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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