The dogs of Eniwetok merit their share of exposure. They played a major role in maintaining morale on the island. These were not animals left by the natives, when they were relocated to other atolls. These were American dogs smuggled in by military personnel and then tolerated by the powers that be.

Numbering between ten and fifteen as birth and death dictated, they ranged the island finding easy handouts of food and affection from a caring human population. The dogs were to stay while their military counterparts rotated as they completed their year tour of duty.

The dogs were acknowledged when they entered a building or tent. They were scratched and petted, and they listened to long conversations from a homesick military about how good and how smart they were. Usually traveling singly or in pairs, they tolerated their world of attention, but seemed to be heeding a calling which kept them trotting onward. Despite an abundance of food they stayed trim and remained active in the heat which wilted their human companions.

A few of the dogs deserve special recognition. Not because they were more important than others, but because they had personalities that differentiated them from the crowd.

Undesputed island king was S--- Head, a medium size yellar dog who had the regal bearing of a MacArthur. He had no time for petting, and unless they had food to share he ignored the human population. All other dogs paid him his due homage, or there was hell to pay. He ranged the island and regularly walked into offices and tents and was barred only from the despensary and the mess hall. He regularly checked out church services, ignoring the Chaplain's greeting. After hearing enough of the sermon, he departed with an air of disdain. He was not lovable, not pretty, yet, you had to respect his achieved status while while going through life as S--- Head.

Butch and Terry were grown pups when I arrived. They were brother and sister and were good looking, small, and had the characteristics of German Shepherds. Being pups, they were playful and loving, chasing sticks and beer cans and returning them to us to throw again. Occasionally they joined us for our afternoon swim in the ocean.

During my stay, Terry gave birth to a litter of two. Named Annie (Eni) and Wetok, we welcomed them into the family

When she was about four months old, word spread through the Depot that Annie had been hit by a truck. A few days later several of us discovered her laying on a blanket in an office. She feebly licked our hands as we gently stroked her battered body. As we left she painfully got to her feet and very slowly staggered after us back to our quarters. What a reception Annie got as she walked down the tent row. Careful petting, morsels of food, loving words of greeting came from the group of thankful friends.

Old Sam was an Air Force dog. Big mostly hound, with long ears and tail, he spent a great deal of his life on the bus that continually traveled our one road. He found no end to the scratching and petting and kind words from the men as they went to and from work. Sam had one bad habit. At the encouragement of some, he would chase his tail while on the bus. In uncontrollable abandon he would bang into people and benches. A wild scramble would take place as servicemen made room for his antics.

Skippy was another memorable dog. A terrier of sorts, and he had a definite personality. Mostly bad! Skippy did not crave human attention and love. He liked to sit in the front of the bus and when someone reached in to pull himself up, Skippy would suddenly lean forward and chomp on the wrist, eliciting startled exclamations and cuss words. Although these were not serious or viciously given, feelings were hurt and Skippy was not a favorite.

Only one time did I see a dog abused by a service man. As could be expected it was directed toward Skippy. One of his bite victims reacted by pushing him from the back of a moving truck being used as a bus. He hit the asphalt running and yiping. The perpetrator sheepishly turned to the others on the bus and voiced regret. The next morning, Skippy was again on the bus surprising the unwary. If Skippy were human, they would have made him an officer.

During the spring of 1953 the Commanding General was flying out from Washington DC for a visit. Our colonel thought it proper that we greet him with a military parade on the airfield. We would, with pomp and ceremony, assemble in formation and then, to the blare of a brass band on tape, "pass in review", marching past him in the grand stand with eyes right and all that. We had almost no marching practice while on the island, and we had a trial run several days in advance.

The practice went well until the command, "Pass in review". As our column moved forward, to the sound of the trumpets, we wheeled and passed the grand stand. The dogs who gathered to watch were greatly amused and motivated to participate. So, we were accompanied by fifteen running, barking, baying dogs. This was deemed terribly unmilitary.

To remedy the situation the Colonel ordered all dogs interned for the duration of the general's visit. Temporary quarters were found at the far end of the island in a fenced area. The dogs were collected by the Military Police which was no small job. An MP was stationed with the dogs day and night to prevent altercations between them and to insure that food and water was available at all times.

The General came, we marched, and eventually he left. As his plane lifted from the runway, after three days of internment, the gate swung open and fifteen dogs, to everyone's delight, staged their own parade running, circling, and barking up the mile of lagoon drive.

The dogs of Eniwetok served a purpose. They were our link to the unmilitary, --- a link to home. On this tiny island crowded with only men, our relationship with the dogs was one of positive civility and concern. We watched them grow and mate. Give birth and die. We mentioned them frequently in our letters home.

Colonel Sackton, Island Commander, in his letter of greeting said, "No matter what your assignment may be, you are a member of a team which is carrying out a mission of the greatest importance to our country. Do your job well and our overall mission will be accomplished."

Although rated as only second string, the dogs of Eniwetok did their job exceedingly well.

Dick Dunlap

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