- Joined
- Jan 14, 2009
- Location
- Simms, Texas
> > A wonderful story!
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > 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 s 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 een 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.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > 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 s 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 een 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.
> >
> >
> >