José, Can't You See?

Not every enlisted "man" on the USS Straub "wore the same uniform" or performed the same duty. Not every "man" understood why he was there or imagined the impact his role would have on future generations. Not every "man" felt a swell of pride or a pang of homesickness. In fact, one of the "sailors" who was serving his country faithfully received no mail and no family waited for him at home. He never slept in the same bed twice; and while he knew every man aboard the USS Straub, he was loyal to no one. This "enlistee" was José, the ship's well-loved dog.

José knew each of the 220 men on board the Straub personally and greeted each with a friendly wag of the tail. Though he never mistook a sole who belonged there, let a stranger set foot on the deck, and José would bark his head off, sounding the alarm. His job was to protect both his men and his ship, and he took it seriously.

Like all aboard, José looked forward to the days spent in port, those times when he could escape the tossing of the sea, put his feet on dry, solid ground, and discover some part of the world he had not yet seen. For some reason, it was also imperative that he be the first to set foot ashore. As the USS Straub pulled closer and closer to the dock, José would plan his descent. Too anxious to wait for the gangplank to be lowered, he would gauge (or misgauge, depending on how you look at it!) the distance between deck and shore and make his move. Two feet out and three feet up he'd jump, and then, land gawkishly in the drink. At every port, José would repeat the same routine, splashing unceremoniously into the briny waters of Recife, or Casablanca, or Rio de Janeiro, until finally he had the men on the Straub trained to stand at the rail with a long-handled net, ready to fish him out.

Mascot, friend, guardian, and entertainer, José was special. Though he would not survive his tour of duty, neither would he be readily replaced, or soon forgotten.