Make sure you have a Tissue

This story I read is a great one and it's sure to cause some tearing up.

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"

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.

I am so thankful for our Service men and women.
We are truly a blessed Nation because of their sacrifices.