Dog Story

This is one of the most touching stories you will ever read.

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  cellphone 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
"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 knkows 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 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.