Official Visit Muskoka Lodge #360 – March 2, 2010
By R.W. Bro. Terry M. Hornibrook, DDGM

REGGIE THE LAB

What kind of person are you? Are you quick to judge or jump to conclusions? Do you find out the facts before you make a decision? Do you try hard to be unbiased? Do you take things for granted? Are you grateful for your family, your country, your friends and your lodge? Do you try to be a better person every day? Do you thank the Great Architect for all his blessings? Do you tell your wife and family that you love them? Do you do it often enough?

Life is short and transient we should make those daily advancements, live according to the Golden Rule. There will be I hope questions raised in your mind. I beg your indulgence while I read an article that came over the Internet and has provoked many personal feelings.

They told me that 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 were friendly. I had only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town people were welcoming and open. Every one waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter had received many calls but they said the people didn't look like 'Lab people", whatever that meant. They must have thought that I did.'

At first, I thought that the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog bed, some toys mostly new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner. 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 of them stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with my other unopened things. I guess I thought that he really didn't need those old things and that I would get him new stuff as he adjusted. But it soon became clear that he wasn't going to.

I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and" heel" and "come". 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, but then he'd go back to whatever he was doing. When I'd ask again you could almost see him sign and then grudgingly obey.

This just wasn't going to work. He'd chewed a couple of shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern 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 for my cell phone amid all my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of unpacked boxes in the guest room, but I also muttered cynically that the "damn dog" probably hid it.

Finally I found it, but before I could call the shelter I found the pad and some other toys. I tossed them in Reggie's direction. He sniffed them, wagged his tail and showed the most enthusiasm since I had brought him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie you like that? Come here and I will give you a treat". Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction, well glared was maybe more like it; gave me a disconcerted sign, flopped down with his back to me. Well that's not going to do it, I thought and punched in the
shelter's number. But I hung up when I saw the sealed letter, I had forgotten about that too. Okay, I thought let's see if your previous owner has any advice.

To: Whoever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can't say that I am happy that you are reading this, a letter I told the shelter that could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I am not even happy writing it. If you are 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 his 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 hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he bound after it, so be careful- really don't do it near any roads. I made that mistake once and it nearly cost him dearly.

Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you that he knows the obvious ones. He knows hand signals: "back" to tum around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand outright or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five.

He goes "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 9r:h street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders 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 its 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 in your car rides. He just loves car rides. He sits well in the back seat, 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 some one 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 that 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 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 some one else is reading it, well, well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It will 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 are 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. My parents are gone, I have no siblings; no one I could've left Tank with and it was my only request of the army on my deployment to Iraq. That they make one phone call; call the shelter, tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily for me my colonel is a dog guy and if you are reading this, then he made good on his word.

Well, this letter is getting down right depressing, even though I am only 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 past six years.

The same time the army has been my family. I hope and pray that you will 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 take with me as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things, and to keep those people from coming over here. 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 have honored him by my service to my country and my comrades.\

All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think that I will say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peak in 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 into 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 awarded 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 around, 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, 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 in 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.