In war-torn Raqqa, we heard a cry from a devastated faculty. It was February 2018, 4 months after Raqqa’s liberation. As bomb disposal professionals, we knew higher than to hurry in, as youngster screams have been usually used as traps by ISIS.

Behind a concrete pedestal, we discovered a frightened Chihuahua, the lone survivor among the many our bodies of his household. Born amidst conflict’s horrors, we named him Barry.

Regardless of my preliminary concern of dogs, I provided Barry a biscuit with gloved palms. He cautiously nibbled as I patted him. I left him with meals and water, promising to return.

Barry gave me hope, a sense I hadn’t skilled since leaving the Military in 2014. Again dwelling, I struggled with the aftermath of conflict and private hardships.

Attending a buddy’s funeral in Syria reignited my soldier’s spirit. When provided the chance to affix the Syrian group, I embraced it.

A month after assembly Barry, I looked for him within the faculty’s rubble. Relieved, I heard my colleague calling his title. I prolonged my naked hand, gently caressing his head. It felt proper.

To earn Barry’s belief, I took a leap of religion.