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machohorn

Good Read

8 posts in this topic

Worth at least three Kleenex.

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 no-body'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.

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Thanks Mac ,dogs are truley wonderful, people sometimes dont understand but as you found out all they need is love and understandin, and now i have tears thinkin of my dog a wonderful female german shorthaired pointer that i had for fourteen and half years i buried her two weeks ago on her favorite hangout its been tough ,but stories like youres remind me of how important we are to them also, they rely on us for everything and Tank has found a new bud keep up the goodwork and give him youre all ,he will make you proud!

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