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MY BEST FRIEND (Part 2 of 2)

© William G. Wigginton, Jr.

(continued from http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/1366...

In the meantime, I drove the posting and relief trucks, and posted my fellow K-9 handlers and their dogs on base and out to the MSA, and once or twice a night, we drove around with water, and checked on all the handlers, Security Police in the bunkers, and Thai guards in the towers. During the rainy or monsoon season, an insect called a "rice bug" comes out to eat the rice in the paddies. They are black, and anywhere from an inch to six inches long, with wings and pinchers in front. Usually they would be drawn to the lights, and didn't bother you. But, this time I had twelve handlers and their dogs in the back of the truck, and a rice bug flew in the window and crawled up my pants leg, which I had failed to blouse because I was driving, and not walking post. Boy, I never made that mistake again! I felt him crawling, and with my left hand, I tried to bat him out of my pants leg, and still drive with my right.

The bug managed to get a good pinch on my leg, and I yelled bloody murder, and released the steering wheel to try and get it off of my leg, as it hurt like hell. That was the wrong thing to do as the truck immediately jerked to the right, ran off the road and headed for a concrete telephone pole. I saw it at the last minute, and slammed on the brakes, stopping about a foot or two from the pole.

Well, all twelve handlers and their dogs all ended up in a pile in the front of the truck. We had dogs fighting dogs, handlers fighting handlers, dogs fighting handlers, and handlers fighting dogs, and all the time all twelve of them were cussing me, and insulting my heritage and other things about me. I jumped out of the truck, and finally got the damned bug out of my pants, after he'd pinched me a few more times. After a minute, all was worked out in the back of the truck. No handler or dog was seriously hurt.

My next new best friend was "Blackie" who was another black and tan shepherd, rather on the small side. But, what he lost in size, he made up for in heart and courage and intelligence. Blackie was without a doubt, the smartest, most intelligent dog I'd ever handled, even to this day. He was perfect in everything he did, both on and off the leash. I never had to give him any commands more than once. And, if we were around anyone other than another handler, I would give Blackie the leash end, and he would take it in his mouth, and I'd point to someone, and say, "Go play with him, Blackie", and he'd go over to whomever I pointed, drop the leash at their feet, sit down and wait for them to play with him.