If this story doesn't tug at your heart strings, nothing will.

BEST DOG STORY EVER.

Is it true? Who cares, it's a tear jerker, whether you're a dog lover or not.

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.

"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.


Regards,

Roger

--- D'Bridge 3.72
* Origin: NCS BBS (1:3828/7)

Thanx a lot.


Teared up like I've not done since Spanky.

If this story doesn't tug at your heart strings, nothing will.

BEST DOG STORY EVER.

Is it true? Who cares, it's a tear jerker, whether you're a dog lover or

not.

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.

"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.


Regards,

Roger

--- D'Bridge 3.72
* Origin: NCS BBS (1:3828/7)

--- Platinum Xpress/Win/WINServer v3.0pr5
* Origin: Since 1991 And Were Still Here! DOCSPLACE.TZO.COM (1:123/140)

*** Quoting WAYNE CHIRNSIDE from a message to ROGER NELSON ***

Thanx a lot.

Teared up like I've not done since Spanky.

You Know Wayne.. Over the years, reading about You and Spanky.. Yes! You were lucky to have a dog like Spanky, but just for the heck of saying it.. He was Lucky to have had You. So many dogs abandoned, left alone and not cared for
or cared about. Spanky had You and I think that was pretty darn good for him.

Have a Good One!
Mike

... Sigmund's wife wore Freudian slips.

--- Telegard v3.09.g2-sp4/mL
* Origin: The Holodeck telnet://holo.homeip.net (1:261/1381)

HI MIke,

On Sun 2012-Jan-22 06:53, Mike Roberts (1:261/1381) wrote to WAYNE CHIRNSIDE:

You Know Wayne.. Over the years, reading about You and Spanky.. Yes!
You were lucky to have a dog like Spanky, but just for the heck of
saying it.. He was Lucky to have had You. So many dogs abandoned,
left alone and not cared for or cared about. Spanky had You and I
think that was pretty darn good for him.

Indeed, and that story Roger posted, as well as Wayne's
posts about Spanky remind me of Roxy, our first Rottweiler.
I"ve told plenty of Roxy stories in this echo as well. We
took her in off the streets of New Orleans.

I've loved all the dogs I've had in my life very much, but
Roxy was ... hmmm, hard to find words, but very special is
as close as I can get. By the time she finally died I'd
mourned her "passing" twice before, and both times learned
that she survived. Both of the previous were during the
aftermath of Katrina.

Regards,
Richard
---
* Origin: (1:116/901)

*** Quoting WAYNE CHIRNSIDE from a message to ROGER NELSON ***

Thanx a lot.

Teared up like I've not done since Spanky.

You Know Wayne.. Over the years, reading about You and Spanky.. Yes! You

were

lucky to have a dog like Spanky, but just for the heck of saying it..

He was

Lucky to have had You. So many dogs abandoned, left alone and not cared for or cared about.

Pit Bull, where would hhe have been but for me?

Owned by scum or put into the pound to be destroyed as the dangerous dog he
was not?

It was an honor and solemn obligation.

Spanky had You and I think that was pretty darn good for him.

Much love.
HeartGuard Plus always and Frontline.

Premium I'ams dog food for less active dogs as he was a disabled companion
dog.
No cheap second rate dog food for him even when I went wanting for stuff.
Top notch Gulfport veteranarian clinic 22nd Ave S. Gulfport Blvd. St. Pete. Caring qualified and wholly competent staff.

Never had Spanky fixed as he wasn't broken.

Turkey Neck treats on a triweekly basis
--- Platinum Xpress/Win/WINServer v3.0pr5
* Origin: Since 1991 And Were Still Here! DOCSPLACE.TZO.COM (1:123/140)

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A "DOG PERSON" TO TRULY APPRECIATE THIS STORY

"Stay!"

I pulled into the crowded parking lot at the local shopping center and rolled down the car windows

to make sure my Labrador Retriever Pup had fresh air.

She was stretched full-out on the back seat and I wanted to impress upon her that she must remain there. I walked to the curb backward, pointing my finger at the car and saying emphatically,

"Now you stay. Do you hear me?"

"Stay! Stay!"

The driver of a nearby car, a pretty young blonde, gave me a strange look and said,

(this is going to hurt read on)


"Why don't you just put it in 'Park'?"


Regards,

Roger

--- DB 3.99 + Windows 10
* Origin: NCS BBS - Houma, LoUiSiAna (1:3828/7)

-=[ On 08-26-16 09:54, Roger Nelson wrote to All below: ]=-
-=[ Re: Dog story ]=-

Hi Roger Nelson!

The driver of a nearby car, a pretty young blonde, gave me a strange
look and said,
(this is going to hurt read on)

"Why don't you just put it in 'Park'?"

Good one. Cute joke, I'm really partial to Golden's myself... most adorable puppies they make :)


Cheers,
Bryan
bhandfield(at)me(dot)com

... "Women and elephants never forget." Parker
--- MultiMail/Darwin v0.50
* Origin: Battlestar BBS : battlestarbbs.dyndns.org (1:129/165)

On Fri Aug-26-2016 20:01, Bryan Handfield (1:129/165) wrote to Roger Nelson:

-=[ On 08-26-16 09:54, Roger Nelson wrote to All below: ]=-
-=[ Re: Dog story ]=-

Hi Roger Nelson!

The driver of a nearby car, a pretty young blonde, gave me a strange
look and said, (this is going to hurt read on)

"Why don't you just put it in 'Park'?"

Good one. Cute joke, I'm really partial to Golden's myself... most adorable puppies they make :)

Thanks. Do you know any of the Hoover boys up that way?


Regards,

Roger
--- timEd/386 1.10.y2k+ W10
* Origin: NCS BBS - Houma, LoUiSiAna - (1:3828/7)

-=[ On 08-28-16 06:31, Roger Nelson wrote to Bryan Handfield below: ]=-
-=[ Re: Dog story ]=-

Hi Roger Nelson!

Good one. Cute joke, I'm really partial to Golden's myself... most adorable puppies they make :)

Thanks. Do you know any of the Hoover boys up that way?

I don't sorry.


Cheers,
Bryan
bhandfield(at)me(dot)com

... Combat: Don't look conspicuous - it draws fire.
--- MultiMail/Darwin v0.50
* Origin: Battlestar BBS : battlestarbbs.dyndns.org (1:129/165)

On Mon Aug-29-2016 20:47, Bryan Handfield (1:129/165) wrote to Roger Nelson:

-=[ On 08-28-16 06:31, Roger Nelson wrote to Bryan Handfield below:
]=- -=[ Re: Dog story ]=-

Hi,

Good one. Cute joke, I'm really partial to Golden's myself... most adorable puppies they make :)

I'm partial to German shepherds, but I love all dogs. I made friends with a neighbor's pit bull. She was (they have since moved away) really sweet, so I think all the horror stories we may have heard about them depends on how they are raised.

Thanks. Do you know any of the Hoover boys up that way?

I don't sorry.

That's okay. They are my nephews.


Regards,

Roger
--- timEd/386 1.10.y2k+ W10
* Origin: NCS BBS - Houma, LoUiSiAna - (1:3828/7)