A Dog Story but not the Shaggy kind

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 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 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.