They Sniff at Danger

Pucci threw a party for "my baby girl" who was leaving to fight al-Qaeda. He made her "ooganooga meatballs": mashed puppy food, olive oil, peanut butter and rice.

Pucci said, "I may be a criminal, but I'm an American criminal." His voice caught. "A little piece of me goes out to fight for the American way -- to keep the Yankee games going."

At the ATF facility in Virginia, the staff paired Mary Jane with Thami Eddahane, 42, a Moroccan officer who said he'd joined the police because he wanted "to combat evil."

"Don't cry," Eddahane said, stroking away Mary Jane's whimpers, as the class lined up for their commencement ceremony.

Mary Jane and Eddahane marched with Ricky Bobby and Chakir to receive their diplomas. Wendy and Wags, the DHS dropouts, nipped each other's chins. Crosby, who'd been expelled from guide-dog school for lunging at leaves, broke away from his Moroccan handler to jump on Phyllis Odell, an elderly volunteer who'd raised him and who had driven six hours to see him one last time.

"I don't know about him going so far away," Odell said. She had expected him to be a guide dog for some sweet blind lady; now Crosby was shipping off to North Africa to nuzzle bombs with a man who pronounced the dog's name "Groseby." Odell crossed her arms and said, frowning, "I'm sure that guy doesn't want to get blown up, so he's got to keep Crosby safe."

The man-dog teams had trained seven days a week, learning how to sweep a stadium, how to find explosives buried in a field and how to secure a train station. The program cost, Bohan estimated, $20,000 to $30,000 per dog. None has died in the line of duty.

After the speeches and cake, puppy raisers like Amy Waggoner walked outside to say goodbye. In a matter of hours, her Ricky Bobby would board a Royal Air Maroc flight. Right now, though, Ricky Bobby was trying to mount Mary Jane.

"Ricky Bobby Baby Jesus, cut that out! That's rude!" Waggoner shouted.

Ricky Bobby trotted over to Waggoner and licked her nose. Chakir stood nearby watching them. Waggoner, kneeling in a pink cardigan, looked up and smiled at the handsome Moroccan officer. He had come from a town in the Atlas Mountains. Now he would return with a laptop from Staples, a dress for his mother from Macy's and a dog named after a Will Ferrell movie.

"Nabil is going to take care of you," Waggoner whispered into Ricky Bobby's neck. "Maybe you'll learn French, then you can really get the ladies. Make sure you brush your teeth. Go save somebody's life." Had it only been six months since he was in a shelter about to die? She kissed his pink nose. "You're an important doggy, okay?"

Waggoner and Chakir exchanged long looks and e-mail addresses.

"He knows I love him," she said, and turned.

Chakir clicked on Ricky Bobby's leash and led him away: "I love him, too."