"I've sure gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement,
New knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes.
I'm half blind,but I wear glasses,
Can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine,
Take 40 different medications that
Make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts.
Have bouts with dementia ..
Have poor circulation;
Hardly feel my hands and feet anymore.
Can't remember if I'm 89 or 98.
Have lost all my friends. But, thank God,
I still have my driver's license." Ain't life grand?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The women’s mystique has been exposed,again!
Why Women take so long in the Bathroom, another mystery in life is answered and likely will raise no further questions .Besides, do you really need to know so much? The women’s mystique has been exposed, that should be enough in humble opinion!
*if you find this offends you all, I am sorry I am sure, I didn’t write it, I am sharing this, because its funny, not if your in pain of eliminating a full water bottle and you are doing a happy dance in front of the washroom door and singing “please hurry, please hurry” .
Once a upon a time; When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR! ), yank down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topples backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT .
It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door! AMEN TO THAT!
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!
Send this to all women that need a good laugh AND, don't forget to have a mammogram!!!!!! It could save your life!
A Friend Is Like A Good Bra...
Hard to Find
Supportive
Comfortable
Always Lifts You Up
Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging
And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!
Share this with a friend
*if you find this offends you all, I am sorry I am sure, I didn’t write it, I am sharing this, because its funny, not if your in pain of eliminating a full water bottle and you are doing a happy dance in front of the washroom door and singing “please hurry, please hurry” .
Once a upon a time; When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR! ), yank down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topples backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT .
It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door! AMEN TO THAT!
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!
Send this to all women that need a good laugh AND, don't forget to have a mammogram!!!!!! It could save your life!
A Friend Is Like A Good Bra...
Hard to Find
Supportive
Comfortable
Always Lifts You Up
Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging
And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!
Share this with a friend
Sunday, December 6, 2009
I found Religion building the Kids playset!
Sunday, May 03, 2009
In any case another true story written to the playset company to say what a pain in the nutz this was!!.Not all company's tell you how long it will take or how smart you have to be,one thing for sure you learn is how much tolerance you have for pain.
Anyway they should say,"it will take you 6 beers to read and assembly this appartus,per day,per each helper" believe me,this will not take away from the technical guist of the instructions and someone that can read would help.
Hello folks (ladies and gentlemen):
I, thought I would write you people and tell you about your play set I, fortunately now own and purchased from Walmart. The old adage says; “if you have kids, they need a play set”.
The reason we purchased this play set is because my wife and I are raising up our 3 grandkids and we took custody of the little beavers, rather than them go to foster care..
Having, said that, I did willing buy this apparatus from Walmart of my own free will and only because of the cost (which was well priced, in my humble opinion), after opening the kit I should have return the bits and pieces and been done with it. They looked a little thin for vigorous use.You get what you pay for.(so don't buy it).
But, of course you made it very clear in your instruction manual, in the form of a disclaimer, which amounts to “covering your ass with paper”. I guess you are obliged to do this with the amount of people looking to sue you at the drop of the hat.
But, the grandkids were so excited about having this equipment; it would make me feel like a shit heel if I returned it. The youngest one is 2 years old and I really can’t visualize this play set in action, but they did the inventory and announced its all here and when can we play on It.?
Folks, even with an adult helping me, (really wasn’t), because I had to redo what we screwed up afterwards, it took me 4 days to finish. The days went by quickly and the grandkids were on site offering help and encouragement and taking off with the tools.
Thank goodness the manual was well laid out and in a logical sequence which makes we think this was done a female engineer that already knew what was going to happen.*(there is a reason this job sheet is numbered) I found religion on this assembly, because I have the patience of Job and Wisdom of Solomon (meaning, I wouldn’t be doing this again for a long time or any time………..soon).
I asked the helper to help someone else, the grandkids were the sole helpers with me and their Nana was there at times, I never muttered any cuss words…out loud, that is and we finished on Sunday.
We wanted to thank you for the opportunity to do things to-gether and I am sure that the kids will enjoy playing on it as much as they did helping out. Now, I am missing a few screws,nuts and bolts, but that’s ok, because I am still finding the ones the beavers had thrown around in the yard.
Again, thank you, I would only recommend this to people whom are technically inclined and have a sense of imagination that will defy anything this play set can throw at them, because it will certainly test your limits. And that’s a good thing, sometimes, but not always….Amen.
Thank you for your time,
Bob, the builder and the 3 beavers as the helpers
“It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful.There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power,also the beginning of wisdom is to desire it"." Life is full of mysteries and unanswered questions,what you do about it,will prove how curious you are about finding out. “It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly.............you can guess the rest?.
This Should be a warning for all kit builders..."a certain age of wisdom is required and you should have taken a trades course in school and passed,you should be able to read and measure,you should ask for help and if you can't do it....thats too bad for you alls.
P.S I would to include this added note now that we have had the play set for over a year,its a piece of shit and I wouldn't advise you all in buying it.I bought it at Walmart and I should bought the playset from the Beaver (Canadian eh) store for a few dollars more,it had real wood from Canada in it.
P.S.: 2012; we have dismantled this playset because the bolts holding it were rusting from the inside and begining to shrink in diameter. So,in 5 years this set would have begun to fall apart and thats what the life expentency is.??.,so check your sets out,they even tell you that in the set of instructions. aka (shit happens)
In any case another true story written to the playset company to say what a pain in the nutz this was!!.Not all company's tell you how long it will take or how smart you have to be,one thing for sure you learn is how much tolerance you have for pain.
Anyway they should say,"it will take you 6 beers to read and assembly this appartus,per day,per each helper" believe me,this will not take away from the technical guist of the instructions and someone that can read would help.
Hello folks (ladies and gentlemen):
I, thought I would write you people and tell you about your play set I, fortunately now own and purchased from Walmart. The old adage says; “if you have kids, they need a play set”.
The reason we purchased this play set is because my wife and I are raising up our 3 grandkids and we took custody of the little beavers, rather than them go to foster care..
Having, said that, I did willing buy this apparatus from Walmart of my own free will and only because of the cost (which was well priced, in my humble opinion), after opening the kit I should have return the bits and pieces and been done with it. They looked a little thin for vigorous use.You get what you pay for.(so don't buy it).
But, of course you made it very clear in your instruction manual, in the form of a disclaimer, which amounts to “covering your ass with paper”. I guess you are obliged to do this with the amount of people looking to sue you at the drop of the hat.
But, the grandkids were so excited about having this equipment; it would make me feel like a shit heel if I returned it. The youngest one is 2 years old and I really can’t visualize this play set in action, but they did the inventory and announced its all here and when can we play on It.?
Folks, even with an adult helping me, (really wasn’t), because I had to redo what we screwed up afterwards, it took me 4 days to finish. The days went by quickly and the grandkids were on site offering help and encouragement and taking off with the tools.
Thank goodness the manual was well laid out and in a logical sequence which makes we think this was done a female engineer that already knew what was going to happen.*(there is a reason this job sheet is numbered) I found religion on this assembly, because I have the patience of Job and Wisdom of Solomon (meaning, I wouldn’t be doing this again for a long time or any time………..soon).
I asked the helper to help someone else, the grandkids were the sole helpers with me and their Nana was there at times, I never muttered any cuss words…out loud, that is and we finished on Sunday.
We wanted to thank you for the opportunity to do things to-gether and I am sure that the kids will enjoy playing on it as much as they did helping out. Now, I am missing a few screws,nuts and bolts, but that’s ok, because I am still finding the ones the beavers had thrown around in the yard.
Again, thank you, I would only recommend this to people whom are technically inclined and have a sense of imagination that will defy anything this play set can throw at them, because it will certainly test your limits. And that’s a good thing, sometimes, but not always….Amen.
Thank you for your time,
Bob, the builder and the 3 beavers as the helpers
“It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful.There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power,also the beginning of wisdom is to desire it"." Life is full of mysteries and unanswered questions,what you do about it,will prove how curious you are about finding out. “It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly.............you can guess the rest?.
This Should be a warning for all kit builders..."a certain age of wisdom is required and you should have taken a trades course in school and passed,you should be able to read and measure,you should ask for help and if you can't do it....thats too bad for you alls.
P.S I would to include this added note now that we have had the play set for over a year,its a piece of shit and I wouldn't advise you all in buying it.I bought it at Walmart and I should bought the playset from the Beaver (Canadian eh) store for a few dollars more,it had real wood from Canada in it.
P.S.: 2012; we have dismantled this playset because the bolts holding it were rusting from the inside and begining to shrink in diameter. So,in 5 years this set would have begun to fall apart and thats what the life expentency is.??.,so check your sets out,they even tell you that in the set of instructions. aka (shit happens)
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Church and the Squirrels
Now I don't care who you are, this is funny right there!
There were five houses of religion in a small Texas town:
The Presbyterian Church, the Baptist Church, the Methodist Church , the Catholic Church, and the Jewish Synagogue.
Each "church-house" was over-run with pesky squirrels.
One day, the Presbyterian Church called a meeting to decide what to do about the squirrels. After much prayer and consideration, they determined that the squirrels were predestined to be there and they shouldn't interfere with God's divine will.
In The BAPTIST CHURCH, the squirrels had taken up habitation in the baptistery. The deacons met and decided to put a cover on the baptistery and drown the squirrels in it. The squirrels escaped somehow and there were twice as many there the next week.
The Methodist Church got together and decided that they were not in a position to harm any of God's creation. So, they humanely trapped the Squirrels and set them free a few miles outside of town. Three days later, the squirrels were back.
But -- The Catholic Church came up with the best and most effective solution. They baptized the squirrels and registered them as members of the church. Now they only see them on Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and Easter.
Not much was heard from the Jewish Synagogue, where they took one squirrel and had a short service with him called 'circumcision'. They haven't seen a squirrel on the property since.
There were five houses of religion in a small Texas town:
The Presbyterian Church, the Baptist Church, the Methodist Church , the Catholic Church, and the Jewish Synagogue.
Each "church-house" was over-run with pesky squirrels.
One day, the Presbyterian Church called a meeting to decide what to do about the squirrels. After much prayer and consideration, they determined that the squirrels were predestined to be there and they shouldn't interfere with God's divine will.
In The BAPTIST CHURCH, the squirrels had taken up habitation in the baptistery. The deacons met and decided to put a cover on the baptistery and drown the squirrels in it. The squirrels escaped somehow and there were twice as many there the next week.
The Methodist Church got together and decided that they were not in a position to harm any of God's creation. So, they humanely trapped the Squirrels and set them free a few miles outside of town. Three days later, the squirrels were back.
But -- The Catholic Church came up with the best and most effective solution. They baptized the squirrels and registered them as members of the church. Now they only see them on Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and Easter.
Not much was heard from the Jewish Synagogue, where they took one squirrel and had a short service with him called 'circumcision'. They haven't seen a squirrel on the property since.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Ear Infection a visit to the Doctor's.
Ear Infection
This is so true!
They always ask at the doctor's reception why you are there, and you have to answer in front of others what's wrong and sometimes it is embarrassing.
There's nothing worse than a Doctor's Receptionist who insists you tell her what is wrong with you, in a room full of other patients.
I know most of us have experienced this, and I love the way this old guy handled it.
A 75-year-old man walked into a crowded waiting room and approached the desk.
The Receptionist said, 'Yes sir, what are you seeing the Doctor for today?'
'There's something wrong with my dick', he replied.
The receptionist became irritated and said, 'You shouldn't come into a crowded waiting room and say things like that. '
'Why not, you asked me what was wrong and I told you,' he said.
The Receptionist replied; 'Now you've caused some embarrassment in this room full of people.
You should have said there is something wrong with your ear or something and discussed the problem further with the Doctor in private.'
The man replied, 'You shouldn't ask people questions in a roomful of strangers if the answer could embarrass anyone.
The man walked out, waited several minutes, and then re-entered.
The Receptionist smiled smugly and asked, 'Yes??'
'There's something wrong with my ear,' he stated.
The Receptionist nodded approvingly and smiled, knowing he had taken her advice.
'And what is wrong with your ear, Sir?'
'I can't piss out of it,' he replied.
The waiting room erupted in laughter.
Mess with seniors and you're going to lose!
This is so true!
They always ask at the doctor's reception why you are there, and you have to answer in front of others what's wrong and sometimes it is embarrassing.
There's nothing worse than a Doctor's Receptionist who insists you tell her what is wrong with you, in a room full of other patients.
I know most of us have experienced this, and I love the way this old guy handled it.
A 75-year-old man walked into a crowded waiting room and approached the desk.
The Receptionist said, 'Yes sir, what are you seeing the Doctor for today?'
'There's something wrong with my dick', he replied.
The receptionist became irritated and said, 'You shouldn't come into a crowded waiting room and say things like that. '
'Why not, you asked me what was wrong and I told you,' he said.
The Receptionist replied; 'Now you've caused some embarrassment in this room full of people.
You should have said there is something wrong with your ear or something and discussed the problem further with the Doctor in private.'
The man replied, 'You shouldn't ask people questions in a roomful of strangers if the answer could embarrass anyone.
The man walked out, waited several minutes, and then re-entered.
The Receptionist smiled smugly and asked, 'Yes??'
'There's something wrong with my ear,' he stated.
The Receptionist nodded approvingly and smiled, knowing he had taken her advice.
'And what is wrong with your ear, Sir?'
'I can't piss out of it,' he replied.
The waiting room erupted in laughter.
Mess with seniors and you're going to lose!
Friday, November 13, 2009
the Newfie went to Heaven!!!
Three men, a Torontonian, an Albertan and a Newfie, were out
riding in the car when it crashed into a tree. Before anyone knew
it, the three men found themselves standing before the pearly
gates of Heaven, where St. Peter and the Devil were standing
nearby.
"Gentlemen," the Devil started, "Due to the fact that Heaven is
now overcrowded, St. Peter has agreed to limit the number of
people entering Heaven. If anyone of you can ask me a question
which I don't know or cannot answer, then you're worthy enough to go to Heaven; if not, then you'll come with me to hell."
The Torontonian then stepped up, "OK, give me the most
comprehensive report on Socrates' teachings. "With a
snap of his fingers, a stack of paper appeared next to
the Devil. The Torontonian read it and concluded it
was correct. "Then, go to hell!" With another snap of
his fingers, the Torontonian disappeared.
The Albertan then asked, "Give me the most complicated Formula you can ever think of!" With a snap of his fingers, another stack of paper appeared next to the Devil. The Albertan read it and reluctantly agreed it was correct.
"Then, go to hell!" With another snap of his fingers,
the Albertan disappeared, too.
The Newfie then stepped forward and said, "Bring me a chair!" The Devil brought forward a chair. The Newfie continues, "Drill 7 holes on the seat. " The Devil did just that.
The Newfie then sat on the chair and let out a very loud fart. Standing up, he asked, "Which hole did my fart come out from?" The Devil inspected the seat and said, "The third hole from the right." "Wrong," said the Newfie, ‘It was
from me arse-hole!" And the Newfie went to Heaven!!!
riding in the car when it crashed into a tree. Before anyone knew
it, the three men found themselves standing before the pearly
gates of Heaven, where St. Peter and the Devil were standing
nearby.
"Gentlemen," the Devil started, "Due to the fact that Heaven is
now overcrowded, St. Peter has agreed to limit the number of
people entering Heaven. If anyone of you can ask me a question
which I don't know or cannot answer, then you're worthy enough to go to Heaven; if not, then you'll come with me to hell."
The Torontonian then stepped up, "OK, give me the most
comprehensive report on Socrates' teachings. "With a
snap of his fingers, a stack of paper appeared next to
the Devil. The Torontonian read it and concluded it
was correct. "Then, go to hell!" With another snap of
his fingers, the Torontonian disappeared.
The Albertan then asked, "Give me the most complicated Formula you can ever think of!" With a snap of his fingers, another stack of paper appeared next to the Devil. The Albertan read it and reluctantly agreed it was correct.
"Then, go to hell!" With another snap of his fingers,
the Albertan disappeared, too.
The Newfie then stepped forward and said, "Bring me a chair!" The Devil brought forward a chair. The Newfie continues, "Drill 7 holes on the seat. " The Devil did just that.
The Newfie then sat on the chair and let out a very loud fart. Standing up, he asked, "Which hole did my fart come out from?" The Devil inspected the seat and said, "The third hole from the right." "Wrong," said the Newfie, ‘It was
from me arse-hole!" And the Newfie went to Heaven!!!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
To Whoever Gets My Dog
To Whoever Gets My Dog
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 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 "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 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 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. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I couldn't left Tank with.... and 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 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 too 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 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 daya 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.
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 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 "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 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 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. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I couldn't left Tank with.... and 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 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 too 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 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 daya 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.
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