My name is Taz, and this is the story of my retirement from active duty to civilian life as a service dog. My hashtag is #tazoteausmc and this Day 3.
Lazy humans would not wake up til 0900. There’s no discipline here. Both were up til 0100. They need a commander.
Probably I shouldn’t have thrown the shoe at food lady because she went berserk and has a purple mark on her head now. But after she stopped yelling, she explained the difference between a sneaker and a flip flop. I guess it’s okay if I throw the latter at her if I want attention. Civilian life is so strange. The only soldiers who sleep til 9 in my life are dead.
Checked all of the cars for IEDs. No problems. But would you look at that campus?
The signs say no dogs, but who the hell is looking for suicide bombers? It’s too much work for one dog. And they won’t take me past the coffee shop where I found the suspicious device anymore. There is no gratitude.
The smaller human asked the big one if we can go to the “B-E-A-C-H” later. They thought if they spelled it, I wouldn’t know where we were going. I don’t even know if these people can be helped. More freaking sand. Oh joy. Also, I think I know more languages than he does. If I could figure out his computer password, I’d finish 5th grade for him. He sure isn’t in any hurry to do it.
Everyone here wants to make a fuss about me. They tell me I’m gorgeous and ask what kind of dog I am. I’m camouflage, moron. I blend with sand. Every single thing about me had a purpose. I am a highly trained detection and protection machine. I am a killer and stalker and a weapons detection expert. Wait. Is that ham? I’m sitting. Look! I’m laying down. Want paw? Here’s paw. Here’s other paw. I like ham. Please ham? Be right back…
The small human almost convinced me to try swimming. Stupid thing to do. Who wants to swim in a giant sand pond? Those other lesser dogs may like it, but I think it smells funny, and it will my hair all gross. I’m having a good hair day, you know.
I’m going to dig holes for these fools. Just in case. They’re sitting targets.
In a little while, food lady says I can “S-K-Y-P-E” my unit. I’m going to give them all my distress signals. This is exhausting and I want to go home.
— Excerpt from the Diary of Taz, a Retired Military Service Dog
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