280PLUS
Member
(This reminds me of the tale of Horrie the Wog Dog of WWII fame. An Aussie diggers platoon mascot. Horrie was the same kind of pick me up dog found on death's doorstep and saved by the diggers. He too went on to alert them to attack. Apparently he was good at hearing planes way before the humans did. He saved many lives himself. He was smuggled back to Australia but was discovered and destroyed by the Health Dept. there. 
)
Subject: Brown Dog
The year was 1966 and I was a newly assigned machine gunner in an
infantry unit that was protecting a high mountain pass that was between
Da
Nang and Phu Bai, Vietnam. The pass is called Hai Van Pass, which means
Place of the Clouds. It is located 30 km north of Da Nang. The Marine
Corps
name of the hill that my unit was on was Hill 724. It was a dangerous
and
treacherous area that was of high strategic value. There was only one
narrow
highway that wound up steep cliffs (Highway 1) that reached the peak at
Hai
Van. At the base of the hill was a small village called Namo. My story
starts in that village.
On a patrol through the village, my squad noticed a small wooden
cage
outside of a hooch. We were new to Vietnam and unaware of the customs
of the
people. We were always alert for booby traps and we moved closer to the
cage. Inside the cage was a small, brown puppy that brightened up when
he
saw us approach his cage. He began wagging his tail and wanting to be
held.
It was love at first sight for all of us. Don't tell anybody, but most
Marines are real softies when it comes to animals. The owner of the
hooch
came out and I decided to offer to buy his puppy. I just didn't like
his
living conditions. The old villager started his trying to up the price
and
after much debate, he decided on a price. He then pulled out a sharp
knife
and proceeded to open the cage.
All of us were shocked that he pulled a knife out and we
all
raised our weapons to him. He looked very frightened and assured us
that he
meant us no harm. He explained in gestures that he was just going to
prepare
the dog for us. We were confused and then he made the motion of drawing
his
knife across his neck to tell us that he was going to kill the dog and
dress
it out for us to Chop-Chop. I can only tell you that the anger level
went up
100 notches at that suggestion. We then realized that the dog was being
raised to eat by the villager. I unbuttoned my flak jacket and reached
in
and took the dog from his hands. I threw the money on the ground and
placed
the pup next to my heart so I could carry him up the long torturous
climb
back to our base camp.
The first event that happened was all of us knew that it was
going to
be a challenge to get our superiors to allow us to keep him. It was a
miserable walk back to our hill. Our fears were baseless because we had
a
wonderful Captain, named Capt. Silva, and he allowed us to keep the
puppy as
a mascot. We loved him before, but we really loved the Captain after
that.
Next we had the heated debate on what the dogs name should be. It was
not an
easy process since marines are very bull-headed and strong willed.
After
much serious and highly intelligent discussion we arrived at the unique
name
of Brown Dog. You have to know Marines to appreciate this.
Brown Dog was the darling of the hill and only one Marine hated
him
and that was OK, because we all hated him too. We all decided that if
Brown
Dog didn't like him that there had to be a damn good reason. Later he
proved
to be a coward in combat and was removed from our hill before he had an
Accident. Brown Dog was very happy that he left. I lost a stripe
because I
caught this guy kicking at Brown Dog and I explained to him not to do
that
again. I explained a little too harsh and the 1st Sgt. explained to me
the
error of my ways.
Brown Dog had a ritual of his life on the hill. At night we were
in
bunkers staring out into a dark, fog filled jungle. We were issued
Seismic
Listening Devices which consisted of probes planted in the ground in
front
of our bunkers. We had a small console inside that had earphones. We
could
hear footsteps approaching or animals moving. We got pretty good with
the
device. Brown Dog would make the perimeter of our positions and visit
every
bunker to check on "His" marines. He was always a welcome visitor and
he
spent all of his non-patrolling time in his daddy's bunker, MINE! He
also
went on patrols with us and had an intense hatred for the Vietnamese.
He
would growl and really act up when he would see or smell one.
On April 1, 1967, we were dug in and the fog was pea soup thick
that
night. I was in the machine gun bunker and we were really spooked.
About 3
am Brown dog shot up and went on full alert. I rang the field phone and
informed the Command bunker that Brown Dog had alerted. Our Lt. (a
Naval
Academy IDIOT) advised me to trust my Seismic Device and not a damn
dog!
My bunker was the forward bunker and the most vulnerable. I
looked at
my machine gun crew and whispered that I was going to disobey the Lt's
stupid order. They all nodded as I prepared the pop-up flare to shoot
into
the sky. I popped the flare and Lo and Behold we had Beaucoup Gooks in
the
wire! All hell broke loose and it was a very violent battle that night.
It
was up close and personal fighting and many people on both sides were
killed
and wounded. Brown Dog was hit by shrapnel but continued to fight the
enemy.
I saw him attack the leg of a NVA before he was zapped.
The attack failed and for what seemed like an eternity, we waited
for
the sun to come up. There were dead people in the wire, burning, and
moaning
out in pain in the darkness. I held Brown Dog in my arms and awaited
the
medivac helicopters that were coming to help our wounded. I really
thought
Brown Dog was going to die in my arms.
When the choppers came I handed my baby to the door gunner and
asked
him to get him medical help and told him that we would all be dead if
it
wasn't for Brown Dog. Marine to Marine, he gave me his word and I
watched
the dust-off. My Capt. pulled me aside and told me that he was glad
that I
never followed orders. He rubbed my head and told me that he was going
to
call to headquarters and tell them the story and he ASSURED me that
Brown
Dog was going to get the best of care.
Brown Dog had lost a lot of blood so I really didn't have much
hope.
The next day we received word that Brown Dog had been taken to Army
Vets and
they had saved his life. He had over 100 stitches, needed blood and
antibiotics but he was going to live. He was the hero to all of us. He
received a canine award for heroism and we promoted him to Cpl. I also
got
my stripe back much to the chagrin of the Lt.
Cpl. Brown Dog returned to a hero's welcome as we had a full
formation
to welcome him home. I left the hill June 9th, 1967 and he was in very
good
hands with the Marines on the hill. I tried to take him home but that
was
impossible. I really hurt having to leave him on the hill, but I knew
the
Marines would take excellent care of him.
I have always thought it was so ironic that once he was going to
be
eaten by the Vietnamese and in turn he caused the death of so damn many
of
them!
All of my friends still have his picture and we all know that we
would
not be here today if it were not for a little, mixed breed dog named
Brown
Dog. He will be in our hearts until we die and a part of our souls
forever.
When we assemble for our reunions, we always toast Brown Dog.
Rest in peace little Warrior and wait for Your Marines to join
you. We
will always be Semper Fidelis to you and your memory. A Salute and
three
cheers for the finest Marine on our hill!
Ooo-Rah Brown Dog!
Cpl. Charles Patrick Dugan
2164539 USMC
Vietnam 1966-1967
Machine Gunner - Infantry
)Subject: Brown Dog
The year was 1966 and I was a newly assigned machine gunner in an
infantry unit that was protecting a high mountain pass that was between
Da
Nang and Phu Bai, Vietnam. The pass is called Hai Van Pass, which means
Place of the Clouds. It is located 30 km north of Da Nang. The Marine
Corps
name of the hill that my unit was on was Hill 724. It was a dangerous
and
treacherous area that was of high strategic value. There was only one
narrow
highway that wound up steep cliffs (Highway 1) that reached the peak at
Hai
Van. At the base of the hill was a small village called Namo. My story
starts in that village.
On a patrol through the village, my squad noticed a small wooden
cage
outside of a hooch. We were new to Vietnam and unaware of the customs
of the
people. We were always alert for booby traps and we moved closer to the
cage. Inside the cage was a small, brown puppy that brightened up when
he
saw us approach his cage. He began wagging his tail and wanting to be
held.
It was love at first sight for all of us. Don't tell anybody, but most
Marines are real softies when it comes to animals. The owner of the
hooch
came out and I decided to offer to buy his puppy. I just didn't like
his
living conditions. The old villager started his trying to up the price
and
after much debate, he decided on a price. He then pulled out a sharp
knife
and proceeded to open the cage.
All of us were shocked that he pulled a knife out and we
all
raised our weapons to him. He looked very frightened and assured us
that he
meant us no harm. He explained in gestures that he was just going to
prepare
the dog for us. We were confused and then he made the motion of drawing
his
knife across his neck to tell us that he was going to kill the dog and
dress
it out for us to Chop-Chop. I can only tell you that the anger level
went up
100 notches at that suggestion. We then realized that the dog was being
raised to eat by the villager. I unbuttoned my flak jacket and reached
in
and took the dog from his hands. I threw the money on the ground and
placed
the pup next to my heart so I could carry him up the long torturous
climb
back to our base camp.
The first event that happened was all of us knew that it was
going to
be a challenge to get our superiors to allow us to keep him. It was a
miserable walk back to our hill. Our fears were baseless because we had
a
wonderful Captain, named Capt. Silva, and he allowed us to keep the
puppy as
a mascot. We loved him before, but we really loved the Captain after
that.
Next we had the heated debate on what the dogs name should be. It was
not an
easy process since marines are very bull-headed and strong willed.
After
much serious and highly intelligent discussion we arrived at the unique
name
of Brown Dog. You have to know Marines to appreciate this.
Brown Dog was the darling of the hill and only one Marine hated
him
and that was OK, because we all hated him too. We all decided that if
Brown
Dog didn't like him that there had to be a damn good reason. Later he
proved
to be a coward in combat and was removed from our hill before he had an
Accident. Brown Dog was very happy that he left. I lost a stripe
because I
caught this guy kicking at Brown Dog and I explained to him not to do
that
again. I explained a little too harsh and the 1st Sgt. explained to me
the
error of my ways.
Brown Dog had a ritual of his life on the hill. At night we were
in
bunkers staring out into a dark, fog filled jungle. We were issued
Seismic
Listening Devices which consisted of probes planted in the ground in
front
of our bunkers. We had a small console inside that had earphones. We
could
hear footsteps approaching or animals moving. We got pretty good with
the
device. Brown Dog would make the perimeter of our positions and visit
every
bunker to check on "His" marines. He was always a welcome visitor and
he
spent all of his non-patrolling time in his daddy's bunker, MINE! He
also
went on patrols with us and had an intense hatred for the Vietnamese.
He
would growl and really act up when he would see or smell one.
On April 1, 1967, we were dug in and the fog was pea soup thick
that
night. I was in the machine gun bunker and we were really spooked.
About 3
am Brown dog shot up and went on full alert. I rang the field phone and
informed the Command bunker that Brown Dog had alerted. Our Lt. (a
Naval
Academy IDIOT) advised me to trust my Seismic Device and not a damn
dog!
My bunker was the forward bunker and the most vulnerable. I
looked at
my machine gun crew and whispered that I was going to disobey the Lt's
stupid order. They all nodded as I prepared the pop-up flare to shoot
into
the sky. I popped the flare and Lo and Behold we had Beaucoup Gooks in
the
wire! All hell broke loose and it was a very violent battle that night.
It
was up close and personal fighting and many people on both sides were
killed
and wounded. Brown Dog was hit by shrapnel but continued to fight the
enemy.
I saw him attack the leg of a NVA before he was zapped.
The attack failed and for what seemed like an eternity, we waited
for
the sun to come up. There were dead people in the wire, burning, and
moaning
out in pain in the darkness. I held Brown Dog in my arms and awaited
the
medivac helicopters that were coming to help our wounded. I really
thought
Brown Dog was going to die in my arms.
When the choppers came I handed my baby to the door gunner and
asked
him to get him medical help and told him that we would all be dead if
it
wasn't for Brown Dog. Marine to Marine, he gave me his word and I
watched
the dust-off. My Capt. pulled me aside and told me that he was glad
that I
never followed orders. He rubbed my head and told me that he was going
to
call to headquarters and tell them the story and he ASSURED me that
Brown
Dog was going to get the best of care.
Brown Dog had lost a lot of blood so I really didn't have much
hope.
The next day we received word that Brown Dog had been taken to Army
Vets and
they had saved his life. He had over 100 stitches, needed blood and
antibiotics but he was going to live. He was the hero to all of us. He
received a canine award for heroism and we promoted him to Cpl. I also
got
my stripe back much to the chagrin of the Lt.
Cpl. Brown Dog returned to a hero's welcome as we had a full
formation
to welcome him home. I left the hill June 9th, 1967 and he was in very
good
hands with the Marines on the hill. I tried to take him home but that
was
impossible. I really hurt having to leave him on the hill, but I knew
the
Marines would take excellent care of him.
I have always thought it was so ironic that once he was going to
be
eaten by the Vietnamese and in turn he caused the death of so damn many
of
them!
All of my friends still have his picture and we all know that we
would
not be here today if it were not for a little, mixed breed dog named
Brown
Dog. He will be in our hearts until we die and a part of our souls
forever.
When we assemble for our reunions, we always toast Brown Dog.
Rest in peace little Warrior and wait for Your Marines to join
you. We
will always be Semper Fidelis to you and your memory. A Salute and
three
cheers for the finest Marine on our hill!
Ooo-Rah Brown Dog!
Cpl. Charles Patrick Dugan
2164539 USMC
Vietnam 1966-1967
Machine Gunner - Infantry
