SizzleFlix

My name is Basko. I'm a German Shepherd and I'm eight weeks old. I was born in Montana. My father had a crazy German name like “Herman von Schtupen,” and weighed more than 140 pounds. My mom was "Hilda von Worshsteiner” or something like that." She was a shapely Eighty-five pounds. I wondered why they didn't share their last name, but I guessed they were just living together. I was lucky, my breeder owned a world famous German Shepherd Breeding Ranch. They posted my picture on the internet alongside several other Shepherd breeders. Hundreds would visit their web site each day.

I was born with a black coat. I would soon turn into a combination of black and auburn, with a thick fur coat. I was destined to be a handsome devil. A college kid saw my picture, paid cash for me and I was booked on a flight to Long Beach, California. My breeders scooted me into a small traveling crate, and wished me a good trip. I was off to Long Beach, by way of Seattle. But there were complications. When the Alaska Airlines flight landed in Seattle, I was escorted out of the baggage compartment onto a luggage carrier and wound up, forgotten, in the cargo storage area. It seemed like an eternity; I had to go potty and no one to turn to. My bark sounded like a whimper. Next thing you know, a flight attendant approached my crate and gave me the bad news, I missed my flight. Hey, I'm just a puppy, what the heck do I know? She looked at my tag, “Basko I'm in charge of getting you on the next flight to Long Beach. Your new owner’s been waiting for hours. He's not a happy camper.”

This is where my "tale" begins, Pardon the pun.Next thing I know, I’m on a baggage carrier speeding out of the storage area. I saw an Eskimo. Just Rocco and Me smiling from the tail of another Alaska jet. The baggage handler picked up my crate, walked up the rear gangplank and handed me off to a flight attendant. “You’re so cute, I bet you would like a snack.” Snack? It had been more than 8 hours since I went potty, she did not understand my puppy bark, so I sucked it up and fell asleep. Finally, two hours later I felt a jolt, we’ve landed. Hurray! About time they got it right. The flight attendant removed her seatbelt, “Hi little fella, did you have a good flight?” Yea lady, Great flight! I arrived in Long Beach. Now get me to my owner, please.

Another baggage handler picked up my crate, moved down the gangplank and shuttled me onto a dolly, now I’m headed to Long Beach Airport baggage claim. Seconds later, I spotted my new owner, man who was excited to see me. “Basko, you finally made it! You missed your flight in Seattle; we’ve been waiting 3 hours for you, you’re safe now.” OK let’s stop with the hello Basko crap, I need to take a leak, get me out of here. Rocco was in it, before we got to the car, he opened my crate outside the storage area, he found a patch of grass, and 11 hours of anxiety disappeared.After a short drive we arrived at my new home, with my new dad Rocco. I’ll be chasing squirrels, running after rabbits, and having a ball!

We lived on a golf course, surrounded by horse trails, a huge yard, and lots of room to run. I wasn’t too crazy about the pool, and I knew Rocco would either throw me in, or somehow get me to show my swimming skills. We had fun growing up. Rocco would take me to the dog park. I ran around like some crazy animal looking for someone to play with. My days of chasing squirrels came to an end when I decided that, what I thought, was a rabbit turned out to be a skunk. Chasing a skunk then cornering him, turned out to be a very smelly proposition. Rocco spent hours bathing me in tomato juice trying to get that patented smell out my coat. I smelled like a rotten tomato. Since we lived on a golf course surrounded by horse trails, Rocco would take off my leash and let me run. That did not last long after I chased a rather portly woman riding her horse bareback. I quietly crept up on the horse, next thing I know, the horse bucks and the fat lady winds up on the trail flat on her back. She had no idea what happened, and I got away without a trace.As I grew older, I thought it would be funny if I harassed golfers during their back swing. I did my slow crawl then barked as loud as I could, and watched them curse as the ball sliced out of bounds. I ran as fast as I could back home and acted like nothing happened. I knew I had special talents! Rocco and I visited the beach one sunny afternoon. We were strolling down the boardwalk.

Rocco had me on a short leash. We heard someone screaming for help. It turns out a gang of young thugs were harassing a very cute young lady. She was not amused. Bullies I thought! One of the teens pushed the girl, that was enough! I ran toward the young thug, jumped on his chest and pushed him aside. Then I turned to the other four teenagers and charged their legs, pulling on their pants, barking like a ferocious mad dog. They ran faster than the squirrels I chased in our backyard. Rocco was amazed. I didn’t need prompting. Rocco must have thought he had an out of control dog on his hands. Leaping fences, chasing golfers down fairways, I was getting my kicks. Rocco always watched programs about dogs, especially German Shepherds. One program that really got his attention was “War Dogs.” How they were used in battles since the Civil War. One day I caught Rocco on the phone with a Marine Corps recruiter. Rocco was graduating from college, and wanted to serve his country. I had no idea he was inquiring about the“buddy” system. Not for a close friend, but for me to become a “War Dog” and we would enlist together.Within weeks Rocco was in boot camp and I was on my way to the War Dog Training Center in Virginia.

My trainer was a very cute Marine Corps Lance Corporal. She did not take any BS from me or put up with any of my crazy habits. Her name was Lacy. Lance Corporal Lacy. Lacy and I had some great conversations while she guided me through “obstacle courses” on the base. She made it clear that since I enrolled in the “buddy” program, as soon as Rocco finished boot camp, he would join me here in Virginia. I’m a tough dog now, I learned how to stare down the enemy, corner him and literally scare the crap out of insurgents and disarm them to the point where they surrendered. After taps Lacy would tuck me into my 4 by 6 foot crate. Some nights she would sneak into my crate and lay her head on my body to keep warm. We grew very close. Rocco showed up after boot camp, Lance Corporal Lacy and he hit it off right from the “get go.” Romance was in the air.

Rocco and Lacy both teamed up to teach me how to defend myself. Next thing I know, both are sharing my crate, and the three of us are snuggling under the moonlight. Within months Rocco and I were deployed to Iraq. Lacy would say her goodbye. I knew she would miss both of us, especially Rocco. Three other Shepherds and their handlers were on the same plane. We landed at Bagram Airport in Iraq, 14 hours later and hurried to our barracks. Rocco insisted that I bunk with him, after all we did enlist in the buddy program. I slept under his bunk. In the morning we would get new hi tech flak jackets, an M40 Rifle, and body armor. The morning alarm sounded, we joined the other Marine dog handlers, and JB, Max, and Luna, three other shepherds that were assigned to our platoon. Our orders were to act as scouts in lead humvees. We would travel slowly down the main road leading to the militant-held city of Tikrit. Rocco and I together with my new found Shepherd “War Dog” buddies were assigned to keep the roads clear of mines and look for the bad guys that planted those bombs. Rocco and the other “War Dog” handlers were traveling slowly about 100 yards ahead of our first convoy.

An Army drone flew high above us spotting unusual activity. Rocco’s radio contact warned that we were about to make contact with the enemy. One militant had dug a hole alongside the road, a radio controlled bomb would be activated by a cell phone signal and would be timed to blow up when the two front trucks carrying our platoon would cross the spot where the explosive was planted. Rocco and the other three handlers gave us the signal to approach the bomb area and stand firm for our bomb squad to approach and dismantle the bomb. Information from our drone in the sky revealed that 4 militants were hiding in a makeshift foxhole waiting to set off what would be a devastating explosion. JB, Max, Luna and I followed the scent to the militants' hiding place. We snuck up on the fox hole undetected, and surrounded the enemy. We put on a show. Running circles around their hiding place, barking, avoiding getting shot at, then Rocco and the other handlers signaled us to release. We raced back to our humvee, four Blackhawk choppers swooped in and you would have thought it was theFourth of July. Machine gun fire and rockets were right on target. Four dead militants. Our job was done for the day. That night Rocco and I joined the other three shepherd handlers and their dogs. We celebrated the success of our first assignment. A few weeks passed before we were called back into action.

Our next assignment almost brought us to the brink of death. Rocco was rousted out of his bunk and immediately ordered to the briefing room at 3a.m.. Four dogs, four handlers, and we’re ordered to lead a patrol that would enter the outskirts of Tikrit to rescue 10 Marines that were pinned down by insurgents. Our job was to “seek out the enemy.” Chase them out into the open so our snipers could pick them off one by one. We arrived quickly. Luna and Max sniffed out a group of 5 enemy combatants. Max crawled within 20 feet from the insurgents hiding place. JB and I searched out the shooters that had our Marines pinned down. We got a “go” signal and silently snuck up on the 5 militants, Luna attacked and the enemy scattered. One of the militants waved a sword and struck Luna. She was cut in the left hind Leg. While she was bleeding, the militant stood above her ready to pull the trigger.

JB and Max attacked him, Luna escaped death and the shooter was taken prisoner. JB, Max and I stood guard over Lun., She was bleeding all over the place. Bullets were flying everywhere. That day 10 Marines were rescued, thanks to JB, Max and Luna’s bravery. The medics carried Luna out of harm’s way. Soon after that mission Max would be reassigned to a new platoon. They treated Luna’s wounds, unfortunately she lost her left hind leg. Her handler was devastated. He was soon discharged. Luna later received a commendation for bravery. After a short rehabilitation period she was decommissioned and sent back to the States where her handler immediately adopted her. JB and I were involved in other assignments that helped save numerous lives. On one mission, JB, his handler, Rocco and I led a patrol of 20 men, through heavy enemy machine gun fire. When the militants recognized JB and I, they started advancing. JB got the signal to attack from the left side and I would charge from the right, the enemy tried to run, but were caught in crossfire by our platoon. We all made it back safely. It was a close call. Rocco and I didn’t have to wait long for our next assignment.

Next morning our squad traveled two hours down a dirt road near Tikrit. The enemy was dug into a hillside bunker. Our patrol stopped about 200 yards from our intended target. We took cover and waited for the enemy to show their face. Rocco’s instructions were to send JB and I up the hill to draw fire. We did our job, there was a ferocious firefight. JB and I were eyeball to eyeball staring down the enemy. The insurgents threw everything at us, and we prevailed. During the fight JB received shrapnel wounds. He was a trooper, he showed no outward signs of pain, but on our way back to the base, a medic detected blood dripping from under JB’s body. It was a sad day. Soon after that mission, JB died from his wounds. Our time in the Marine Corps was coming to an end. Rocco and I were considered “short timers.” On our last patrol we were assigned to clear out a strategic road for our supply lines. Rocco and I led our squad down a well traveled road to one of the towns outside Baghdad. I picked up the scent of ten enemy combatants. They were hiding behind a bombed out building. The structure was about 100 yards from our advancing platoon. I signaled Rocco that the enemy was close by freezing and pointing to the spot where they lay waiting. Our patrol quietly advanced on the target. Next thing I know RPG’s and machine gun tracers lit up the night sky. Our guys unloaded on the enemy and after the dust settled we captured or killed more than 20 insurgents. Rocco and I started to pack up. We were nearing our final days of our three year stint in Iraq. We were ready to go home. The night before we boarded a plane out of Iraq, Rocco and I reminisced about our pals Luna, Max and JB. They were very brave and we would miss them.

Rocco kept a diary of all of our escapades, our missions, and near death experiences. He studied Journalism in college and sent a weekly column to our hometown paper. “Basko The War Dog.” We received fan mail during our deployment, praising our war efforts. We were famous. The trip back to Ft. Lee Virginia seemed like an eternity. It was a given that when we got back to the states Lacy would be waiting for us with open arms. We reported back to Infantry Scout Dog Platoon Training in Virginia and Rocco filled out his discharge papers and headed home. He received several commendations. I was considered a true “War Dog” Hero. Our picture would be hanging in the Ft. Lee Mess Hall for all to see. I was not released until I learned how to become a “civilian” again. After four months of daily drills, riding in cars, mingling with people and learning that I was no longer trying to kill bad guys, I was rehabilitated and ready for the life of a regular dog. Lacy followed Rocco to California.

It was late November when I arrived; they both met me at the Los Alamitos Naval Air Station, in Seal Beach California. Since we were now celebrities, and Rocco was the newspaper's “columnist of the year,” we were asked to be the Grand Marshals of the annual Christmas Parade. Rocco, Lacy and I sat on top of a huge float dressed in our combat gear and waved to the thousands lining the parade route. The crowd loved us. The parade was one of the highlights of my life. The days turned into months, the months into years, before you knew it I was nine years old. Lacy and I were inseparable. It was a sunny day, Rocco and I were playing “tug of war” in our backyard with a huge rubber toy. Rocco mentioned that I was getting grey hair around my mouth. He noticed that I was walking and running a little slower. Gone were the days when I chased golfers, skunks and attacked bullies after playing with Rocco in our backyard, I lost my balance and slumped over, and laid there looking up at Rocco. I knew that my days with my best friend were suddenly coming to an end. Tears were streaming down Rocco’s face.. The great times we spent together flashed before our eyes. Rocco hugged me tight. It was time to go. I will never forget my best friend Rocco! Just Rocco and Me My name is Basko. I’m a German Shepherd and I’m eight weeks old. I was born in Montana. My father had a crazy German name like “Herman von Schtupen,” and weighed more than 140 pounds. My mom was “Hilda von Worshsteiner” or something like that.” She was a shapely Eighty-five pounds. I wondered why they didn’t share their last name, but I guessed they were just living together. I was lucky, my breeder owned a world famous German Shepherd Breeding Ranch. They posted my picture on the internet alongside several other Shepherd breeders. Hundreds would visit their web site each day. I was born with a black coat. I would soon turn into a combination of black and auburn, with a thick fur coat. I was destined to be a handsome devil. A college kid saw my picture, paid cash for me and I was booked on a flight to Long Beach, California. My breeders scooted me into a small traveling crate, and wished me a good trip. I was off to Long Beach, by way of Seattle. But there were complications. When the Alaska airlines flight landed in Seattle, I was escorted out of the baggage compartment onto a luggage carrier and wound up, forgotten, in the cargo storage area. It seemed like an eternity; I had to go potty and no one to turn to. My bark sounded like a whimper. Next thing you know, a flight attendant approached my crate and gave me the bad news, I missed my flight. Hey, I’m just a puppy, what the heck do I know? She looked at my tag, “Basko I’m in charge of getting you on the next flight to Long Beach. Your new owner’s been waiting for hours. He’s not a happy camper.” This is where my “tale” begins, Pardon the pun. Next thing I know, I’m on a baggage carrier speeding out of the storage area. I saw an Eskimo Page 2 of 9 Just Rocco and Me smiling from the tail of another Alaska jet. The baggage handler picked up my crate, walked up the rear gangplank and handed me off to a flight attendant. “You’re so cute, bet you would like a snack.” Snack?

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