Meet Tracer the Weim

In Tracer's Words
My human named me after a dog his platoon adopted in Al Fallujah, Iraq. Now, if I understand my human's discussions of this Al Fallujah place correctly, it should translate to "dusty shithole" in English.
Now for the back story...
In 2006, on his way to a desert outpost to the West of the Euphrates river, my human's platoon noticed a blind, newborn puppy crossing a highway. In the midst of the chaos of war, my human stopped and put the puppy in one of his seven vehicles. He and his Marines decided to name the stray Tracer: the ammunition that "shows you the way" (i.e. the direction you're firing). "Tracer #1" (and I mean "#1" solely in a numerical sense as I am Tracer #1 in the hierarchical sense) was safely escorted back to base and raised by the platoon for the next six months. Tracer #1 got to hang out with the Marines while on patrol in a box in vehicle four on two patrols a day as well as at night in one of Saddam's former vacation villas. Tracer #1 brought the platoon good luck and, after my human went home safely to the U.S. (thank goodness, lest I was adopted by some asshole), he was full grown and adopted by the next unit rotating in...providing the same luck he provided my human during his time in Iraq. 
Fast forward to 2009 when my human decided to bring me into his life...he had never owned a dog in his life and immediately knew what my name would be: Tracer. And, yes, I was worth the wait. 
In his human's words
Tracer gave us unrelenting joy and was a tireless wing man to our adventures through December 29, 2017 when he succumbed to a very aggressive strain of T-cell lymphoma. He is missed every second of every day since his passing.

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