One Dog at a Time: Saving the Strays of Helmand - An Inspiring True Story
In a remote outpost of Now Zad, in Helmand Province, Pen Farthing and his troup of young Royal Marines survive frequent engagements with the Taliban and forge links with the local community. Pen's tour of duty will change his life forever, but for entirely unexpected reasons ...Appalled by the horrors of a local dog fight, he intervenes to free the victims. One of these dogs finds his way into the Marine compound - and into Pen's heart. Soon other strays are being drawn to the santuary provided by Pen's makeshift pound, including one young mum who crawls under the compound fence carrying her newborn pups to safety. But as his tour of duty draws to an end, Pen cannot leave the dogs of Now Zad to their own fates. he begins hatching plans to help them escape to a better life. This is Pen's gripping account of his time in Now Zad, the friends he made there and the remarkable journey they - and he - undertook. Above all, it is the story of one man's courage and humanity and his fight to make a difference in the most hostile and dangerous environment - one dog at a time.
campaign in Afghanistan was soon being recognised. The OC was awarded an MBE for our time in the isolated Now Zad compound. Yet despite the fact that the company were back on British soil, I didn’t quite feel that I could just leave it all behind. There was a part of me that was still in Afghanistan and I had a feeling always would be. It was just as hot still as we pulled into the gravel car park of the animal quarantine. Lisa had timed her snooze to perfection and was just waking up. The
for another three hours. The noise was coming from the direction of Nowzad and RPG’s run. I dressed quickly and grabbed my gear. I bumped into Dave as I stumbled out of my cell. ‘What’s all the noise?’ ‘Don’t know,’ he replied. We rounded the corner towards the run at a jog as I had a horrible feeling it was another dogfight. ‘Oh shit,’ I said as I saw the rear gate was wide open and the area directly surrounding it was swarming with dogs of all sizes and shapes, running around and snapping
that. Not that I would have let him know that as I’d never hear the end of it. Dutchy and I were saved. Steve could come across as slightly brash, someone who ruled the kitchen with a rod of iron and set high standards. But he had a heart of gold and would bend over backwards to help anybody, whatever they needed. He also had let me have that second sausage. ‘Heard that some sergeants can’t even boil eggs properly and need a grown-up’s help,’ he said, trying to wind me up. ‘Hey, mate, not sure
the galley, chatting away happily in Pashtu, which had somewhat annoyed Steve as he sought to get to grips with our simple but demanding galley routine. The Afghan now stood up and bounded over to us as the two lads in the middle continued their dance uninterrupted. ‘Salaamu alaikum,’ he said, holding out his hand. His eyes shone as his big face formed itself into an enormous grin. His smile was infectious and we both grinned inanely back, shaking his hand back and greeting him in our best
assumed we had just stopped the Afghan equivalent of a UK boy racer. The truck had a single front cab that had been painted with pictures of what appeared to be a brightly decorated mosque set among imaginary mountains. From the bumper hung hundreds of shiny metal heart-shaped discs on chains and, to cap it off, the driver’s name was printed on the bottom of the windscreen. It was a safe guess that this driver was fiercely proud of his vehicle. As Harry talked with the driver two of my lads