by Edward A. McCullough Sr.
is a short story about a little Black dog back in '67, that we all call
"Satan". We found him as a puppy, that is to say Sgt. LaFrance and I,
so we took him to our hooch on Arty Hill and started to raise him. Well
he got the point where he hated Vietnamese and would barely let the
old momason that cleaned our hooch come in to clean. Course there wasn't
much to clean but a dirt floor. We would put him on guard when we left
and he wouldn't let anyone in to the hooch. If you were an American
he would just wag his tail and go lay down. He was a good little dog
and everybody fed and played with him. I still have some pictures of
This story has a tragic ending tho' we found him lying out in the MSR
(Military Supply Route) one morning looked like he had been hit by a
truck. That was a great lose to us at least the Vietnamese didn't get
to eat him.They kept trying to buy him because he was so healthy and
fat. Said he would eat good.
I just thought his story ought to be told. He was a good G.I. and a