Teri- Oregon 2012/05/22 10:28:05
Yes I cried
I didn't cry, but I was moved
It didn't do anything for me, sorry!
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This is a great story...I know it is long but it is worth 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.

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.
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

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.

k9 and fascism

This is a true story and this is why I fight to have someone like Ron Paul in office, so atrocities like this wont happen and when we must go to war and watch our friends, family, and strangers bleed for our freedoms: they will not do it in vain.

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  • sglmom 2012/05/27 10:33:46
    Yes I cried
    Tank and Family ..
    please know you are LOVED and appreciated ..
    we KNOW of your loss and sacrifice ..
    memorial day
  • Anna 2012/05/22 15:04:09
    I didn't cry, but I was moved
    so sweet<3:)
  • JanHopkins 2012/05/22 11:16:49
    Yes I cried
    If Tanks new owner gets to see this post: Give old Tank a hug from me.
  • EmoMcParland 2012/05/22 10:42:13
    Yes I cried
    82nd Airborne Spc Chase Marta came home from Afghanastan 17 May 2012 Yuba City, CA. Remember His Family in Your Prayers Please. Along with Tank's Owner. 17 2012 yuba city ca remember family prayers tanks owner

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