Yesterday St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Albany, Georgia, conducted another K9s for Warriors benefit run. It is a project that raises money to buy service dogs for veterans suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. Veteran and dog pairs receive a three-week training session in Ponte Vedra, Florida. The program costs $11,000 per pair. All proceeds from the run go to K9s for Warriors; there is no administrative expense.
The event is named for the first dog they bought, a big, black mix. Barney now shares his name with the annual project. The run is the brainchild of veterinarians Lois Hunkele, chairwoman, Peggy Hawkins and Dwayne Summers. My information comes from my sister, Margaret Whiting, who is a member of St. Paul’s.
These service dogs are trained to be sensitive to, to interrupt and soothe the veterans when they suffer nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks, and fear, sometimes disabling, of crowds and noise. The syndrome is sometimes so severe that the veterans are almost prisoners in their own homes or, worse, in their own skins. In most of these cases the dog lives up to the title of “Man’s Best Friend.”
The Albany group of K9s for Warriors was founded in 2011 and has graduated 165 teams with a 96 percent success rate. The dogs are free to the veterans. When you consider that 22 veterans per day commit suicide, the project becomes even more meaningful. Let me pass on to you the story of this year’s latest pair.
Camo and Larry
Camo, a big chocolate brown retriever, had one day to live. If he were not adopted by then, he was scheduled to be euthanized the next day. Just in the nick of time, he was selected to be trained as a K9 service dog.
He would be paired with Larry Barfield, recognized as a top-notch mechanic with the Seabees. Larry served in the Marine Corps, working on heavy equipment. He was deployed to Fallujah, Iraq, in 2006 and loaned out to the 3rd Naval Construction Regiment. He became head petty officer for the Counter IED (Implanted Explosive Device) Group. They made repairs to vehicles for both Seabees and Marines. They designed prototype vehicles to disable IEDs.
Larry, always fully uniformed, was recognized as being inventive. He was 48 when he was deployed and one of the oldest in the group. It was tough seeing kids go through what they did. He saw young men and women with horrific wounds that defied description, an experience that left Larry himself with deep, invisible wounds.
Religious services were mortared twice. The soldiers had to be wary 24/7 of everybody — men, women, even children, and especially women with headdresses. Everyone was a potential enemy. They learned to dread the days when they saw no children outside playing; they knew that would be a bad day. They could trust nobody.
When Larry finally got to return home, he was crippled in strange ways. He could hardly leave the house or, especially, go into public places or talk with people. He did not want to eat out or go anyplace where there was noise or a crowd, especially church. He had nightmares and flashbacks, could not enjoy his own energetic grandchildren.
Camo helped all that. He can sense when a nightmare is about to happen and wake Larry up. In crowds he can help keep a protective space around Larry; yet, when given permission, he can be a friendly, affectionate dog. He can stay with Larry when Larry’s wife, Pam, needs to leave him. Prior to getting Camo, Pam was reluctant to leave Larry alone. Little by little, Larry is becoming more independent, but he still has a long way to go. He is trying to return to normality, and Camo’s attentive presence is playing a big part in helping that struggle.
Important role
It has to be immensely satisfying to the members of St. Paul’s church to realize what a big part they are playing in the recovery of a peculiarly wounded warrior, one tail-wag at a time.
It is impressive to me when I realize that the entire membership of St. Paul’s totals 300. The church is one of those grand old downtown churches, most of whose members have moved to the suburbs. But it continues to do its part gallantly and successfully with such programs as the K9s for Warriors. In many cases, like this one, it saves both man and dog.
The great job done by a small membership makes me think of one of the poignant lines in a song from “Les Miserables.” In a scene where the young boy, Gavroche, has done an important deed, he exults, “That just goes to show what little people can do!”
St. Paul’s shows what a few innovative people can do.
Visit the web page k9forwarriors.org.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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