> Get out the tissues. > >> To my dog loving friends... >> >> They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie >> as I looked at him lying in his pen. the shelter was >> clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. >> I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere >> I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and >> open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the >> street. >> >> But something was still missing as I attempted to >> settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog >> couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. >> And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local >> news. The shelter said they had received numerous >> calls right after, but they said the people who had come >> down to see him just didn't look like "Lab >> people," whatever that meant. They must've >> thought I did. >> >> But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me >> in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog >> pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis >> balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous >> owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off >> when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is >> how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his >> new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to >> adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike. >> >> For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis >> balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in >> his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked >> boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need >> all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he >> settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon >> that he wasn't going to. >> >> I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he >> knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd >> follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to >> listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my >> direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then >> he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you >> could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey. >> >> This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and >> some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented >> it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the >> two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search >> mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I >> remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I >> also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on >> me." >> >> Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's >> number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter.. I tossed >> the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the >> most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But >> then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll >> give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe >> "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped >> down. With his back to me. >> >> Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched >> the shelter phone number. >> >> But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I >> had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, >> Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if >> your previous owner has any advice.."... ...... >> >> ____________ _________ _________ _________ >> >> To >> Whoever Gets My Dog: >> Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I >> told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. >> I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means >> I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off >> at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad >> and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this >> time... it's like he knew something was >> wrong. And something is wrong... which is why I have >> to go to try to make it right. >> >> So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help >> you bond with him and he with you. >> >> First, he loves tennis balls. the more the merrier. Sometimes I >> think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always >> has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. >> Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound >> after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads. I made >> that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly. >> >> Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but >> I'll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," >> "come," "heel." He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back >> when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out >> right or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. >> He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on >> that with him some more. He knows >> "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business. >> >> I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears >> like little pieces of hot dog. >> >> Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, >> and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter >> has the brand. >> >> He's up on his shots. >> Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with >> yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when >> he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the >> vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't >> know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but >> he knows. >> >> Finally, give him some time. >> I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie >> and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere >> with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if >> you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he >> doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be >> around people, and me most especially. >> >> Which means that this transition is >> going to be hard, with him going to live with someone >> new. >> >> And that's why I need to share >> one more bit of info with you.... >> >> His name's not >> Reggie. >> >> I don't know what made me do >> it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them >> his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll >> get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no >> doubt. but I just couldn't bear to give them his >> real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that >> handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting >> that I'd never see him again. And if I end up >> coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it >> means everything's fine. But if someone else is >> reading it, well... well it means that his new owner should >> know his real name. It'll help you bond with >> him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change >> in his demeanor if he's been giving you >> problems. >> >> His real name is Tank. >> >> Because that is what I >> drive. >> >> Again, if you're reading this >> and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the >> news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make >> "Reggie" available for adoption until they >> received word from my company commander. See, my >> parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've >> left Tank with... and it was my only real request of the >> Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone >> call the shelter... in the "event".... to tell >> them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, >> my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon >> was headed. He said he'd do it >> personally. And if you're reading this, then >> he made good on his word. >> >> Well, this letter is getting to >> downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just >> writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was >> writing it for a wife and kids and family. but still, >> Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as >> long as the Army has been my family. >> >> And now I hope and pray that you >> make him part of your family and that he will adjust and >> come to love you the same way he loved me. >> >> That unconditional love from a dog >> is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do >> something selfless, to protect innocent people from those >> who would do terrible things... and to keep those terrible >> people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank >> in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was >> my example of service and of love. I hope I honored >> him by my service to my country and comrades. >> >> All right, that's enough. >> I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at >> the shelter. I don't think I'll say another >> good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first >> time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he >> finally got that third tennis ball in his >> mouth. >> >> Good luck with Tank. Give him >> a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every >> night - from me. >> >> Thank you, Paul >> Mallory >> >> ____________ _________ _________ _______ >> >> I folded >> the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I >> had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even >> new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few >> months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he >> gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at >> half-mast all summer. >> >> I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on >> my knees, staring at the dog. >> >> "Hey, Tank," I said quietly. >> >> The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his >> eyes bright. >> >> "C'mere boy." >> >> He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on >> the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head >> tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in >> months. >> >> "Tank," I whispered. >> >> His tail swished. >> >> I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each >> time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture >> relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood >> him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried >> my face into his scruff and hugged him. >> >> "It's me now, Tank, just you and me. >> Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and >> licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some >> ball? His ears perked again. >> "Yeah? Ball? You like that? >> Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and >> disappeared in the next room. >> >> And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in >> his mouth. >>
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