This will make you cry...sorry.

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, 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.

" 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.

Over the Top

Oh gosh, I knew it would happen...I finally  lost my marbles. My wonderful niece wanted to dye her hair blue. Of course being the adult, I thought it perfectly fine to dye an 8 year olds hair blue! I thought many a time after these new dyes hit the market, that I would have done that had I been younger...

 This totally proves that you never really have to grow up! My hair got progressively bluer through the night!

And then there's TEXAS...

 Lots of pictures, for lots of dog!

Texas was tied to a trailer down the road about 4 yrs ago. I noticed him (who wouldn't) when I drove by every day. He was thin but beautiful. The owners kept him on about a six foot lead. He didn't have any shelter except the side of the trailer.
I kept watching him every day and noticed him getting thinner and thinner as I got madder and madder.
At one point I felt that if I found the owners (They were never home when I went by) I would beat them senseless (as if they had any sense anyway).
This feeling was very frightening, because I knew how angry I was.
When I expressed my anger to my good friend. Who is a wonderful lady, she suggested I tell the people I had two old Danes (which was true) I knew I would lose them soon, and that I couldn't bare to be be without a Dane. I thought since that was true, I was capable of talking to them. To make a long story short, I found them at home and said just that. I bought him for $100, and headed home. (15 mins)  They also told me he was a bad eater.  He only weighed 113 lbs. I brought him home and he pulled me through the gravel road after knocking me down twice as I bathed him.
Then, he went over my couch and recliner about 40 times. Ok, I knew it...Intact male, fights, problems, never been in a house before. What did I get into? I began his rehabilitation slowly with 5 meals a day. He was up to twelve cups within a few days.
Then it happened (2 days later) I swear he had an ephiphany! He was getting fed, he was being loved, he had air conditioning, company, and a couch! He became the BEST dog I ever had. It has been 4 years now. I have never been happier with my friend. Oh did I mention he has weighed 170 lbs since then? Yep! That's my big black cuddle bug! and then...well that's another story!

Two nubies

Oh gosh, let me start by telling you about these two loveble critters. The one on the top of the chair is Diller (Phil) and the sleeping fat boy is Oscar. They were two of four intact males chasing a small female dog. I came within inches of killing them all last winter with my truck on a major hwy. Wasn't planning to keep any...hoped I would find the owners. Even kept them in the barn. My thinking was if I kept them in the barn and didn't name them, I could find them a home before I got attached...But it was soooo cold. Couldn't stand to watch them shiver every morning. Yes! I am a total "Foster failure!" I own it! I know it!  But look at these guys!



Oscar

                                    Diller                           

                                    



Two Years Later

Ahhhh! The story of my life!
Trying to write in this blog with an ice cream cone in my hand. You just have to laugh...First time I have attempted to blog in two years and I have nothing to say. Hope springs eternal. A bit rusty, but hope to get the hang of this. I will attempt to blog next time about what's happened in the last two years...at least if I start talking about my animals,I'll have something to say...stay tuned! (I know you're breathless with anticipation!)

It begins!

As I sit in the Hospital (going on the sixth day) I am reminded that my health must continually be one of my biggest priorities in life. I unfortunately did not learn this message until I hit the half century mark, as I am nursing a MRSA infection in my Big Toe-Lee-O (as my brother calls it.)The treatment will consist of six weeks of intravenous antibiotics at home. And then of course there is no guarantee that I won't lose my toe if the infection come back at the end of the six weeks. [Image] Insanity started years ago!



But, I am hopeful that this will not be the case. I will do what the Doctor says to do. This has humbled me. Luckily I have support from my family, and an unbelievable circle of friends that I have made both in Miami and in Tennessee since I've retired. I am not one to ask for help. I have a problem with it. Many years spent in an environment that no one does anything for you unless you pay them, have skewed my thinking a bit. There have been the exceptions in my life, and I thank them for assisting in my not totally going to the "dark side and becoming cynical. "My friends want nothing from me...They are my "voice of reason" when I need it, my sounding board when I've had enough, and they have been there for me when I hurt so much through the years... They have taught me to "listen," to "give," and to "love. "They know who they are…

The rest of life's lessons came from my own observances. Animal Control taught me no creature is "lesser" than me, and to enjoy life while you can, because nothing is promised to us. It just depends on how fortunate the cards fall.

Corrections taught me that "Common sense is not common." And that reasoning over anger is a way better way to go. People that are "not with Corrections" have asked how I could have ever done that job. People "in Corrections" know the secrets. It was the easiest job I ever had...Not that I didn't work hard mind you. Not that I didn't witness horrible things happening on a daily bases. But I learned quickly that you simply "never promise anyone something you can't do, and always do what you promised.” That alone, made this job "a piece of cake." Yes, it was "hell" for some officers, and continues to be today. Because they either, got into it for the wrong reasons (badge heavy). Or they don't realize how good we had it compared to private enterprise (it was very difficult to fire someone in County Service). Or they are officers that "missed the boat" when common sense was handed out. Most good officers would tell you the inmates were never a problem. This surprises most people. Yes, we had murder, rapes, assaults, theft, and a slew of other things happen. But when you follow those rules, the years just flew by.Now it's back to what my nature intended. To be by the side of dogs, learning, loving, and laughing.