Posted on 08/18/2009 9:19:41 AM PDT by Timeout
Please, please read this very touching story. Read to the end. You might want to grab a hanky.
THEY TOLD ME HIS NAME WAS "REGGIE"
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: 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 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.
"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.
Unqualified love, I know it well. Where else can you get that on this earth?
Thanks.
snopes is a hoax on the truth.
Darn misty screens ...
Thats what you call a good boy right there.
A little Wiemaraner mix pup, about 6 months old I guess, followed me, my Lab and Ridgeback home three weeks ago. His ribs were sticking out, he was so dehydrated a skin fold just stuck up, he has mange and was covered with ant bites. $200 bucks at the vet and a bag of puppy chow and he’s gained 5 and half pounds. Well I really didn’t need another dog. Wouldn’t have chosen one 6 months old already anyway, certainly not one with mange, non contagious kind but that is hard to get rid of. My male Ridgeback just goes to his cage to get away from the puppy play but the Lab bitch is teaching him some manners. He’s peed in the house twice, thrown up after both vet visits, comes about half the time when he’s outside off the leash. He’s getting to know the neighbors in my dog friendly cul de sac, all who think he’s cute as a button. He likes to curl up with me in my reading chair and sleeps in his training cage only making noise when he needs to go out. 1:30AM and 4:30 AM give or take a martini, me not him. His name is Rebel. I don’t have a clue who his former owner is. Hopefully it’s not a similar situation to this post. But in this economy the rescue kennels and pounds are over taxed. I couldn’t take a chance on him receiving Obama care, what with his pre existing conditions so what you going to do?
After I got out of the service, I got my first German Shepherd - Kaiser. It was him and me for thirteen years. Then I got married and for a while we had no dogs. Then we moved to the country and, primarily because I was away a lot, my wife wanted a dog. I still remembered the pain of losing Kaiser and resisted – briefly.
We went to the Providence sheter and Sandy immediately saw a Golden Retriever puppy. On the way into the parking lot of the shelter, I’d noticed what appeared to be a full grown German Shepherd in one of the kennels out back. While my wife began the arrangements to adopt the Golden, I walked out back to “just take a look”. Long story short, we took them both home. Named them “Druck” (Shepherd) and Zeil (Golden) a couple of German words of vague meaning but related. They both lived to be almost fourteeen. Druck was a couple of years older so she went first in 2001, Zeil in 2003. After Zeil died, I told my wife, “I can’t do this again.”
We’ve since moved to Florida. Over the years, Sandy had hinted at maybe getting another dog but being selfish and cowardly, I resisted. As time passed, I suggested that if we did, I’d like to adopt an older German Shepherd – one that maybe had lost its human(s) and needed a few more good years.
A couple of years ago we became acquainted with a woman who was about to become the Animal Care Director at the Sarasota Humane Society. She, of course, said we really should think about adopting. I told her that, if we did, I wanted it to be an older German Shepherd.
My bluff got called. She called and we went down and neither of us could resist this beautiful, majestic 11 year old dog that was a lot German Shepherd and something else. To us he looks like he’s got Norwegian Elkhound in him. He’s huge and warm and as laid back as they come and as receptive to affection as any dog I’ve ever known or seen, an utter joy to have around.
His name is Tank. It’s probably not a name we would have given him but no way were we going to try to change it at that point and throw that curve at a dog who’d presumably been called that for 11 years. He’s not the Tank in the story and we don’t know how he got that name. I always thought it was because he’s a burly sort of guy. But I’ll never call him or hug him or play with him or even just say his name again without thinking of this story.
“snopes is a hoax on the truth.”
I don’t buy snopes 100%, but the lack of the matching name, or any of the medal winners having no family, not to mention that the email has had two different life spans; definitely tends to suggest the story is fiction.
Good story just the same.
Thank you for posting......
Thanks for sharing your dog stories.
They truly are a blessing.
Great story. Losing my Duke, a Great Dane I had for almost 12 years, was one of the toughest periods of my life. I felt as you did, but now I have two great little girls to love me and my wife. :)
Agreed. Oh. I still miss Kaiser. Not all sappy and morbid about it but the memory is still there. Druck and Zeil, too. And Tank’s not going to be any easier to take either. But I wouldn’t change any of it.
Good for you! We got a young cat in a similar manner last winter.
Because I'm in a hunting club, I know a ton of hunting Labs (the blind retrieve signals - back, angle back, over - which is fairly advanced work, indicate a hunting Lab). They're just happy boys and girls, perennial optimists and affection sponges. My older Chocolate will work her birds for ANYBODY, even a six year old kid, and circulates among the crowd trolling for pats and the occasional treat. Even my young field bred girl who is not a schmoozer will kiss anybody who'll hold still long enough.
If something were ever to happen to me, Shelley and Ruby would adapt to whatever person they wound up with, and would love them just as much and work just as hard. That's just the way Labs are. Give them food and affection and a job to do, they will be happy. Thank goodness -- I don't have to worry about them wasting away like The Dog At His Master's Grave.
My young Black has the heart of a rabbit (except where ducks are concerned) but she will (somewhat) bravely follow behind the Chocolate and bark at whatever she's barking at.
Dang, my CAT brought home a rabbit the other night.
Unfortunately, she somehow dragged it through her little cat door in the middle of the night. I discovered it when I stepped on it first thing in the morning.
How pleasant!
It helps if you wear bedroom slippers, but after taking gut-shot mallards out of the mouths of Labs for years, I seem to be immune to the yuck factor.
My parents had a Siamese cat who stalked, killed, and retrieved for my father an entire nest of baby rabbits . . . during a law firm cocktail party! He tried locking her up, she got out and brought him the rest of them.
Unfortunately, I think this was our neighborhood’s only rabbit.
She brings me regular gifts: birds, lizards, and there’s some kind of crawly thing she brings in all the time...I don’t even know what it is.
But she’s so purr-ty! And she climbs in my lap wanting me to cradle her like a baby. So she gets a pass.
One of our dogs caught a neighborhood rabbit. Several have already moved into the vacated territory.
Our little Siamese is strictly an Indoor Cat and doesn't get the opportunity to hunt anything but cockroaches and crickets.
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