Budda’s Story Part One

Vietnam US Army dog handler, here is Raymond “Pete” Peters’ talk about this. BJ simply edited it. 

The dog in this story represents the 4,000 military working dogs donated by the American public for training and sent to Vietnam. When the US pulled out, only 200 of these 4,000 dogs came home. Let’s speak about them.

In early 1967, the US Army selected Budda and Bob of the 39th Infantry Platoon Scout Dog Unit (IPSD) for a TDY assignment to the highly classified all-volunteer unit. The Army had created the IPSD unit to provide infantry units with early silent warnings of ambushes, booby traps and other dangerous situations. Teams of two, one dog and one dog handler, comprised this group. Each of these teams saved the lives of many combat infantrymen.

One of these dogs, Budda, engaged in unconventional warfare and clandestine operations. Roving deep into areas crawling with North Vietnamese soldiers, he led six top-secret expeditions “over the fence” into Laos .Budda and his handler Bob shared the knowledge of acts of remarkable valor that will never make the pages of history books.

The mission of a Scout Dog and his handler is to save and protect friendly forces. This they did, and did it well. 

Part One of Budda’s Story

My military career began in late 1965 or early 1966.

At the time, my life consisted of sleeping whenever I felt like it, eating, and having the run of the house. Gladly I would have gone through my whole life there with my job title of “pet”,  but that was not to be.

One day two strangers appeared at my house.

I had never seen people dressed exactly alike before, and that made me a little uneasy. My natural instincts told me to be wary of them and I raised the hairs on my back. I had to let them know who the boss was here. Everyone noticed, but no one said anything.

My owner signed a bunch of papers, and the two strangers gave my owner a leather, basket-like contraption. Since it looked like a new toy. I went to him eagerly when he held it out and called to me.

I had never been muzzled before. To make matters worse, they put a silver chain over my head. Then they removed and discarded my old leather collar. Then those two men lead me out the front door of the only home I had ever known. They took me to the street and placed me in an aluminum box with air holes in it, put my box in the back of a truck, and took me away to my new life in the military.

If I could only tell my story! This had to be some sort of mix-up.

• Profiling

Those two men took me to the K-9 Processing Center at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. There I met many others who had met the same fate. Other men in uniform constantly poked, prodded, measured, and weighed us. They called this “physical and emotional profiling”.

But I called it “BS”!!!

They wrote in my records that I had an “attitude problem”. But after a few weeks, they determined that I was physically fit, and had the required attributes to become a Scout Dog.

I wish I could have told them my thoughts on the subject; I especially wanted to tell them what I thought about what the veterinarian did with that thermometer. Ouch!!!

Next, they returned me to my aluminum crate and sent me off to basic training.

• Basic training

The flight to Georgia was uneventful and lasted only a couple of hours. This unit had seen action in the Philippines in WWII and in Korea. And now, in March 1966, the Army was reactivating it for Vietnam.

Sgt Bob Brown was my handler. We had loads of conflicts over just who was to have control over whom. Eventually, we came to the understanding that we would tolerate each other and hope for the best. After all, he fed and cared for me.

Basic training was the pits. Green handlers were training us equally green dogs.  What a circus! It was day after day of nothing but “circle training”. We had a steady diet of basic commands. “NO”, “HEEL”, “SIT”, “STAY”, and “DOWN”. The only one I had a problem with was “NO”. It just wasn’t in keeping with my nature.

If I could only talk! This was all BS, and they could send me back home any time!

• Next Step

Then one day we didn’t do that circle thing. Sgt Brown strapped me into a leather harness and removed my choke chain. Then he took me for a walk down a narrow path through the woods. He kept saying things like “SEARCH”, and “EASY”. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Suddenly I sensed that we were not alone there. I had caught a whiff of someone else, and that made me nervous. My natural instincts took over, causing me to raise my head slightly and smell onto the wind to detect whoever was there. My ears perked up and rotated forward to detect any sound that might help me pinpoint this person. As I was unsure of his intent, my muscles tensed and the hairs on my back stood up.

Sgt Brown quickly moved forward, kneeling just behind me and with both arms outstretched pointed in the same direction that I was looking. He began patting my shoulder and said “attaboy Budda, attaboy”. Then we advanced upwind and suddenly somebody burst from the bushes and ran away. We both gave chase.

If I could talk! Damn, this was FUN.

We did this a few more times and it finally sank into my hard head that this was what we should do. The more we did it the easier it was. I was having fun, and suddenly Army life didn’t seem too bad.

This all went on until July of 1966. Then one day as we were taken out in the morning we saw a line of those aluminum crates again. There were 27 crates in all, one for each of us. We would be traveling again. I had a one-way ticket to a combat zone.

• On our way

The platoon had three trucks, a jeep, and a utility trailer. The guys loaded us into our crates and then into two of the trucks. Our rations, water cans, veterinary supplies, tents, and other gear went into the trailer.

We set out from Fort Benning bound for Warner Robins Air Force Base near Macon, Georgia. The 80-mile convoy trip was hot in those darned crates.

I was really tired of this crate business! We had all thought we would be out of them now that we were here. WRONG! Our little convoy split into two groups. They drove right onto the flight line and right up the rear ramps on the two C-141 Starlifters. As soon as everything was chained down and secure, we took off .

• Combat!

This was a far longer trip than any of us had expected. We stopped for a 2 hour refueling stop in Alaska and another in Japan. Then, after twenty-seven hours, we finally landed at Ton Son Nhut airbase in Vietnam.  Did those planes ever stink by then!

We arrived on July 26, 1966, and stayed in “tent city B” for a couple of days. Then our orders came down. The Army had assigned us to the 173rd Airborne Brigade at Bien Hoa.

When we got there, our area was just a clearing in the woods, just inside the perimeter. The squad tents went up for our handlers. We were staked out next to our crates. Construction of my new home began almost immediately.

We were attached to the Engineer company. This company had the materials, equipment, and know-how to build my kennels and the hootches for the men. And items that we couldn’t get through normal channels so we got either by trading out some extra dog food or by a “midnight requisition”.

My first combat mission occurred during Operation Toledo in August of 1966. When we returned to the kennels after the 28-day operation, all of the handlers received their Combat Infantryman Badges. We dogs were not eligible for military awards or decorations, but many of our handlers passed them along to us in appreciation of a job well done.

 

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Need help dealing with the VA?

Continue reading part two of Budda’s story…

You can improve anxiety and PTSD without medication!

Some tips to overcome depression from one Vietnam veteran.

 

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