

It was late—an indistinguishable, blearyeyed hour. In front of me was a large dog, snapping his jaws so hard that his teeth gave a loud clack with each bark. His eyes were locked on me, desperate for the toy in my hand. But he wasn’t playing—he was freaking out.

As I cautiously held my ground, his bark morphed from a yelp to a shout. Then he gave a rumbling growl. That was when my unease gave way to something far more primal: fear.

This was no ordinary dog. Dyngo, a ten-year-old, had been trained to propel his six-stone body toward insurgents, locking his jaws around them. He’d served three tours in Afghanistan, weathering grenade blasts and firefights. This dog had saved thousands of lives. Now he was in my flat in Washington, DC. Just 72 hours earlier, I had travelled across the country to retrieve Dyngo from Luke Air Force Base near Phoenix, Arizona, so that he could live out his remaining years with me in civilian retirement.

That first night, May 9, 2016, after we’d settled into my hotel room, Dyngo sat on the bed waiting for me. When I got under the covers, he stretched across the blanket, his weight heavy and comforting against my side. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt his body twitch, and I smiled: Dyngo is a dog who dreams.

The next morning, I gave him a toy and went to shower. When I emerged from the bathroom, it was like stepping into a henhouse massacre. Feathers floated in the air. Fresh rips ran through the white sheets. In the middle of the bed was Dyngo, panting over a pile of shredded pillows. Throughout the morning, his rough play left scratches where his teeth had broken the skin through my jeans.