Hank's A Military Hero

Being best friends with a military hero means always playing catch-up.

"Another letter." A white envelope sailed and settled on my hospital bed. Dogs can't write letters, although to read the ones coming almost daily, you'd think they did. PVC Marcy Turnbuckle, temporary caretaker of Hank while he was on tour, always signed them Hank by adding his pawprint. I loved it.

This one had pictures and newsclips. It was the first time I'd seen Marcy. She was a looker. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I saw how happy Hank was sitting at her side. "You should be restless and ready to start working with me, Hank," I told his photo. The letter said how much I was missed. "Sure." I sniffed, feeling the tears start to blur my vision. My doctor had been honest with me. He wasn't sure I'd ever be back on full duty. My bad knee kept giving out on me, after multiple surgeries..

Once again, I relived the day Hank had saved my life. We'd been on patrol, a mission in one of our country's many non-wars. It was a police keeping mission ferreting out stolen military hardware. Hank could smell a hidden arms container as easily as if it were a gourmet dinner.

Dogs noses are their main sense, more than ten times more powerful than ours. He wove through the warehouse isles, sitting and waiting before a huge shipping container. "The motherload, good boy."

I called it in to the crew working in other parts of the area. Too excited to wait, I got busy with my ever ready set of tools and soon was ready to pry the shipment open. Hank sniffed eagerly then whined as I reached inside for a very visible weapon.

The humming sound of a tripwire responded to my touch. Hank jumped, knocking me away. Only my right leg flew exposed to the blast numbing my ears. I blinked, feeling the past fade into the present moment. I'd written him up and he'd gotten a medal. "You became a famous hero and I became a cripple."

I felt my bad leg give a twinge and I shrugged. I didn’t feel like writing back, didn’t for one week that became two. The letters from Hank lay unopened in a plastic shopping bag from Walmart one of the aids had provided.

“Another letter..”

I shook my head no. Limping and dragging my bad leg like I was the Hunchback of Notre Dame towards the hospital dorm phone to put an end to this was too much of a bother. Other patients were laughing and pointing at me. My eyes tracked back along to the source of the commotion..

“Special Delivery,” laughed Marcy, almost spilled over by Hank’s lunge towards me from down the length of the hall. Hank managed to hold onto the letter gathering spit in his mouth. He knelt at my bedside, sniffing and offering the familiar white envelope.

I leaned over to give him a hug, the letter dropping into my hand. “Good to see you, too.”

Marcy, not wanting to be outdone, arrived in a flurry of perfume, smiles, and a hug that went from the crown of my head down to my toes. “Hello, soldier. Hank’s been droopy lately, he’s used to me reading your letters to him. We got time off.”

By this time, Hank was on my bed making himself at home. Marcy wedged herself beside us. “Read it.” She opened the envelope with a flourish and flapped the letter at me.

Hank was on furlough, having finished being a hospital service dog entertaining patients with the many tricks he’d learned at my side while waiting for action. “Me, too.” Marcy nudged me. “Another paitent mailed the last letter you never sent, revealing your feelings for me."

Her lips were soft and tender, not pitying, but a kiss that meant we were no longer just friends. “I’ll always be second place with you and Hank in public, but hopefully, first place in your heart..

She was rushing things, but in the military, you either make your opportunities or lose them. Patients were gathering around, wanting to get acquainted with Hank and hear his story. “You do it.” Marcy squeezed my hand, placing in it the bag of trick treats Hank liked best. “Amaze them.”

I had to stand up to do what she asked. As I tottered to my feet, Hank stood stolidly beside me, his steady weight helping me balance. “Have a ball.” Marcy tossed a beach ball up in the air, handed to her by her publicity photographer joining us.

Hank bounced it off his nose as he trotted up and down the long hall. “You taught him that?” I asked Marcy.

“There was little to do for both of us after writing you the next letter. Your devotion to Hank more than touched my heart. It stole it. What say we get married and really mess things up?”

Our letters had been leading up to the beginning of something like this. Feeling like a broken man, I’d tossed the idea aside. My look towards Marcy told all.

“Every hero needs the best support staff they can get, darling. Stop worrying about the small stuff.” She stroked my bad leg. For once, touching it felt good.

The surgery went like I’d expected. I'll drag my leg around with me the rest of my life. It didn’t seem so bad, knowing Marcy liked slow walking with me. Hank’s mostly just Marcy’s and my hero now, having brought us together. It’s been months since the surgery.

I’ll be discharged with a disability. Marcy’s term will be up shortly after. And Hank? The three of us have been hired as civilian contractors, training new service dogs. We got the letter in the mail today.

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