Post by TellingBird on Aug 22, 2009 4:05:54 GMT 9.5
They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie as I looked at him
lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, 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."
lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, 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."