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It started with a picture of the puppy on Ronny Perryman’s Facebook page and an innocent ‘Like’ of the picture. Perryman, a senior NCO in the US Army’s 24th Infantry Division stationed in Afghanistan, had posted the pup’s picture after his unit had adopted the stray they’d found in a drainage pipe after a firefight.

Back home in Texas, Stephen Harrington, a former army buddy of Perryman’s, clicked the ‘Like’ button on the pup’s Facebook picture and started a journey that would take him from Texas to Fort Stewart in Georgia, and the dog from Afghanistan to the same Army base.

“Ronny and I had served together in the same unit during the First Gulf War,” said Harrington. “A while back, I found him on Facebook and we kept in touch.”

Perryman, like Harrington, had left the Army but now served in the Army National Guard. His unit volunteered to deploy to the fighting in Afghanistan early. One day in late 2009, after his recon unit fought off an enemy roadside attack, one of the men under Perryman’s command heard the sound of a dog whimpering. He found the small pup, no more than a few weeks old, cowering in a nearby drain pipe. Knowing the Afghani view of dogs, the soldier, Corporal Ryan Kirby, took the dog back to their base.

Named Recon, the pup soon became the unit’s unofficial mascot, cared for by all but especially Corp. Kirby. Soon after adopting Recon, the unit was moved to a forward base and they were faced with what they would do with their mascot. What they did know was that they could not leave the pup at the base, where it would be killed by the Afghani soldiers, who detest dogs.

When Perryman posted Recon’s picture on Facebook and told Harrington that they were worried about the pup’s future in Afghanistan, Harrington recalled hearing about dogs rescued from Iraq and brought to the U.S. He approached coworker John McPeak, who is a Senior Trade Compliance Manager for international oilfield services company M-I SWACO, for help.

“If I didn’t know how to get the dog to the U.S.,” McPeak said, “someone I know will. It’s all I do all day.”

McPeak’s job is to coordinate shipments of barite ore and other products into the U.S. and he works closely with U.S. Customs on a regular basis. He knew that he could put his expertise and his contacts to work and find a way to help Harrington’s former Army buddy to get Recon out of Afghanistan and to the U.S. He approached Linda Mills, the director of export compliance for the Concorde Battery Corp., and fellow member of the International Compliance Professionals Association (ICPA). Mills referred McPeak to a group called Operation Baghdad Pup, whose mission it was to help soldiers bring home their pets from Iraq.

What McPeak learned there disappointed him. He learned that Operation Baghdad Pup was not involved with dog rescue from Afghanistan, but they could lead him to other resources that might be able to help. One of those resources was Pamela Constable, deputy foreign editor of The Washington Post.

Constable had been the paper’s Kabul, Afghanistan Bureau Chief and had worked extensively throughout the region since the late 1990s. McPeak reached out to her and learned of an underground animal shelter in Kabul, the Tigger House.

Tigger House is run by the Afghan Stray Animal league, a U.S. based nonprofit organization that operates a shelter and low-cost veterinary clinic for homeless, abandoned and sick or injured animals in Kabul. In addition to caring for animals in Afghanistan, they could help Harrington and McPeak get Recon out of the country for Perryman and his unit.

Once they realized that they might be able to get Recon to the U.S., McPeak and Harrington were faced with the logistical challenge of making that possibility a reality. Tigger House told them they would have to pay more than $3,000 for the pup’s vaccinations and transportation out of the country.

“So many times,” said Harrington, “I’d seen posts of Facebook that said, ‘if you want to support our troops, paste this into your Status.’ I thought, ‘if you really want to do something for our troops, help us bring this dog back to the U.S. for this unit.’ These guys have to say goodbye to their families when they are deployed. Dogs like Recon provide the family that these guys leave behind. Then they’re often asked to leave that family behind when they return home. This was more important than a care package because every time they’d look at this dog, they’d remember the good times.”

Harrington started posting snippets about Recon’s story, along with more pictures of the pup with the soldiers at their main base on his Facebook status. He asked that if people really wanted to do something for our troops serving in Afghanistan, ‘then please donate so we can bring Recon to the U.S.’

Donations quickly started coming in, from friends and friends of friends who took the idea of rescuing this pup across Facebook. In just one and half months, they had raised the $3,000 they needed, all via Facebook.

“We got an offer from one company in Nebraska,” said McPeak. “I don’t know how they’d seen it, but they wanted to help pay. It literally went viral.”

Harrington emailed Perryman and told him they had the money, that they had connections in Afghanistan, the Tigger House and Pam Constable, who could help spirit Recon out of the country. They had made arrangements for Recon to be taken out of Afghanistan to Islamabad, Pakistan and then flown to John F. Kennedy Airport in New York. Perryman agreed to take a dangerous drive across Afghanistan and deliver Recon to Tigger House.

But then the delays hit. It would take time to get Recon from Kabul to Islamabad. For several weeks, Harrington and McPeak, along with countless Facebook fans waited, not knowing if all their effort would pay off or if Recon would somehow be killed or otherwise prevented from leaving the country.

“At the end of January,” said Harrington, “I suddenly get a photo of Recon. He’s being walked by Pam in Islamabad. The email says he’s going to be at JFK in two days.”

McPeak quickly sent a message via Facebook to a friend in New York. “Could you please pick up this dog at the cargo terminal and take care of him for a couple of days?”

His friend agreed and met Recon’s plane. He took the pup to his home on Long Island. From there, another friend took Recon to New Jersey. An ICPA member, Rick Miller, drove through a blizzard to get Recon and ferry him to North Carolina. From there, Recon was picked up by a former member of the unit who had broken his back in three places after being struck by an IED on his first patrol in Afghanistan. Recovering in Augusta, Georgia, First Sergeant Boyles drove to North Carolina to bring Recon home with him.

By this time, late February, the unit was due to return from their tour in Afghanistan. Harrington recalls thinking that it would be amazing if he could be at Ft. Stewart, with Recon, when the unit deplaned.

At the time, Harrington was only a contract worker for the M-I SWACO IT group. He did not have a guaranteed job and he did not have vacation time that he could take to make the trip. He also needed help to get a plane ticket from Houston, Texas to Savannah, Georgia.

“I’ve always been pretty bold,” he said, “so I told Max Richey I need to talk to him.”

Richey is VP of Supply Chain at M-I SWACO and John McPeak’s boss.

“I told him the story about Recon and somehow he knew what I was going to ask. He gave me enough airline miles that I could book a flight on Delta Airlines to be at Ft. Stewart when my old unit came home.”

Harrington flew to Savannah and rented a car. He drove to Boyle’s house in Augusta and met Recon for the first time. Harrington had planned for the two of them to meet the returning unit but Boyles was not up to making the long drive from Augusta to Ft. Stewart. The unit was due to arrive on Sunday but he would have to be back on Monday morning for formation. Still recovering from his injuries, he felt he could not make that trip.

“I told him to call his platoon sergeant and ask to be excused from formation. He did and told his platoon sergeant why he needed to miss formation. The guy okayed it without question.”

Harrington and Boyles, with Recon, drove the 115 mi to Ft. Stewart. For Harrington, it was to be a trip of mixed emotions. He had been stationed at Ft. Stewart during his time in the Army.

“It was a homecoming for me in so many ways,” he said. “I hadn’t been there in 18 years.”

Harrington had hoped to have Recon on the parade ground when the 24th stepped of their military transport plane but the MPs refused to allow the dog onto the grounds. That part of the homecoming surprise would have to wait.

Finally, after a day’s delay arriving, the unit stood in formation on Ft. Stewart’s parade grounds. After being released, Perryman saw Harrington and the two men spoke in person for the first time in nearly 20 years.

“I hadn’t told Ronny that I was bringing Recon.”

Due to Army regulations, the unit had to reassemble at their barracks. When they did, Harrington was waiting for them, this time with Recon. The unit saw their mascot for the first time in months.

“Kirby lost it,” Harrington recalled. “He was beside himself to see Recon safe and actually in the U.S.”

Called back to one final formation before dismissal, the unit lined up. This time, however, Recon sat next to them and when they were called to attention, he stood and barked.

“The dog was as much a part of the unit as the rest of the soldiers.”

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Revised on December 21, 2010

Buying a Brazilian thong in Rio

by Rich on July 27, 2009

As a joke, I told her that—if she were nice to me—I would buy her “one of those Brazilian thongs.” It was really just a silly comment at the end of my email as I rushed out the door to meet the driver who was taking me to the airport. A day later, finally in my hotel just off Copacabana Beach in Rio, I was surprised when I got an email from her.

“I thought a Brazil Bikini was a waxing method. ;) – But yeah, sure! – If they exist, by all means. Size 6 in U.S. sizes. =) LOL! – But then you have to go to the beach with me and we’ll hang out.”

I’d expected, at most, a “LMAO” from her, the typical response to one of my jokes. But she’d met my challenge head on and returned with a suggestive response…if you buy me one, I’ll wear it for you…and next time you go to Rio, I’ll go with you…!

The gauntlet had been thrown down and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. But how? How would I go about buying a thong for a girl who I hadn’t seen in months and even then only had a vague idea of her body type. My driver, Eustaquio, held the answer.

“Eustaquio,” I said, “I want to buy one of the famous, skimpy Brazilian thong bikinis for a friend. Can you help me find a store where I can buy one?”

“Of course,” he answered with a grin, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “The best place is a store called BumBum for the bikinis. What size does she wear?”

“Size 6 American.”

“Then buy her a size 4; or better, buy her a size 2.”

He grinned and told me that “Bum bum” is the common term in Brazil to refer to a woman’s behind. It refers, he told me, to the lovely shape and shake of a Brazilian woman’s hind quarters. It is considered a more respectful way to talk about, in a complementary way, her ass. He promised to take me to the store that evening after my meetings.

That evening, when I walked out of the offices where I’d been interviewing people for my assignment, I looked and saw that Eustaquio was not my driver. It was Raoul. A great guy and a great driver—6 ft 6 in and driving a car too small even for my 5 ft 10 in frame—but he spoke little, if any English. And the best Portuguese I could muster was a weak “obrigado,” which means “thank you.” I knew then that buying the Brazilian bikini was going to be … interesting.

At least, I figured, the girl at the BumBum shop would speak English. Afterall, they get a lot of American and English customers here…

Raoul grinned as he opened the car door for me.

“BumBum, yes?” he queried making the curvaceous shape of a woman’s figure.

Eustaquio had at least briefed him on my plans.

“Yes,” I replied, a little nervous about my upcoming adventure into the world of women’s micro thong bikinis.

We found the BumBum shop in the mall and entered. Two young women smiled and asked, in Portuguese, how they could help us. At least I assume that’s what they asked. Raoul explained what I was looking for and that I spoke no Portuguese.

The taller of the two, a beautiful brunette with long hair reaching to her shapely bum bum and wearing a tight black t-shirt and tighter black spandex pants, showed me to the racks of bikinis, everything from a modest style that would cover 3/4 of her bum bum to the micro thongs that were little more than a single strand of thread.

“What size?” she asked.

“Size 6, American.” I tried to sound confident, like I knew what I was doing, like I bought skimpy bikinis for women all the time. I hoped, from her query in English that she did indeed speak my language.

The puzzled look on her face and the tilt of her head told me that she had no idea what “size 6, American” meant. Her English was only slightly more advanced than my Portuguese. In my English-trying-to-be-Portuguese, I tried again, holding up six fingers.

“Six…uh…seis (does Spanish work here?) … Americano.”

She shook her head. American sizes didn’t translate here in Rio.

“Like me?” she asked, cupping her breast in her hands. “Bigger?”

She turned slightly, angling her hips and showing off her shapely backside so I could size her up and judge how my friend’s body compared.

I tried to recall my friends figure but all I could see was the brunette’s breasts as she gingerly held them. I looked at them, then guiltily glanced upward to her face. She smiled, not offended in the least that I’d been staring at her hands and what they held.

“Um,” I stammered. “Like you.”

“Like this?”

“Um, yeah.”

I’m sure my face was as red as the crimson thong hanging on the rack behind her.

She gave me a gentle smile that said I know you’re looking at my body and I know what you’re thinking…and I don’t mind…

Then she turned and took several bikini’s off the rack behind her. She spread them out on the counter and took the top off one of the hangers. She put it on over her t-shirt and adjusted it over her breasts.

“You like?”

Oh, yes! I thought. And the bikini is nice, too.

I smiled and nodded. She smiled back. She knew she’d made the sale. Now it was a matter of deciding which one to buy.

With the bikini top still around her neck, she showed me the bottoms. Different sizes, shapes and colors. I’d imagined a simple red bikini would look sensational on my friend. But the myriad of colors and patterns was clouding my mind as I tried to picture her in each.

What would she like? Which would I like?

I knew I wanted something small, but not micro. I’d been challenged to buy her one and I wanted to get something exciting, something that would make her blush but still be willing to model for me.

We continued our pantomime, the beautiful brunette and I. She showed me the micro thongs and how they accented a woman’s bum bum. She showed me a green one, with white elephants on it that tied on one side. The material bunched or stretched, depending on how much the wearer decided to show off.

Another was a simple white thong, with splashes of red, yellow, green and blue. It looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. It was small, sexy and definitely my favorite.

The sales girl modeled several other tops, each threatening to show more or less of what she hid behind her tight, black t-shirt. I realized that this lovely young woman was actually quite similar to my friend. That, at least, made the entire operation a little easier. If the bikini looked good on her, I knew it would look good on my friend.

And I kept Eustaquio’s advice in mind.

“Size six? Then buy her a size 4 or a size 2.”

I finally made my choice.

A moment later at the cash register, I watched as the sales girl gently folded the bikini and placed it into a small cloth bag.

Once more, she gave me that smile that said so much.

“Your friend will like,” she said as I took the bag.

“Yes, she will love it! Obrigado…thank you.” I answered hoping that, indeed, she would.

As I walked out of the store, basking in the glow of my successful adventure, I felt a new tinge of anxiety.

Would she like it? Would she be pleased with my choice? Would she join me on my next trip to Rio and wear it on Copacabana Beach as we strolled along?

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Revised on December 31, 2010