[Nfb-krafters-korner] OT: FW: GGM Babble All about a special dog

Wed Aug 17 01:15:14 UTC 2016

Wonderfully heart-warming read. I am surrender coordinator for our 
county's branch of NorCal golden retriever rescue,  and a "lab person" 
-- a retriever person, actually, can handle the drive, the energy  and 
the strength of these bred to work large dogs!

Each time I place a dog with a foster, find the right fit for its 
forever home or even hear of a golden who needs our organization I am so 
glad I get to do this work!
On 8/16/2016 4:49 PM, Cathy Flesher via Nfb-krafters-korner wrote:
> I don't forward mail much, but when I do, it is something special. this is
> special.
>   
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: GGM-Babble at groups.io [mailto:GGM-Babble at groups.io] On Behalf Of James
> Gagnier
> Sent: Saturday, August 13, 2016 1:09 PM
> To: GGM-Babble at groups.io
> Subject: GGM Babble All about a special dog
>
> 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 company commander 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. If you can read this without getting a lump
> in your throat or a tear in your eye, you just ain't right.
>
> "The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but
> because he loves what is behind him." G. K. Chesterton
>
>
>
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