teeroy
Life Member
an email i recieved, quite a 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 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
"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 Whomever 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.
