Hello everybody!

This is definitely a must read

[Its fiction, but its a good story.]

They told me the big black Labs name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in
his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, 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 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, lets see if your previous owner has any advice.
____________ _________ _________ _________

To Whomever 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. 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 hes part
squirrel, the way he hoards 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 them, so be careful. Dont 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
nobodys business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the
brand.

Hes up on his shots. Be forewarned: 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. 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.

And thats why I need to share one more bit of info with youHis names not
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. 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 couldnt 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 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
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 hed do it personally. And if youre 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, thats enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter
off at the shelter. 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, 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.

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 into the next room. And when he came
back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

Matt


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