To Whoever Gets My Dog... They told me the big black Labs name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen. the shelter was clean,and the people really friendly. Id 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 couldnt hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggies 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 didnt look like Lab people, whatever that meant. They mustve 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 didnt really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told m e 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 wouldnt go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didnt really think hed need all his old stuff, that Id get him new things once he settled in but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasnt going to. I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like sit and stay and come and heel, and hed follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, hed look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then hed just go back to doing whatever. When Id ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey. This just wasnt 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 couldnt 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 shelters number, I also fou nd his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggies direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm Id seen since bringing him home. But?then I called, Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and Ill 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, thats 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, lets see if your previous owner has any advice.......... To Whoever Gets My Dog: Well, I cant say that Im happy youre reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggies new owner. Im not even happy writing it. If youre 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... its 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 abou t 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 hes part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasnt done it yet. Doesnt matter where you throw them, hell bound after it, so be careful - really dont 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 Ill 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 nobodys 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. Hes up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; theyll make sure to send you reminders for when hes due. Be forewarned: &nbs p;Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I dont know how he knows when its time to go to the vet, but he knows. Finally, give him some time. Ive never been married, so its only been Reggie and me for his whole life. Hes gone everywhere?with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesnt 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 thats why I need to share one more bit of info with you.... His names not Reggie. I dont know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. Hes a smart dog, hell get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt but I just couldnt 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 Id never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everythings fine. But if someone else is reading it, well... well it means that his new owner should know his real name. Itll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe youll even notice a change in his demeanor if hes been giving you problems. His real name is Tank. Beca use that is what I drive. Again, if youre reading this and youre from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldnt 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 couldve 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 hed do it personally. And if youre reading this, then he made good on his word. Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, Im just writing it for my dog. I couldnt 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, thats enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I dont think Ill say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe Ill 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 dogs head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. Cmere 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 hadnt heard in months. Tank, I whispered.His tail swished. I kept whispering his name, over20and 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. Its 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.
Posted on: Thu, 31 Jul 2014 14:36:55 +0000
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