Keep your hankies handy !

A tale for a Dogperson

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.

"Come '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.
____________ _________ _________ __

__._,_.___

Oh my........................

Definitely should not have read that at work.

I agree I should have read that at home, not sat at my desk trying to stop a tear escaping.

That doggy must have been so confused not knowing where his master was.

My fur babies will get an extra cuddle when I get home later.

Karen

What a beautiful story ............. excuse me, I have something in my eye!

Crying like an idiot here.. Glad I'm home alone

Sobbing here

blubbering like a baby

Oh My God........
What can you say!! Give Tank a hug from all of us

crying and have Luca asking why i am crying !!

off to give bruno a cuddle

its not actually a true event I dont believe but its the process behind it - you just dont know whats happened to a dog and the circumstances that they end up in shelter do you - so depressing