Aron, four years old, is an explosive detection and patrol dog and according to SSgt Black, his most important job is also to “keep me sane.” Aron has the exuberance of youth and in his down time loves to play with his frisbee. But in the end, it is a simple red rubber ball that has been the catalyst for saving lives!

 

Aron is a hero, not known by many, but a hero just the same. Here in SSgt Black’s own words is the story of the red rubber ball.

 

“December, 2005 approaches as I enter the kennels and place Aron’s collar and leash on him.  Excited, Aron wags his tail and pulls toward the door not knowing that today there will be dramatic changes from his normal routine of training and patrolling Kirtland AFB.  Today is only known by his handler.

 

Aron, loaded into his kennel, is put on a truck headed to the airport.  We travel for six days and finally arrive at Baghdad International Airport, Iraq.  Still unaware of what lies ahead of us, unfamiliar smells and strange activities heighten Aron’s keen senses. 

 

After a few nights of his barking at every noise, we load up on a helicopter bound for Ba’Qubah, Iraq ( Forward Operating Base Warhorse in the Diyala Province.)  We landed late afternoon and were met by two handlers who were just completing their six month tours.  Ours was just beginning.  I unloaded my six bags and settled into our CHU (Coalition Housing Unit). 

 

Aron was anxious to take a walk and discover new things.  Bounding out of the unit, he and I both begin to familiarize ourselves with the new surroundings.  Aron immediately checks out a small tree near the ball field, a ball field he will later discover is a great place to catch frisbees.

 

The second day yields our first mission. It is pitch black outside as I place the tracking harness around Aron’s midsection, as I had done numerous times before. I take him to the waiting HUMMWV and to his position in the rear seat.  I sensed Aron’s hesitation with what I was asking of him and tell him, “Hup.”  I can see him thinking.  “In there? Where?”  With guidance, encouragement and trust, he finally understands what I am asking of him.  As I walked around to take my own seat next to him, he never took his eyes off of me.  As the HUMMWV starts up everyone turns to look at Aron and questioned his excessive barking.  I reply, “Yep, the whole time.” 

 

We depart the safety of the base and head onto the Iraqi road.  Aron sensed my nervousness and tried to get closer to me, possibly to comfort me or perhaps himself. After an hour of driving and barking, the HUMMVW stops and we get out.  Soldiers eye Aron and me, possibly reminiscing about their own pets left back home, or perhaps wondering if this dog can actually find explosives.  We learn the reason for our mission and wait our turn to do what we were sent here to do. 

 

The night before, insurgents attacked an Iraqi police station killing a handful of police.  I survey the area and come to conclude now this is real. I observe a black body bag containing an Iraqi police major by the road, ten yards from our staging area.  On the road is a burned out Iraqi police truck.  “Seek,” I command, as familiar training instantly sets in and Aron goes immediately to work.  Over mounds of earth thick brush, Aron’s nose never comes higher than six inches off the ground, as he focuses on the odors surrounding him.

 

We ‘clear’ homes, vehicles and fields.  Men, women and children huddle together next to a dirt wall outside their homes.  I wanted so badly to gather the children and tell them ‘it’s alright’ and that we mean no harm. But my duty, and the fact I have a trained military dog, keeps me from approaching and taking the time.  After eighteen hours of waiting and searching we return to the safety of our FOB (forward operation base.) 

 

I soon realize I have a false sense of security when mortars start hitting the base around 0200.  My heart races. I put on my helmet and flak vest and take cover in the corner of my CHU, which is reinforced with sand bags stacked four feet high.  I pet Aron, calming him and myself. The loud explosions stop and it takes more than a few hours to settle back in bed.

 

Mission after mission, search after search, with only minimal results, we finally hit pay dirt.  It is January, 2006 and after countless missions, this one I will never forget.  We unload in a small village as I command “seek” through a palm grove.  Aron goes straight to work. A proverbial smell strikes his nose and with a strong pull we dart through the foliage.  Aron casts his nose into the air and responds, then looks to me for his reward, a red rubber ball.  With encouragement I take him away from the shrubs that he just responded on, as numerous other soldiers with shovels and a metal detector close in on the vicinity of his response. 

 

With only pats on his head, he still looks toward me to toss the red rubber ball.  The metal detector goes off with a high pitch, indicating a ‘positive’ for metal under the dirt.  They find nothing.  With my twelve years of experience, I pulled Aron past the shrubs and back into the wind.  Again he pulls and responds only 10 meters from the last location.  He stares longingly for the red rubber ball, but to no avail.  Then another high pitch from the metal detector.  This time a thud from the shovel as a wooden crate was unearthed.  A two foot by two foot box was discovered with seventeen pounds of Czech-made C-4 along with wires and numerous compact discs. Once confirmed, and only then, Aron is allowed to return and respond.  His just reward, a simple, red rubber ball.