In February 2018, while in the war-torn Syrian city of Raqqa, my team and I heard an infant’s cry for help amidst the rubble of a school that had been devastated during the conflict. However, being bomb disposal experts, we knew better than to rush in without caution. We were aware that ISIS fighters often used this technique as a trap to lead us into a dangerous situation. Even though it had been four months since the U.S.-led coalition liberated Raqqa from ISIS, evidence of their cruelty was still apparent in the thousands of hidden IEDs scattered throughout the city’s buildings and crevices.

As a former member of the Royal Engineers, I had been deployed to a team tasked with clearing IEDs. After a long and exhausting day, we suddenly heard a cry that caught our attention. Immediately, we checked our surroundings for any potential dangers and realized that the sound was coming from behind a large concrete pedestal. Upon investigation, we discovered a small Chihuahua, who appeared to be scared and alone. Unfortunately, we also found the corpses of three other puppies and a large dog, which was probably the pup’s mother. Despite being the only survivor of this tragedy, the Chihuahua seemed to be relatively unharmed, but the term “relatively” was essential.
As someone who has spent most of my adult life as a soldier, I have witnessed firsthand the terrible consequences of war. As my team traveled to Raqqa each day, we passed by countless homes riddled with bullet holes, mass graves, and the bodies of innocent children who were caught in the crossfire. This trembling puppy was a stark reminder that war is an unrelenting monster, and its innocent victims can be found even in the most unexpected places.

The animal in front of me was mostly white, but had dark ears and patches of black and brown on its head. Its fur was covered in a layer of dust that I could see moving. Despite my fear, I told the creature that I understood how it felt. As a child, I was attacked by a Rhodesian Ridgeback, so I was naturally on edge around any animal.

To protect myself, I put on thick gloves and used medical clamps to give the animal a biscuit. It took some coaxing, but eventually, the creature took a nibble from my offering. While it ate, I gently patted it with my gloved hands. My crew found it amusing that I was speaking to the animal in baby talk, given my imposing appearance as a large man with tattoos covering my body.

Eventually, it was time for us to leave and return to our camp about an hour away from Raqqa. I could see that the animal, whom I had named Barry, was still too scared to be picked up. So, I left him with some water and another biscuit, hoping that he would be okay on his own.

“I really hope to see you tomorrow, Barry,” I said with great anticipation. I knew that he was not an ordinary dog and seeing him brought a glimmer of hope to my life for the first time since my return from Afghanistan in 2014. The seven years I spent in the Army included a couple of grueling tours that left me feeling haunted by the horrors I experienced. The memory of a fellow soldier’s tortured and disfigured corpse at the hands of the Taliban would often make me cry. I didn’t know it at the time, but later realized I was suffering from PTSD.

Returning to civilian life was no easy feat, and things only became worse when my girlfriend had a miscarriage. Trying to cope with the loss, I began to drink heavily and we eventually separated. I ended up sleeping in my van outside my parents’ home to avoid drawing attention to myself. My attempts to rebuild my life as a personal trainer were marred by the constant reminders of my traumatic experiences.

The only time I felt like my old self again was when I attended my friend’s funeral, who died clearing IEDs in Syria. This opportunity led me to take his position on the Syrian team and soon after, I met Barry. The day after our first encounter, I searched for him among the rubble of the school but to no avail. Just as I was about to head back to the base, I heard someone shouting Barry’s name. He had buried himself to escape the cold night winds, and I must have looked like a stalker to him.

Despite my better judgment, I stroked his head, and after visiting him for two days straight, he finally trusted me enough to return with me to our headquarters. When I held him in my arms for the first time, he looked puzzled, but I knew he was my little boy and I was his dad. He snored loudly on the ride back to the base, finally feeling safe enough to get some much-needed rest.

Upon returning to camp, I brought my new furry friend into my room and laid him down on my cozy duvet, allowing him to continue snoozing. Once he finally woke up, I went in for a kiss but was hit with an unpleasant odor. It was apparent that he had never experienced a shower before and was not exactly thrilled about the idea of receiving one. Despite his resistance, I managed to get him into a sink that had a showerhead-like faucet. He did everything in his power to avoid slipping into the water, but after his bath, he was incredibly fluffy. While inspecting him for any issues, I discovered that my new companion was actually a female and decided to change her name from Barry to Barrie.

To introduce Barrie to the community, I took her to a local pub where she quickly won the hearts of many patrons, including my friend Digger. Digger had previously worked with a charity called War Paws, which rescued dogs from Afghanistan, and even created a small teddy bear, collar, and military harness with her name embroidered on it to welcome her. As I had already made up my mind to bring Barrie back home with me, I set up a fundraising page online to collect the necessary £4,500 to cover the costs. For the main photo, I placed Barrie inside my military vest with her head and paws sticking out of the top while my weapon lay on the ground beside us.

Within a day of seeing her adorable face, we managed to raise nearly £1,000. In the meantime, she accompanied me to work on a regular basis, joining me on drives to Raqqa where she would rest her head between the two front seats of our SUV, observing the world around her. Her presence was especially uplifting during difficult times, such as when a Syrian Defence Force soldier named Mohammed was killed by an IED. After rinsing his blood off my body in the shower block, I returned to my bedroom to find Barrie waiting for me, eager to cuddle. As she lay on her back, paws lifted as if pleading to be held, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief from the weight of the world. Barrie had a habit of waking me up every morning by sitting on my face and would often check my computer mouse while I was writing up my paperwork, ready to pounce at any moment.

I made an effort to discipline her, but she ended up winning over not only me but also everyone else, including our Malaysian cooks who prepared a special dish of delicacies for her every day – grilled chicken being her favorite. They would get excited every time they saw her approaching.
Barrie had a way of bringing out the childlike joy in people, as I witnessed when six towering Navy Seals entered our office with stern expressions. I stood up, preparing myself for a firm handshake, but one of them caught sight of Barrie and they all melted, taking turns to lavish her with attention. Every day with Barrie was like that, as I shared with my friend Netty, whom I had trained personally for three years in England. Our relationship took on a new dimension when Barrie entered the picture.

Upon seeing a photo of her, Netty became determined to become Barrie’s mother. This led to us preparing ourselves for parenthood, which brought us closer together and changed our friendship into a romantic relationship. I was excited to take Barrie home with me, but there was a major obstacle to overcome. During a short trip back home for a wedding in March, I discovered that due to Syria’s increasing insecurity, our contracts had been cancelled. All of my friends were being sent home, and travel to our location was no longer permitted. Despite this, I was determined to get Barrie out of Syria. Fortunately, we had already raised the funds requested by War Paws, and they arranged for Barrie to be smuggled into Iraq in a truck. From there, she was quarantined in Jordan, and we began the long wait for her return home, which was expected to take at least three months. Although it was challenging to adapt to civilian life without her, being Barrie’s “dad” encouraged me to keep pushing myself to create a home with Netty that we could share with her. Due to my father’s allergy to animal hair, I converted their backyard shed into a small cabin that was just big enough for the three of us. After several false starts, we finally received the call in October that Barrie was being flown to Paris. Netty and I purchased tickets on the Eurotunnel and traveled to Charles de Gaulle Airport, where we heard barking coming from what sounded like multiple dogs. To our surprise, it was only Barrie, who was losing her mind inside her crate.

The dog I found in Syria wasn’t the same as the one I saw now. She appeared angry and large, but I knew deep down that she was only scared. I had hoped that she would recognize me when I approached her cage with my old T-shirt, which carried my scent from a week in advance, but she barked aggressively at me instead. Disheartened, I mentioned to Netty that she probably didn’t remember me after seven long months. However, as soon as we began driving, she fell asleep and warmed up to me during a break. She licked my leg, rolled over, and stretched her paws out for me to play with her. At that moment, I knew she recognized me. When we got home to our converted shed, I let her out to do her business, and she immediately bounded back onto the bed to lay on my chest with her tail wagging happily.

Despite struggling to breathe due to her increased weight, seeing her again still brought a smile to my face. My aim was to ease her into her new life, however, the publicity we generated during our fundraising efforts ended up making headlines once we reunited. National newspapers were publishing articles about us, we appeared on TV news, and even had a chat with Eamonn Holmes and his wife Ruth on This Morning. However, the interview almost didn’t happen because their studio was on the first floor and Barrie, who had never encountered stairs before, refused to climb them. I had no choice but to carry her up myself, although it wasn’t an easy task as she now weighed 27 kg. Despite this, I was willing to do anything for her as that tiny creature I found buried in the rubble had an immense impact on me.

The day I met her was the most wonderful day of my life. If it weren’t for her, I don’t know if I would have been able to overcome the darkness I felt after returning from Afghanistan, where I witnessed unspeakable atrocities as a soldier, or learn how to be a responsible citizen. Currently, I work part-time as an assistant paramedic and run a fitness training business with a friend. Despite occasional moments of anxiety, I simply shut down my computer and play with Barrie. Having her by my side gives me a sense of purpose and clarity. While some might think I rescued her, the truth is that she rescued me.