Labradoodle & Goldendoodle Forum
A Must Read
Not sure if this has been posted before but it's worth reading. Very touching story.
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.
At first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie
and his things, which consisted of a dog pad; a 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 got tos
sed in with all of my other unpacked
boxes, except for the tennis balls. - He wouldn't go anywhere without
two stuffed in his mouth. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all
his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he had settled in.
The "settling in" process was tougher than I had thought. 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 he was doing. 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 of 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 cell phone
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 "darn dog probably hid it from 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=2
0direction. He sniffed it and wagged, some of the most
enthusiastic behavior I'd seen since bringing him home. 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.
Just then 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.".........
I hung up the phone and read.
______________________________________
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. 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,20the more the merrier. Sometimes I think
he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually has two in his
mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. It
doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after them, so be
careful. 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 kno
ws 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
for him.
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 my admitting that I'd never see him again.
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 are
a, 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. 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. If you're reading this, then he
made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting too downright depressing, even though,
frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I were
Writing it for a wife and kids and family. 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 withTank. 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 earned
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.
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.
At first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie
and his things, which consisted of a dog pad; a 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 got tos
sed in with all of my other unpacked
boxes, except for the tennis balls. - He wouldn't go anywhere without
two stuffed in his mouth. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all
his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he had settled in.
The "settling in" process was tougher than I had thought. 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 he was doing. 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 of 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 cell phone
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 "darn dog probably hid it from 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=2
0direction. He sniffed it and wagged, some of the most
enthusiastic behavior I'd seen since bringing him home. 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.
Just then 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.".........
I hung up the phone and read.
______________________________________
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. 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,20the more the merrier. Sometimes I think
he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually has two in his
mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. It
doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after them, so be
careful. 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 kno
ws 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
for him.
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 my admitting that I'd never see him again.
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 are
a, 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. 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. If you're reading this, then he
made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting too downright depressing, even though,
frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I were
Writing it for a wife and kids and family. 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 withTank. 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 earned
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.
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Holly St Pierre on
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Love this story!
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Permalink Reply by Joanne ~ Spud* on
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If I could see to type through all the tears.............
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Permalink Reply by Sue & Willy Babe on
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Oh My I got chills reading this story
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Permalink Reply by Nancy, Ned, Clancy, and Charlie on
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What a special story.
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Permalink Reply by Nina, Phil, Harlow & Lacey on
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K, that brought tears. What a great story.
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Permalink Reply by Debbie and Thomas on
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I was just going o disconnect my computer as we are moving tomorrow-but checked in on a few things first. This story has touched my heart so much. All I can say is thank you for sharing it. I think I will go and give my dog a big kiss now.
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Permalink Reply by HANNAH 8/2/07 & HONEY 7/2/08 on
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Hope you have a safe move to your new home, and hurry back to DK
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It really makes you think about what shelter dogs go through. Most of them don't come with letters, names are changed how many times, the confussion they feel from being tossed from home to home, and sometimes shelter to shelter, and most adoptive parents just think they can take Rover home and all is okay, when they need lots of Love, Attention, Praise, and Patients.
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Permalink Reply by April Cliber on
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I read this last week and was also very touched. It's a wonderful story. I hate to be a spoiler.....but it isn't true. I looked on Snoops and found this. http://www.snopes.com/glurge/reggie.asp
There are many service men & women who DO have to leave their pets. This story just isn't an actual one.
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Don't think it really matters if it's fact or fiction, it's the message and meaning this story carries.
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