Great Dog Story Part 1 - Page 1

Great Dog Story and  Well Worth the Reading!!     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."   _____________________         ===========================================================================   "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

...

 

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 just ain't right.

 

aaww, that was precious. thanks for sharing.

OK, but we do all know that this is a fictional story, right?
 

I don't know Hexe. The pictures didn't transfer onto here, but there was a military portrait photo of a young soldier. Looking at that young man's face brought me to tears. I got this in an email. If you want me to email it to you I will. The dog's picture was there with all his tennis balls.
The last picture was of the dog with all three balls in his mouth, but was not an actual photo.

Fictional or not, i was struck by it the same way " 'ol Yeller" got to me.
What is more poignant in this story, however, is what military persons sacrifice. When I enlisted in the military 42 years ago, I had to give up my own dog, fortunately my sister took him in.

joanro, I didn't say it didn't make me choke up.     It did.  So does this.  Everytime I look at the page.

Just felt it's best if there's full disclosure on the story.  It's no less touching a premise for it being fictional.

I'm sure there are circumstances that are somewhat similar that have actually happened, but let's face it--what shelter is going tobe able to take in a deploying soldier's dog and simply hold it until they receive word that the soldier has been killed in combat, or returns?