Heroes and friends

[asakiyume]

Voices are often what pull me into a story--even before I can hear what they're saying, sometimes just their tone, their manner. That was the case with the story of Jose Armenta, a Marine who, with a German shepherd, formed a mine-detecting team of two. Terry Gross interviewed him yesterday on Fresh Air.


Jose, his wife, and their dogs (Zenit in the background). Photo credit: Adam Ferguson/National Geographic

He was so soft-spoken, so matter-of-fact. So matter-of-fact about his traumatic childhood--shootings in front of his home--so matter-of-fact about his dangerous job, so understated about a sense of duty so strong that when he stepped on a mine, his first thought was shame at having "f--ed up" by failing to detect it.

Understated too about his deep love for Zenit, his dog partner. The soldiers who pair with mine-sniffing dogs aren't supposed to let themselves get too attached to the dogs, and Jose didn't think he had--but as he lay waiting for the Medevac, he kept asking for Zenit. And the National Geographic article "The Dogs of War," which goes into more detail about Jose and Zenit's story, notes that for his part, Zenit lay down next to Jose, ears pinned to his head, and stayed there until the chopper arrived.

During his recovery, Jose often woke from dreams, calling for Zenit. Even though the protocol was for Zenit to be assigned to a new handler in this situation (which did happen), Jose started up proceedings to adopt Zenit--and eventually succeeded.

Even though Jose doesn't go in for effusive statements of love, in his voice you can hear how much Zenit means to him. Zenit, for his part, ran right to Jose's side when they were reunited. We should all have--and be--such true friends. "I'm a lucky guy," Jose says.

Yeah, because even though he lost both legs above the knee, he's now married, has a baby son, and Zenit. It's not entirely happily ever after, but it's the sort of happiness this life gives us, if we're lucky.