Canis lupus hominis

Most stories about war dogs are about dogs who actually served in combat. We all know the stories of the Dobermann sentry and sniffer dogs that the US Marine Corps used during the Second World War. We all know of the World War I messenger dogs, and those among us who know of Ancient History are aware of mastiff-type dogs being unleashed in battle.

But for those stories of dogs in combat, there are many more of the dogs of the barracks, the morale boosters, the company mascots, and friendly pets of the service members.

My grandpa served in the Korean War. Stationed in Seoul, he tended the messenger pigeons that were used to ferry messages from the combat zone.  He got that job through the luck of being able to best mimic a pigeon’s call– something someone learns growing up in rural West Virginia.

While stationed in Seoul, he had a dog.

All of the men there had dogs.

Although the men were there for just a tour of duty, the dogs were permanent fixtures.

When a man served his tour, his replacement would take the dog.

These dogs were not war dogs at all. They had no special training at all.

They were merely Korean street dogs that found it was easier to live with UN forces than take their chances on the streets. Koreans ate dogs, and the dogs knew which people they could trust.

They feared Koreans very much. I suppose they could tell the difference because differences in diet change the odor that humans emit.

His dog’s name was Paducah, named for the city in Kentucky.  He variously described her as a collie-type dog or a spitz-type dog. Whatever she was, she was his dog.

She was very streetwise. She knew how to forage in the city and avoid being taken as table fare.  That is a skill that many Korean dogs would have had to have taught their offspring, for at this time, dog-eating was a deeply ingrained Korean custom. It is still a custom, but it is far less common than it once was.  (Today, there are many Koreans who oppose dog meat consumption).

Through her wanderings, Paducah wound up pregnant.

But when it came time for her to whelp her litter, she had trouble.

One of the fellow GI had “taken VOAG,” and he offered his assistance.

Somehow, he procured some ether from the medics and put the laboring Paducah under.

He had performed a Caesarean on a cow before, making an incision through the flank to pull out the calf. How could it be different with a dog?

To everyone’s suprise, he pulled out six puppies. One of these was stillborn and clogging up the birth canal. The other five were healthy and screaming.

All went well, except that the VOAG surgeon sutured her incision a little too tight.

The result was that poor Paducah’s gait became stiffer and less fluid than it was before.

The puppies, of course, were hits with everyone at the barracks.

However, my grandpa left Korea not long after they were born.

He left Paducah and her litter for the next guy to care for.

Such was the lot of an unofficial pet.

But while they were stationed there, these unofficial dogs provided companionship. Many of these soldiers had never been out of the country before.  This was an alien world, and to be in it in the midst of a blood war was truly a shock to their systems.

These dogs reminded them of familiar places, where dogs were constant companions.

They were comfort in a time of war.

And in that capacity, they served both the United States and the Republic of Korea.

For that they should be remembered.

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Disclaimer: This piece should not suggest that having VOAG qualifies anyone to perform C-sections or any kind of surgery on dogs.