Reggie the Black Lab!

2.3K followers

3 years ago

Hello my Wealthy Affiliate friends. This is the beginning of the Memorial Day Weekend. And while I would never normally copy anything here, I was so moved by this story that came into my email today, that I wanted to share it with you.

You may have personally lost someone dear who served in the military. If so, we share with you this special time of remembrance. So the story of Reggie goes something like this.

The story is about a young man who has just moved to a new place and is feeling rather lonely. He sees an advertisement for Reggie that has been posted by the local shelter, which is a very clean, no-kill facility.

He goes to the shelter and meets Reggie and takes him home with his things. There was a dog pad, bag of toys (almost all of them were brand-new tennis balls), his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

The unfortunate thing was that he and Reggie didn't really bond. They struggled for two weeks to adjust but were having difficulty relating to each other.

Then he remembered about the sealed envelope from the previous owner

which he had forgotten about.

So, opening the envelope, he said aloud to Reggie "Let's check what your previous owner has to say."

"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 back seat 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 is 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. It 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. Alright, 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 and extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you, Paul Mallory.

He folded up the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Of course, he had heard of Paul Mallory. Everybody in the town knew him. He was a local kid and was killed in Iraq a few months previously. He was posthumously awarded the Silver Star. He gave his life to save three buddies.

Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

Reggie's new owner leaned forward and quietly said "Hey, Tank". He sat up listened carefully for the name he had not heard for some time. His new owner whispered his name over and over again. Whereupon Tank seemed to relax and settle into contentment.

He said "It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me". Tank licked the cheek of his new owner and a bond was formed. "So whatdasay we play some ball?"

Tank disappeared into the next room and came back sporting three tennis balls in his mouth.