[nagdu] a guide dog story sad and sweet

Natalie nrorrell at qwest.net
Tue Mar 13 01:55:13 UTC 2012


Hi Lea,
Thanks for posting this awesome story.  I'd read it before, and each time 
it's more awesome, representing the dog/human bond.
Best,
Nat and Liam Joshua

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Lea williams" <leanicole1988 at gmail.com>
To: "NAGDU Mailing List,the National Association of Guide Dog Users" 
<nagdu at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Friday, March 02, 2012 10:02 AM
Subject: [nagdu] a guide dog story sad and sweet


I got this from a friend and wanted to share it.

BEST DOG STORY EVER
Please, This starts out a bit 'wordy,' but finally gets around to the
meat and the message. Don't skip over any of it because the whole
story is needed
to appreciate the end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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. For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis
balls --- he wouldn't
go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all
of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need
all his old stuff,
that I'd get him new things once he settled in. But it became pretty
clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to.

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 or fifth time I said it, but
then he'd just
go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see
him sigh and then grudgingly obey.

This just wasn't going to work. He chewed up 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 "damn
dog probably
hid it on 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
direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm
I'd seen since bringing him home.
But 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. But I hung up when 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."
____________ _________ _________ _________

To Whoever 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 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. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think
he's part squirrel, the way he hordes 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. 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,
too:"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 knows 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, with him going to live with
someone new.
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 me admitting that I'd never see him again. And 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 area, 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.
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 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. And if you're reading this,
then he made
good on his word.

Well, this letter is getting downright depressing, even though,
frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was
writing it for a wife
and kids and family .... but 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, too,
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 take 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 to the U.S.
If I have to give up Tank in order to do it, 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.
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 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.

"Come here 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 what do ya 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.




-- 

Lea Williams

Phone;
704-732-4470
Skipe;
Lea.williams738
Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=100001775297080
Twitter
http://twitter.com/LeaNicole1988

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