Save Lucy

🌿 Orders have started going out to those who have supported our family during this time, as we try to bring our Lucy home. I know we keep saying thank you, but I’m not sure we could ever say it enough. The life we’ve built on our little homestead and the opportunity to raise our children with an appreciation for hard work and self-sufficiency is something we never take for granted. Lucy has always been a central part of that, protecting our flocks and herds for a decade. We owe her so much ♥️ Please be patient with me as I work through everyone’s orders. I sold hundreds of Lucy bracelets and received more orders in three days than I had in the previous four years of running my business. I am truly overwhelmed by your support! Every order is formulated, handcrafted, and packed by me. As I put each package together, I find myself saying your name and thanking God for your kindness. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. mulberrypatchhome.com #savelucy

Six weeks. SIX FLIPPING WEEKS. Lucy has not heard our voices. She hasn't slept on her rug. She hasn't gone for a ride in the truck. She hasn't been snuggled by her family, played with Lex, or run free in her own field. SIX WEEKS. She's been locked in a tiny cell, sleeping on concrete, likely wondering why we abandoned her. SIX WEEKS. She's eleven years old. She doesn't have endless time ahead of her. She could get sick. Her health could fail. Every day matters. And while everyone moves at a snail's pace, without a care in the world, time keeps slipping away from MY DOG—the dog who was taken because a petty neighbor decided to call the authorities when she slipped out of her collar in our OWN YARD! This wasn't some outrageous act! This wasn't a purposeful violation of anything and didn’t cause incident. This wasn't the terrifying incident the neighbors or government would like people to believe it was. It was a normal, everyday occurrence that happened on our private property! We could have lied. We could have denied it happened. No one had proof otherwise: But that's not who we are. So for six weeks, my Lucy—my eleven-year-old dog who stood watch over our family through deployment after deployment, who kept me company during the lonely nights when I watched the news and wondered if my husband would make it home alive—has sat in prison. This is a sick abuse of the law, and an innocent animal is paying the price. Not for biting someone. Not for attacking someone. Not for leaving and roaming the neighborhood. For being in her own yard. Let that sink in. And because malicious neighbors refused to mind their own business, and because officials with the power to do the right thing have refused to exercise any bit of common sense, she remains there. They make me sick. The abuse of power makes me sick. The character assassination makes me sick. The lies make me sick. The fact that people who have never met us, never spoken to us, and don't know the first thing about our family have spent years trying to destroy our peace makes me sick. Enough is enough! Let Lucy come home already! Is this really the hill anyone wants to die on? It’s a single dog. It’s an average family. Send her back and leave us alone. That’s all we want. And for those who have participated in this injustice—whether through malice, cowardice, pride, or indifference, know this: God sees every bit of it. He knows the truth. And one day, every one of us will answer to Him. Until our Lucy is home and beyond. We will not stop fighting. #savelucy

I had an unpleasant dream, which I will write about today as a way to introduce the other great dog of my life, Teddy, to you all later on today. This is how I woke up. Does it get any better? But Lucy woke up in a jail cell, as she has every morning for six weeks. #SaveLucy

When the National Police Association shares a Law Enforcement Today article advocating Lucy's release, you know the DA can't continue this miscarriage of justice much longer. Let Lucy come home. It's time. It's damn time. Music by @music29933 #SaveLucy

This is Apollo. This story still stings. I returned from a tour in Iraq in early 2015. My wife was pregnant with our first son. I knew I would not be going anywhere for several months, unless there was a dire need. We decided the time was right to get a dog to add to our growing family. I don't remember how we found Apollo. We got him from the shelter, but I don't know if Dolly saw him online or if we just stumbled across him. I was struck by his amazing eyes. I'd had an Australian Shepherd before and I knew it was a breed that I loved. He hopped right in my car. Dolly even took the back seat so I could sit next to my new best friend. Together, we brought him to his new home. What a great dog he was. We immediately became tied at the hip. I took him for walks, runs, and hikes off leash. I put in the time to train him; we would walk to the bakery or the butcher shop (at the time, we lived the town life), tell him to sit outside, and he would be there on the sidewalk still sitting here when we came out. It was wonderful having such a happy and well-trained dog. Everybody loved him. They'd never seen a dog with eyes like his. I'm sure he loved all the attention too. My first concern came with my newborn son. He did not do as well with children as I would have liked. At times, he gave him a sideways glance that I didn't like. I kept an eye on him as best I could when he was around my son, but he had given me no reason not to trust him, so I didn't worry much. He was wonderful in every other way. Then, suddenly, he wasn't. We had a notary over to collect signatures from us so we could close on a refinance of our home. After sitting at our dining room table for about an hour, signing papers, the notary rose to leave. Apollo, who had been sitting at my feet, must have been startled by the sudden movement. Like a bolt of lightning, he bit. Just once, but it was a shock. The notary was a real mensch. He didn't get angry. He showed humanity. He knew that we would never have had Apollo unrestrained if we had had any idea that he would do something like that. If only everyone was so understanding as he. But fear crept into my heart that there was something about my dog that was not compatible with the family life that we had. We kept Apollo on a shorter leash after that, both figuratively and literally. The off leash hikes were a thing of the past, but we hoped this would prove to be just a one-off anomaly. It wasn't. A month and a half later, just days out from another deployment, I was sitting in my living room talking to a very good friend, a Master Gunnery Sergeant in the USMC (who, as an aside, donated $1,000 to our GiveSendGo campaign to #SaveLucy, thank you 🙏). Apollo was familiar with him already, so I was off my guard, and didn't notice Apollo giving him the stinkeye until it was too late. Apollo lunged and bit. He immediately backed off, but the horrid realization came to me at that moment that my fears were true. My options were limited on the eve of a deployment. To socialize Apollo and train this behavior out of him would take time. I didn't have time. We also didn't have family in the area and Dolly was pregnant again. I couldn't leave my pregnant wife alone for the duration of my tour with a dog who had shown a tendency to bite. I couldn't turn a blind eye to the sideways look he occasionally gave my infant son. Not anymore. I made the devastating decision to rehome him. On what I knew would be our final ride together, he hopped right into the front seat and looked at me, tongue dangling out of his mouth in a happy, sloppy pant, his nub of a tail bobbing up and down, wondering what wonderful adventure daddy was taking him on this time. I'm sure he was confident it was going to be a great time no matter what. It felt like betrayal to me. When we reached the shelter, he faithfully followed me in. We sat in a corner. He leaned against my legs and I stroked his head one final time. It felt like we sat there forever, but I didn't mind. I would have been happy for time to stop, to stay in that moment, just me and my dog, stripped of all externalities, for eternity. But time didn't stop. At length, the door opened and a lady entered. Apollo pressed in against my shins. His 40 pound weight felt heavy. Crushing. I gave him one last embrace, then closed my eyes. "That's a good boy," I whispered, though I couldn't bring myself to look. "I'll always love you." She took Apollo and led him through the door, never for me to see him again. Even today, when I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of his warm body pressing against mine, trusting me to keep him safe. That was as hard a thing as I've ever done in my life. It was a no-kill shelter, but I played things close to the chest. I did not tell them the worst details. I only mentioned my fear of possible aggression against my child while I was deployed. I did not want to jeopardize Apollo's chance at another opportunity. For months, I kept checking the shelter's website for information about him, but I never saw an update. I do not know what became of him, sadly. I got back home and Dolly asked me where Apollo was. I don't remember if I said anything. I was numb. I hadn't told her where I was going or what I was doing. I had not wanted anything to change my mind. I knew my heart wasn't in it, but I wasn't going to be stopped. It was the right thing to do for my wife, son, and community. Her tears flowed when she realized what I had done. She also loved Apollo. I went to lay on the bed upstairs and be alone. Just weeks later, in a mudhole in the desert, I met my sweet Lucy and my heart began to heal. Saving her from that war zone helped me deal with the lingering guilt I felt about Apollo. I continue to feel the sting of that experience. I wouldn't change what I did though. I love dogs. I will always stand up for dogs when they are mistreated. I will adopt unwanted dogs when I am able. A great measure of a man is how he treats dogs. I aim to always pass that test. But I will always defend human life. Only humans are made in the image of God. I hope and pray that God has a place for dogs when this life is over, but humans He created with souls destined for glory. "You have never talked to a mere mortal," CS Lewis explained. "Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors." I completely agree. I love dogs. They have no guile in them, no duplicity. A dog will not tell you a lie. I like them better than I like people, often. But I cannot choose a dog over a life that was uniquely created to glorify the Almighty (Isaiah 43:7). I will always protect human life. That is why I served. That is why I deployed several times. To protect people, even when they didn't realize they needed protecting. I failed once. I received a report about a plot to blow up a bomb in Beirut. I got it out with all the speed and precision I could, but it got bogged down by the sideshow of the editing process for hours. I got distracted and didn't follow up on it aggressively. In the end, I'm sure the bureaucrats in their cubicles transliterated the names correctly. I'm sure they crossed every T and dotted every I. But at a price. A devastating price. I woke up the next morning to read in the news that a bomb had gone off in Beirut. It was carried out by the people my report said would carry it out. It took place in the exact locale I said it would take place. 43 people dead. Hundreds wounded. Families shattered. I didn't know these people, but my heart sank. Human life is sacred. I will always work to defend it. If I can save a few dogs along the way, great. That is also the Lord's work. But I will never keep a dog that is a danger to my neighbors. Whatever their sins, their harassment, libel, and cunning deceits, they are made in the image of God with souls destined for eternity. Lucy, my 11-year-old dog that survived ISIS, is no danger to my them. I know it in my very bones. @ChrisBolin28 said that the DA told him I was not a responsible dog owner when he called to inquire about Lucy. This viewpoint is informed by a false impression given to her by our gossipy, well-connected neighbors, not by the facts. I want to tell her about Apollo. @Herb_Minstrel @LoneStarChica

You know who you are. You were in my house in 2015. We chewed the fat in my living room. You had recently finished a decorated career in the USMC. Master Guns. You knew I was packing to head back to the sandbox in just days. You knew I was leaving everything I loved. You knew how it felt, because you had also lived that life. You knew my family. You knew us well. You knew my wife, Dolly, my son, Christian, my dog, Apollo. You knew me. We had spent the previous Christmas together. You took me to see Mannheim Steamroller in Detroit that year. It was fun spending time with you, but I didn't need to see them a second time. I think you knew that, even though I didn't say it. You saw Apollo give you the stink eye. You saw the strike. You felt the bite. You didn't say much. You gave me a look that spoke volumes. You knew what it meant. You knew the gut-wrenching choice I had to make before wheels up. You knew I couldn't leave my pregnant wife alone and on guard for months. You knew that would be irresponsible. Your look expressed nothing but compassion. You know that I made the right choice. A painful one, but the responsible one. We haven't seen you in a while now. You are a state away and we haven't connected like we should have. You still keep up with us though. You are still a part of our world. After Lucy got taken by the police, you were the first to reach out to offer us condolences and support. When we got our GiveSendGo campaign up, you were one of the first to donate. You donated $1,000. You didn't have to do that. You did it because you have a generous heart. The last time you were at my house, a dog bit you. Yet you have been one of the greatest strengths to my family as we fight to #SaveLucy, who escaped the war-torn deserts of the Middle East. You have been a quiet strength to us. Quiet, but steady. I don't think you would have it any other way. Why have you stepped up for us? Because you know me. You know my wife. As we know your character, you know ours. We are honored to call you our friend. The world needs more people like you. Thank you, Raymond. @Herb_Minstrel

Of all my experiences, this is my favorite story. In 2015, I was camping in the reddish moondust on the border between Jordan and Syria, a stone's throw from what was then the Islamic State. My first son had just been born. Although this was my fifth or sixth tour, adjusting to this one was difficult. Something had changed in me. Priorities had shifted. A young dog, pearl white in color, hung out with us at camp. We kind of adopted her and fed her leftovers. She appreciated having a full belly and a respite from the packs of wild dogs and angry Bedouins. We appreciated a little added security. Some part of me that was missing the new dad life I had left behind made me bond with this pup in a special way. We named her Lucy, which was appropriate, because it was similar to the Arabic word "Lulu", which means pearl. As my tour wound down, I ramped up my efforts to get Lucy back to the states. It didn't feel right just leaving her to whatever nasty death awaited her in the desert. Long story short, I managed to do this with the help of an organization called Puppy Rescue Mission, which held fundraisers and paid for Lucy's boarding (both in Amman, Jordan and in Washington, D.C.), vet bills, and airfare back to the US. The generosity of Americans was truly amazing. The only thing left for me to figure out how to get this dog from the middle of buttf***k nowhere to Amman. One day, I got lucky. This Jordanian GID officer named Ali visited us near our camp. I had met with him several times over the course of my tour and I knew him to be corrupt to the core: an incompetent ne'er-do-well son of some Jordanian big shot, who owed his position to nepotism and lived for the nightlife in the big city. I saw my chance. First, I asked him straight up to take the dog to the vet in Amman. He laughed, spat on the ground, and said something disparaging about Americans and their love for filthy dogs. So I went for his Achilles heel - his love of Oakley sunglasses. I told him I would give him my Oakleys if he drove the dog 3.5 hours to Amman and delivered her to the vet. That got him. He said he would. Surprisingly, he was true to his word, so I gave him my Oakleys and threw in a US Army wristwatch for good measure. He loved getting both items. I later heard through contacts that Ali, who had seemed to be as westernized as a Muslim in that part of the world could be, later defected to the Islamic State. I guess all the drinking, drugs, and philandering finally weighed heavily enough on his conscience that he decided to do something drastic to get back in Allah's good graces. I'm sure he got a kick out of showing his US Army watch to his jihadist buddies and regaling them with stories about stupid Americans like me. I don't know if he died trembling in some tunnel in Baghouz, found martyrdom in a VBIED, or skulked back to his dad and now holds some office in the government. All are possible scenarios. He did me a solid once, but I hope he got what he deserved. Only God knows what that is, but I hope that that's exactly what he got. His example serves to constantly remind me never to underestimate the pull of what we in the West term radical Islam, but which they just call Islam. Lucy, now pushing eleven years old, is still faithfully guarding my sheep.

You know who you are. On April 17, you saw me in my yard with my dog. You watched a freak mishap occur. You saw the collar slip over my dog's head. You saw me immediately react, bringing my dog under control as quickly as I could manage without her leaving my property. You heard me apologize and wish you an enjoyable rest of your walk and a great day. You saw me smile. After seeing that, you did not choose to show me understanding. You called the police. Maybe you told one of your buddies, who called the police on your behalf. Either way, you chose litigiousness over grace. For an incident that left no victims. The police took my family's dog for that. A dog we've had for ten years. A dog I bonded with in war. Now she's in a concrete cell and I face criminal charges over an incident that left no victims. I've been angry at you. But I am no more. I choose forgiveness. Not for your sake, but for mine. You are free to hate me if you want, but I will not hate you in return. I do not want to carry that weight. I'm sure that you have managed to convince yourself that you were in the right. That you were perfectly justified in calling the police on me over the freak collar mishap. That taking away a family's dog and putting a law-abiding citizen who has never wanted to be anything but a good neighbor to you through a living hell was the right thing to do. These words of mine are not going to convince you otherwise, but time may. "Every way of a man is right in his own eyes, But the Lord weighs the hearts." I pray that the Lord will find me a humble servant, doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with Him when he weighs my heart. I am a work in progress, but I'm trying to let the Word be my guide and His will be my own. When I say that I forgive you, I mean that sincerely. I hold you no ill will and I will not hold a grudge against you. Not for one day more. I wish you nothing but the best. I hope that God blesses you and your family. #SaveLucy @LoneStarChica @MoonAndBack69 @catturd2

Our fight to #SaveLucy, the dog who survived war, is getting media attention. She saved me ten years ago. Now I'm fighting to save her. Thanks to Mason Willett at WHSV Harrisonburg. @Herb_Minstrel is radiant. @LoneStarChica, this couldn't have happened without you. @catturd2

I recently discovered not only how to record videos, but how to edit them. It's amazing. I hope it doesn't come at the cost of authenticity. I spoke from the heart. #SaveLucy, the dog who survived war. @Herb_Minstrel @LoneStarChica

You know who you are. You saw one neighbor harassing another. You saw her gossip buddies join in like clucking hens. You saw them treat the other neighbor like a pariah, over nothing. You shrugged it off. You saw it continue for two years. You knew it was wrong. Did you stand up to the bullying? No. You urged patience and didn't act. You saw how hard that family worked to be good neighbors. You knew they had put $30,000 into into top-of-the-line fencing to ensure the safety of their animals and of the neighborhood. You saw them out there day and night, pouring concrete, pounding in rebar, and stringing electric wire to reinforce weak points. Did you mention this to anyone who accused the family of failing to provide a proper enclosure for their animals? No, you didn't. You read the false rumors about Lucy. You saw the part where someone accused her of chasing a kid on a bicycle while biting at its tires. You knew that this was a lie, but you didn't speak up. You saw the claim that Lucy had attacked a dog that was out for a walk, injuring it so badly that it had to be put down. You knew that this had actually happened, but that it had not been Lucy. Did you say anything? No. You let the gossip stand and didn't confront the clucking hens spreading their lies. You saw the biting incident. You knew was just days after Lucy's surgery. You knew she was still groggy with the drugs. You knew she was in pain and could only move on three legs. You knew she was feeling vulnerable and confused. You saw the massive cone on her head. You saw the jogger reach inside the cone. You heard Lucy yelp like she was being attacked. You knew all these facts. Yet you said very little about that. When the dangerous dog declaration was being considered by the court, did you bring up the mitigating circumstances surrounding the bite? Not really. Did you speak up against the false rumors that had been attributed to Lucy? No. You remained silent. You know Lucy's character. You know the years of love that she has given her family and the years of service she has provided protecting her flocks in the fields. You know she is not dangerous. Better than anyone, you know Lucy's history. You know where she is from. You know what she has seen. You know she survived war. You know, because you have seen those things too. You also survived war. Lucy helped you get home from it. If you don't know yet who you are, I'll tell you. You and I are one and the same. You did all this to your own dog. You signed her death sentence. You did. I did. You have done some hard things in your life, but when Lucy needed you, you were AWOL. She deserved better from you. I don't know if I am ready to forgive you yet, but I think I know someone who is. Lucy. #SaveLucy @Herb_Minstrel @LoneStarChica

Thanks to @TomiLahren for having me on @JesseBWatters PrimeTime last night to talk about my fight to #SaveLucy. Tomi, your heart is big. It's bountiful. I saw that on full display. You gave me the honor of a lifetime. Thanks to @Herb_Minstrel for standing with me. I love you.

"This isn’t public safety. It’s a weaponized technicality." Thanks to Law Enforcement Today for shining a light on the way the justice system is being weaponized to hurt my family and dog. #SaveLucy Saving Lucy: A Veteran’s War Dog Deserves Better Than Bureaucratic Euthanasia - go.shr.lc/49Qxv1r