A school in the war-torn city of Raqqa sent us a distress signal. It was February 2018, four months after Raqqa had been liberated. As bomb disposal specialists, we knew better than to rush into the situation, as ISIS frequently used children’s cries as traps.
Behind a sturdy concrete pedestal, we discovered a frightened Chihuahua, the lone survivor of his deceased family. Barry was born in the midst of the horrors of war.
Despite my initial reluctance, I donned my gloves and offered Barry a cookie. He nibbled on it with caution as I gently stroked him. I promised to return and left provisions for him.
Since leaving the military in 2014, I had not experienced a sense of optimism until I met Barry. War’s lingering effects and the pressures of daily life weighed heavily on me upon my return home, presenting me with unique obstacles.
Attending the funeral of a friend in Syria rekindled my soldierly spirit. I eagerly seized the opportunity to join the Syrian team when it presented itself.
A month after our initial encounter, I returned to the school’s ruins in search of Barry. I was relieved to hear one of his coworkers call out his name. I reached out and gently stroked his head with my bare hand, sensing an immediate rapport.
I was aware that I would need to take a risk with Barry in order to earn his trust.