No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone by Terri Crisp; C. J. Hurn

spaniel mix, laid his head on my lap, while Millie, a Lab cross, began tapping her black, stubby leg on my foot as she scratched. Luke, our sweet-natured Rottweiler, plopped down on the deck between Morgan, the older black Lab, and Mica, a short-haired terrier cross, each of them vying for the next-closest space to me. They all sensed I was worried.
    "So, guys, what am I going to do now?"
    I don't know whether it was their collective gaze of trust or just the fact that I sink into a state of contentment whenever the dogs surround me, but something suddenly hit me. The porch swing froze at the back of its arc. As if a tape recording had been switched on by invisible hands, my own words, spoken weeks before, replayed in my head.

    "If Eddie is willing to risk everything to save his wartime buddy, I should be willing to take necessary risks as well."
    Was this my test? Was I willing to take that risk? Looking at my dogs, I found the answer, but now I needed the approval. It was time to call my boss.
    "JD, this is Terri. Sorry to call you after hours, but do you have a minute?"
    "Sure. What's up?"
    "I came up against another obstacle on Charlie's transport."
    "Well, that's a surprise."
    We spent nearly an hour discussing the options. It was all boiling down to one that left me feeling somewhere between really excited and scared as hell.
    "Are you sure you want to do this?" JD asked. All the kidding had stopped. "It is a war zone."
    Five minutes later I called United Airlines back to book a oneway flight for Charlie and a round-trip ticket for me between Kuwait and Washington, D.C. I then made reservations with Gryphon Airlines and e-mailed Eddie so he could begin to coordinate logistics with SLG.
    All I had to do now was break the news to my family that I'd soon be going to Iraq via Kuwait. My husband, Ken, and I had met in 1989 while responding to the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska. And my daughters, Jennifer, Amy, and Megan, had grown up with a mom whose work involved rescuing animals on short notice during floods, fires, and other natural disasters. My family members had long since learned to live with the demands this kind of career can make. Totally supportive when I had to leave home, sometimes for weeks at a time, they would adopt routine B and enjoy hearing about my adventures when I returned. Even so, I had never traveled to a country at war. For the first time they might say, "Don't go!"

    When I got up the courage to tell them, they were too stunned to say anything at first. I quickly jumped in with assurances that I would be okay, but it took some convincing, particularly with my oldest daughter. Jennifer also worked for SPCA International, so she was more aware of the kind of dangers I might be facing, whereas my other two daughters were still in high school and less cognizant of the world outside America. Ken knew me too well to even try talking me out of it.
    Finally my daughters got down to the nitty-gritty: the most important questions. "What are you going to wear? Do you have to cover your hair? Can you show any skin?" I didn't know the answers, but, thank goodness, John Wagner from Gryphon Airlines did.
    "As long as you don't go wandering down to the beach in a bikini, you'll be safe," he laughed. "Just wear normal clothes, and don't shake hands with a man unless he offers his hand first. Rest assured that Kuwait City has everything-you'll feel like you're at home. They have American restaurants, upscale malls, and they even accept plastic money. What more could you ask for?"

    Charlie patrolling the streets of Baghdad Eddie Watson

A guarantee that this isgoing to work? I kept that thought to myself.
    Usually when I leave for a disaster, Ken or Jennifer drops me off at the airport, but this time the entire family came and followed me into the airport. After we said our goodbyes, I went through security. When I gathered my stuff again and looked around for one last glimpse of my family, the post 9-11 screens