The passageway was tight; barely large enough for the unit to maneuver through with our load-out gear. The ambient light and that of the few bulbs overhead left the impression that our intelligence was correct. This was a prison; a dungeon of offenders to the government. Numerous bends in the layout as well as the doors seemed to swallow the groans, cries for help and the agony felt by these wretches begging for freedom. The overriding stench of urine and feces compounded the cacophony of noise. One could not help but pity the occupants. What crimes had they done? Who among them were political prisoners and who were actual criminals against humanity? My side glances were met with fear and anger. Anger that boiled over into angry, anguished cries for freedom.

Our search wasn’t for the masses, just a specific target of high interest. In all of this noise, seeming hatred, fear and frustration the purpose for our operation was simple; find the female who would bring stability to the region.

My gaze fell on our faithful Belgian Shepherd Sam, or Samantha for formal occasions. Her black and brown coat glistened in the available light. She was trained in multiple duties. She was our explosives detector, our drug detector and even our guard dog. Before each individual part of the op, we would pet her to permit her nose to recognize who we were and catalog in her brain who was friend and who was foe. Some thought we did it just for luck. True, we’d been lucky with her, but her primary role was to keep us safe so we could all return home to dinner.

Then it happened. The worst thing that can kill a mission faster than an IED…my mind wandered away from the responsibilities before me. The same thing happened on my first op in Cambodia. My mind embraced thoughts that were off-track. I knew the results of my folly; the icy feeling that I was the walking dead. Fortunately the quiet, breathy question was in American and asked if I was alright.

My mind flashed to, of all things, dog breeds. We all loved Sam. She was our ever-present mother. She kept us safe. Every member of the team felt a deep kinship and love for her. On more than one occasion she’d spotted the danger before we were aware; human and explosive. We owed our lives to her.

No, this time my thoughts went to the recognized smartest dog breed by the American Kennel Club. Sure the Belgian Shepherd was great and easily made the top 10, but the smartest was the Border Collie. In my quiet times, I’d been reading about breeds that had everything; smarts, looks, love, enthusiasm, talent and strong work ethic. Border Collies had all of the above in spades.

One Border Collie I remember distinctly was a Military Working Dog who was to be put down for being too smart. He was always one step or more ahead of his handler. In the tight confines of a ship, unfortunately this was not acceptable. He was smart though. Like others of his breed, he had a vocabulary that went into the hundreds of commands, words, sounds and even sentences.

The author of the article contended that most if not all Border Collies had vocabularies in the thousands of words. The unique thing was their ability to process and arrange those sounds, words and even sentences into actions. The author also emphasized that his thoughts and statements were well grounded in scientific fact. Consistently Border Collies were winners at working dog competitions. So much so that they had to be placed into a separate category just for working dogs.

Then quickly my mind flashed to a staff member, a Navy Commander, who begged to take the dog condemned to die, and let him live out a long life, surrounded by a family who could love him and care for him. Unfortunately, Navy Regulations required that because the dog was so highly trained, he might be a nuisance in the general population. The Commander provided promises and assurances that the dog would be well cared for, loved and kept under control. Eventually, the Admiral relented and permitted Ralph to live with us.

Ralph was everything, and then some, to my family. He did have one weakness; children. My family lived a couple of blocks from a junior high school. Every once in a while, Ralph would “take a sabbatical” from his duties at home and escape only to reappear at the school and herd the kids while keeping the teachers away from his flock. On more than one occasion he faced off with local police who did their best to catch him. One rookie cop maced him, not realizing that part of his training was to endure mace. Eventually, Ralph tired of the exercise and figured the kids could find their way to safety after the warning bell sounded.

Ralph trotted home followed by the police cruiser and Animal Control. Upon entering our home, the fragrant odor spelled the folly of his ways. I’m sure he wanted to eagerly recount his accomplishment of saving the children from the evil menace of the officer, but several things had to be dealt with first. He was issued a “ticket and summons to appear” by the overly eager, but definitely new, cop. Second, he needed a tomato juice bath in the worst way.

Assuring the police officer I’d appear in court as his counsel, the “fierce cop” hopped into his cruiser and left. About three hours later, another cruiser appeared in our driveway. The officer stepped out, but this officer had a lot of extra hardware on his uniform. I met him coming up the driveway fearing another unfounded allegation. The officer introduced himself as the Chief of Police. My heart sank. Ralph finally made the Most Wanted list just for doing what came naturally.

The Chief and I spoke briefly. The Chief explained that the officer was a brand new officer and had not encountered anything like this in his training. The officer’s antagonistic demeanor forced Ralph into his protective mode. Not one child would be harmed by this interloper.

The Chief then went on to reveal that he came to the local police force from the Military Working Dog program. He understood what Ralph was doing. He did say, however, that the officer claimed that he almost shot this fierce, snarling mass of determined fur and huge teeth. He conceded that since Ralph also had a similar background, the unsuspecting officer could have been attacked and neutralized before his pistol ever cleared his holster. I confirmed the veracity of his statement.

Unfortunately, I still had to appear in court. The judge had condemned to death two animals in the case before mine. I was seriously shocked. This judge hated dogs.

My case was made. The facts heard. Even the Chief of Police vouched for Ralph. The judge then issued his verdict. Ralph could live to protect another day. There was a caveat with his pronouncement. Ralph had to be confined at home or suffer the demise of the previous dogs.

As most minds do, all these thoughts flashed across my mind in record time; literally microseconds. The duty at hand was to identify and retrieve our target.

We rounded another bend of cells. There, in a cell by herself, was our intended target. She was regal even in her confinement. Our eyes locked on to one another. My mind flashed to the pictures I’d seen and what I’d expected. She said not a word. She remained against the back wall of the cell attempting to determine whether we were friend or foe. It was apparent she was nothing like the loud, boisterous rabble surrounding her. She had a pride that exuded confidence. She was not a broken beggar.

Still, without a word, we set about to free the captive. Soon the door flung open and with a regal meekness, she exited the cell. Quickly, we assured others we’d send help for them and quickly exited the labyrinth of cells, stench and maze of corridors.

And that, my friends, is how we rescued my faithful confidant and friend, Sophie. A Border Collie, she has all the traits of her breed. She’s too smart; thinking my thoughts even before I form them into words. We communicate verbally, it’s true, but it’s the higher mental plane I enjoy most about her. At the time of rescue she was only a 10-month old pup, but several years later as I write this, her life has imbued and intertwined itself through the fabric of my heart.

At the present, she’s laying patiently within my reach. She knows I am working and not to bother me. Every once in a while, she’ll stand, stretch and nuzzle me with her cold, wet nose as if to say, “Don’t forget me. I’m being patient, but I know you’re working.”

She also tells me ever so often, “Thanks, Dad, for rescuing me.” Those are the moments when I know it was all worth it.