leaping out of helicopters. Did he
miss the sound of gunfire? Did he
crave the adrenaline rush of hopping
over walls and the struggle of human
limbs between his teeth? What if, in
my attempt to offer him a life of love
and relaxation, I had stolen his sense
of purpose?M
ilitary dogs get to a point
where they’re living for their
jobs, just as human service
members do, says Matt Hatala, a for-
mer Marine handler who deployed
to Afghanistan. “That has been their
identity—that is it—for years and years.
And when you get out, you kinda go,
‘What the heck do I do now?’ And you
can never really find that replacement.
“That dog’s been through situa-
tions you’re not going to be able to
understand and might not be able
to handle,” Hatala continues. He ac-
knowledges that things weren’t always
easy after he brought home Chaney,
his former canine partner. The black
Lab was still ready to work, but there
wasn’t any work to do. Chaney devel-
oped a fear of thunderstorms—which
was strange, Hatala says, because he
had never before been scared of thun-
der, or even of gunfire or bombs.
Among the former handlers who’d
worked with Dyngo was S.Sgt. Jessie
Keller, who had arranged the adop-
tion. As Dyngo and I struggled to
adapt to our new life, Keller offered
me some thoughtful suggestions. But
something changed when Keller sentme a text message—“If u don’t feel u
can keep him please let me know and
I will take him back.” In some ways,
this was the thing I most wanted to
hear. But a resolve took hold: I was
not going to give up this dog.
During our early months together,
Dyngo admirably maintained his
military duties. As we made our way
down the hall from my apartment,
he would drop his nose down to the
seam of each door we passed and give
it a swift but thorough sniff. He was
still hunting for bombs. Every time
I clipped on his leash, he was ready
to do his job, even if, in his mind, I
wasn’t ready to do mine. He’d turn his
face up, expectant and chiding. And
when I didn’t give a command, he
would carry on, picking up my slack.
I tried to navigate him away from
the line of cars parked along the leafy
streets, where he tried to set his nose
toward the curves of the tires. How
could I convey to him that there were
no bombs here? How could I make
him understand that his nose was
now entirely his own?
Over the next nine months or so,
Dyngo gradually learned to let his
guard down and settle into domestic-
ity, and I adjusted to life with a retired
war dog.I
t has now been more than three
years since I brought Dyngo home.
He has learned how to play, maybe
for the first time, without anxiety. The
borrowed crate was dismantled two92 september 2019
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