... 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 this small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waved 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. It would give me someone to talk to. I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but that 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.

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 remembered the sealed envelope which I had completely forgotten about. "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 has two in his mouth and tries to get a third in there as well. 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" and "heel."

He knows hand signals too. He knows "ball," "food," "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, but 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 does.

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 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 and will get used to it and will respond in time, 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, and that is "Tank," because, that's 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 and no one I could've left Tank with. 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 CO 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 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 what do you 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.

A man called his mother and announced that he had just met the woman of his dreams.

Now what should he do?

His mother had an idea: "Why don't you send her flowers, and on the card invite her to your apartment for a home- cooked meal?"

• You sat at the same desk for 4 years and worked for three different companies.
• Your company welcome sign is attached with Velcro.
• Your resume is on a diskette in your pocket.
• Your company logo on your badge is applied with stick-um.
• You order your business cards in "half orders" instead of whole boxes.
• When someone asks about what you do for a living, you lie.
• You get really excited about a 2% pay raise.
• You learn about your layoff on CNN.
• Your biggest loss from a system crash is that you lose your best jokes.
• You sit in a cubicle smaller than your bedroom closet.
• Salaries of the members on the Executive Board are higher than all the Third World countries' annual budgets combined.
• You think lunch is just a meeting to which you drive.
• It's dark when you drive to and from work.
• Fun is when issues are assigned to someone else.
• Communication is something your group is having problems with.
• You see a good looking person and know they're a visitor.
• Free food left over from meetings is your main staple of your diet.
• Weekends are those days your significant other makes you stay home.
• Art involves a white board.
• You're already late on the assignment you just got.

A lawyer named Strange died...

..., and his friend asked the tombstone maker to inscribe on his tombstone, "Here lies Strange, an honest man, and a lawyer."

The inscriber insisted that such an inscription would be confusing, for passersby would tend to think that three men were buried under the stone. However he suggested an alternative:

Since we're now living in the time of e-mail ...