I think you will love this story even if you are a cat lover.
~
'Reggie' . . . The Black Lab ~
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.
I
saw the sealed envelope. I had completely
forgotten
about
that. "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.
He
knew something was different.
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 hoards
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 them, so be
careful.
Don't
do it by any roads.
Next,
commands. Reggie knows the
obvious
ones ---"sit," "stay," "come," "heel."
He
knows hand signals, too: He knows "ball"
and
"food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's
business.
Feeding
schedule: twice a day, regular
store-bought
stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He's
up on his shots. 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. 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.
And
that's why I need to share one more bit of info with
you...
His
name's not 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. But if someone is reading this
...
well
it means that his new owner should know his real
name.
His
real name is "Tank." Because, that is what I
drive.
I
told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie"
available
for
adoption until they received word from my company
commander.
You
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 to the shelter ...
in
the "event" ... to tell them that Tank could be put up for
adoption.
Luckily,
my CO 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.
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, too, and that he will
adjust
and
come to love you the same way he loved me.
If
I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from
coming
to
the US I am glad to have done so. He is 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. 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 into the next room.
And
when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
If
you can read this without getting a lump in your
throat
or a tear in your eye . . . you don't have a heart!
====================================================================
"The
true soldier fights not because he hates what is in
front of him, but because he loves what is
behind him."~
G. K. Chesterton
If you can't stand behind our troops, please go stand in front of them. RB
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