Iraqi war takes economic toll for veterinarian at home

Col. Hugh Hodges awakens each morning in Baghdad's Green Zone on a mission to care for the military's working dogs, protect the Army's food supply and aid Iraq's animals.

But when the 52-year-old veterinarian returns to his family in Monteagle, Tenn., the home front promises to differ greatly from how he left it. Hodges daughters' are older and his wife, Cindy, has taken up home repair, describing her tangle with a clogged septic system as "a rude introduction to single parent life." Most obvious will be the absence of Hodge's veterinary practice.

Last month, The Family Pet Clinic went up for sale. The 5,000-square-foot building symbolizes 20 years of Hodge's hard work as the town's only DVM. Gutted and locked, it now sits a shell of the once-bustling, 2,000-patient practice.

Talking about it opens old wounds, Hodges says in an interview with DVM Newsmagazine from his Baghdad base.

"There's no doubt leaving home last December was pretty tough," he says. "My dad had just died, and I knew my practice wouldn't survive. But I wear the uniform, and I was glad to come over here even though it meant having to send a lot of friends and really good clients away. I didn't want to put my family through the stress of trying to come home and rebuild."

Acceptance

Stress is something Cindy Hodges has learned to deal with. After months of worry, the Wal-Mart pharmacist claims to have grown emotionally stronger by steering clear of television news and working to stay busy as she tries to keep the war off her mind.

"Last year was not a good year for us because you just never perceive this type of situation presenting itself," Cindy Hodges says. "Straggler clients are still calling and wanting records, and it's sad. But we knew this would happen; it's his duty. Every person in the military in some form or fashion will be serving. For us, it was just a matter of time."

Accomplishments

At presstime, Hodges awaited military directives as to whether or not he would be returning home for the holidays and perhaps indefinitely. As the senior veterinary officer in Iraq, the colonel says he's proud of his accomplishments, including organizing work for an estimated 8,000 Iraqi veterinarians, treating neglected zoo animals and diagnosing the country's first case of canine heartworm disease. He's coordinated with U.S. veterinary colleges to donate textbooks, computers and microscopes — much of which Iraqi veterinarians have never had.

"I've worked with the Iraqis pretty extensively on dragging them kicking and screaming into 2004," Hodges says. "Veterinary medicine in this country is like veterinary medicine in the U.S. in the 1950s. Under Saddam's reign, it was a punishable crime to own a typewriter, not to mention a computer. You've seen 'Dances with Wolves,' right? Well that's Iraq."

Cultural divide

Education isn't the only contrast between veterinary medicine in the United States and Iraq. In a country nearly devoid of small animal medicine, the differences largely involve mindset, Hodges says.

"Dogs and cats over here are just like skunks, raccoons and possum in the United States," he says. "They're all born wild; they're not pets. They have no worth here in Iraq."

By comparison, agriculture and food animal production is of great importance to the country Hodges describes as "extremely fertile."

"They raise rice; they have water buffalo, who would've thought? But they don't even have working dogs here," he says.

Wrong message

The Baghdad zoo sits just outside the Green Zone. Once used as weapons arsenal, Hodges has overseen its reformation into a home for animals. Lately, he says the facility's become too dangerous to visit.

"We can't leave here anymore because the insurgents send in rockets haphazardly," he says. "I was walking outside the other day and two suicide bombers snuck themselves into the Green Zone, and it got pretty nasty. Seeing this stuff haunts me. I'm not a big fan of carnage and mayhem."

Most Iraqis aren't either, he adds. While major U.S. news stations report largely on fighting, Hodges says the majority of citizens are grateful for the military's involvement in Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein's demise. The colonel says he's developed tight relationships with his Middle Eastern colleagues and has even been afforded a nickname by his new friends.

"They call me Amu Hodges, which means Uncle Hodges," he says. "They say they'll be orphans when I leave here."

Homebound

Abandoning the traditional birthday parties and lunches Iraqi veterinarians have bestowed Hodges will be bittersweet, he says. Returning to family life, his hobby shooting photography and finding a new job will be welcome changes as well as adjustments, he adds.

"Everyone's used to doing everything without me, so it'll be a change," he says. "But my wife's done a really great job of keeping the home fires burning. Bad stuff happens here, but like I tell my family, I'd rather be over here fighting bad guys than fighting them in the United States. We are definitely taking this war to the enemy."