Pawyers for Mommy

Mommy is going to the hospital tomorrow to have lazer surgery on her eyes. Daddy is going with her so he can drive mommy back. Pleaze pawyer for our mommy.
Wags
Chugs

Ok Mommy if ya have tu.

To all our furiends,

I might not be on very much for awhile. Mommy has decided she needs to help Chris' Rescue Angels

http://www.chrisrescueangels.com/index.html

This is a rescue group that works all over the USA saving small dogs and finding them a home.

Mommy is going to be making them sweaters for the rescued doggies and also making some costumes for them to sale in their store.

Check in when I can!

Lots of tail wags till then,
Chugs
yep i stold it from Tramp!

Have tissues handy.

Mommy recieved this in an email the other day. Boy is it sad. True or not mommy doesn't know. I do know that mommy cried and cried and cried.

A Great Dog Story
Great dog story (hankie may be needed)


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 of 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 a couple 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 b y 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 go 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 it, so be careful - really 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: "back" to turn around and go back when youput 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 is 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. 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 to 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 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 took 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 over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was 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 brightened.

"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 in the next room.

And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

Learned Sum tan new!

Mommy gives the bestest back scritches ever. I keep bumping her arm and hand when I want my back scratched. Sometimes I put my paw on her leg or arm then sit really purdy for her to pick me up. Well it has gotten harder for her to reach down and scratch me or pick me up from a sit. Soooooooooo she placed my paws on her leg and said paws up. Then she picked me up and gave me lots of hugs and kisses. She then scritched my back sooooo good that I had to shake my fur when I got down. A lil later I go over and she says paws up and I DID. WOW more huggies and kissiesss.

So Sorry Mommy! Really I am. ( sniff sniff)

Last night mommy, daddy, Tramp and I were on the balcony. The were talking and Tramp and I watching the local nice kitties and the mean big tom. I decided I wanted mommy's attention. She will come and look over the edge of the balcony to see what I want to show her. I was excited and was jumping up and down. I accidently scrached her with one of my nails. She Yelped just like a puppy and jumped. To show me she was not mad at me she picked me up and cuddled and kissed me and tee tee I gave her a French kissie.... She just laughed at me. Then she held me and we went to see what I wanted her to see!!!

(Chugs' mom he was forgive. Now he comes up and puts one paw on my leg to get his attention.)

My puppy history!

WOW what a great site! I have only been a member 3 days and already I have 8 puppy pals!
Here is a bit of my short puppy history.
Mom says Tramp and I have an interesting pedigree (mommy what is a pedigree?). We are Chihuahua (mom says Chiweewee), Pug and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. But we don’t know what we got from whom! Hence my name Ch ug s. I do know our 4 legged mom was named Lady.
Mommy said Tramp and I were born in Greenfield, MO. We then lived in Lockwood and Springfield, MO. When we were a year old we moved to Washington state. We really love it up here. When in gets 90+ which did tooo many times this summer all we do is lie around with mommy. Tramp found a great cool place to hide. In the back of mommy’s closet!
Tramp and I play together a lot and with mommy too. We love it when we get new stuffed critters. Eventually we kill them and de-stuff them. Mommy laughs at us when we drag the carcass’ around and play tug of war. Daddy sometimes throws them away and mommy tells him “Hey they love to drag that around and play tug of war with it!” But when she finds me eating it she throws it away. No matter how I pout and make sad eyes at her! Mean mommy!
Mommy use to get down on the floor and wrestle with us but she can’t do that much anymore. She went to the doctor’s a lot last year and this year too. She told me that the doctors’ told her her DJD (degenerative joint disease also know as osteoarthritis) is much worse and she now has fibromyalgia (mommy what is that?). Well she just told me enuff said about her.
Mom says that when we finally move from this 3rd floor apartment to a level entry ground floor apartment we get to go on long walks again with her. WEEEEEEE HOOOOOOOO! Thing is she told daddy that we had to learn to walk by her exercise machine (Chugs’ mom here a walker) ( mommy what is a walker?). That will be fun to learn something new!
Well mommy just told me it is time to let Tramp write in his diary. Doggy doodles!