CLEVELAND, Ohio -- Smoky the war dog was four pounds of talent, determination, courage and love.
The Yorkshire terrier whose exploits during World War II won her international acclaim, and is buried at a memorial in Rocky River, just added another medal to those accolades.
The U.S. War Dogs Association recently presented Smoky with a service award given to military canines who have served in America's armed forces.
The medal, inscribed "faithfully we lead the way," came as a surprise to William Wynne, a native Clevelander who owned and trained the dog that was found in a jungle foxhole in New Guinea during World War II.
Wynne, 95, of Mansfield, said, "I'm very happy because Smoky was always on the outside, looking in, as an unofficial war dog of World War II.
"Now, this (medal) puts her on the same scale as the (military) dogs that are over in Afghanistan, and all dogs going back to the Vietnam war," added the former Plain Dealer photographer. "I feel really good about it."
Wynne was serving with an Army photo reconnaissance squadron during World War II when he bought the little terrier that another GI had found, and forged a special relationship of training and trust.
He named her for her blue-gray color, and began teaching Smoky a variety of stunts including walking a tightrope while blindfolded, balancing on rolling barrels, spelling her name and even parachuting.
In a book he later wrote about his exploits with Smoky, "Yorkie Doodle Dandy," Wynne wrote, "Smoky became a tremendous morale booster. I had much to do in the military but she gave me an escape from the loneliness of the New Guinea jungle."
She was also a life-saver. When communications lines had to be strung across an airfield runway in the Philippines -- a task that would have exposed GIs to enemy fire -- Smoky was drafted to pull a string connected to the wires through an eight-inch-wide, 70-foot-long drainage culvert under the runway.
The dog also accompanied Wynne on 12 aerial combat missions, was awarded eight battle stars, and survived a kamikaze attack and a typhoon.
When Wynne was hospitalized with dengue fever, Smoky charmed the patients in other wards, and later repeated that role in performances at hospitals in Australia, becoming the first therapy dog of record.
In his book, Wynne said Smoky, "the little tyke who shared so much with me, who, unquestioning and courageously, responded to my every command, had become my truest friend. She was a diversion from the demoralizing reality of war. She made us laugh and forget."
After the war, when Wynne returned to Cleveland, they appeared together in a variety of television and theatrical performances until Smoky's death in 1957.
Smoky is buried in the Rocky River Reservation of the Cleveland Metroparks, in a .30-caliber ammunition box (appropriately enough) in the base of a marble pedestal topped with a life-sized bronze sculpture of the little war dog sitting in a GI helmet. An inscription reads: "Smoky Yorkie Doodle Dandy and Dogs of All Wars."
Wynne said there are 11 monuments to Smoky in the U.S., three in Australia and one in France.
The most recent medal is one of three she has received, including the prestigious Purple Cross Award of the Australian Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
Wynne isn't surprised by Smoky's enduring appeal as the subject of many books, articles and a possible movie.
Part of that appeal was her diminutive size, spirit and ability to surviving some of the worst that war could offer, including military rations.
Wynne recalled, "The food we got was so bad, it was so heavily salted because we were in the tropics, the guys were getting diarrhea every couple days. I didn't have any dog food, so she had to eat our food."
Wynne has owned other Yorkshire terriers since Smoky, but it hasn't been the same.
"Smoky, in anybody else's hands, probably would've been just another dog," he said. "But because of my desire to train her, she became something special."
Special in other ways, too, as Wynne looks back on those days during the war.
"At first, emotionally, I was trying to not get too close to her. I'd lost a couple of buddies and I didn't want to get too close, because the hazards were so great and I'd just get upset all over again," he recalled.
"But as time passed, we formed a special bond, and everything became concentrating on the dog. She came first, and I was doing things for her," he added. "The dog became more of an obsession, to bring her through this, and myself, too. It worked out."
In a sense that bond continues, as Smoky's recognition and honors continue, along with Wynne's involvement with the past.
"She's still very much remembered," Wynne said. "All of these things make up the incredible story of this tiny little dog that just did it day to day, and didn't think about it.
"She just did it."
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