Gibson’s Thoughts
By: Ildiko Kalman-Forbes
May 25, 2020
“Mom, I think I woke up in a dystopian novel.”
“Hm, what you mean?” Judy looks up from her book and watches Isabell questioningly.
“Don’t you see? We are stuck in the house; we are hoarding toilet paper and canned goods. Nothing is open, and everyone is in a state of panic.” She looks at her mother and rolls her eyes.
“Dystopian novel,” she says with feeling.
Judy thinks about that for a second.
“Yeah, I guess you have a point.” Then she goes back to her book.
“Ughh. I am so bored.”
“Go take the dog for a walk.”
Gibson raises his head from his outstretched paws. He rolls his eyes and looks at Judy with extreme disgust.
Not again. We just came back from a mile-long walk. It is hotter than the devil’s armpit out there. Can’t you humans find anything better to do? You either yanking my hair with that torture device you call a hairbrush or making me do tricks, not to mention the looooooong walks. I like walks as much as the other dog, but pleeeeease. Can’t we do something different than go for those extended walks? And always when it is so hot out there? Let’s go when it is cooler. Or when the wet stuff is coming down from the sky. But noooo, we only torturing the dog in the bright sunny weather.
Gibson puts down his head with a heartfelt sigh and fervently hopes that Isabell is not ready for another walk. He closes one eye and watches the girl through his one squinted eye.
Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
“I don’t want to walk. I want to go to the store, go to a movie, and go see my friends,” she whines.
Me too, pal. Me too. I miss my daycare buddies. I miss our runs in the park. Do I dare to say this? Yes, I miss my training sessions at the pet store. I even miss the grooming.
He huffs out a big breath, and the scruffy-looking hair flies out of his eyes for a second, then it settles back right where it was. His eyeballs are hiding behind long unkept hair. The results of everything is closing down. He turns on his side and stretches.
I could really use a haircut, pal. Or shampoo. I guess grooming saloons are not essential. Maybe not for the humans! Uggh. The constant brushing wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have all this matt to deal with. But I guess I can suffer quietly for now.
“I think Gibson needs brushing,” says Judy distractedly.
No, no, no, no, no, no… No brushing! Please, NO MORE TORTURE! I go for a walk. Please let’s go for a walk. Just not brushing. I’ll be good. I promise. I will let you paint my nails pink again, even if it is so undignified. Pink nails. Who heard of such things? Just no more hair-pulling with that brush. I will leave the sofa alone. I won’t shew up the bed, or those yummy shoes you people leave out to tempt me. Please, no brushing.
“I just brushed him in the morning,” says Isabell.
Thank you, pal. I knew I could depend on you.
He stands up and walks elegantly to the teenager. Gratefully he licks the girl’s fingers, and she absently pats him on the head.
About the not chewing up the bed and the sofa… You know I was just kidding, right? I can’t promise I won’t do it again. They are just so tempting. And I am just so bored.
He sits at Isabell’s feet, pushing his head under her hands.
Yeeeeaaaahh. Riiiight theeere. Thaaaat feeeeels soooo goooood.
Oscar and Silas sit on the sofa next to Isabell. Oscar is an orange tubby, and Silas is a huge ragdoll. Gibson looks at the cats with a sudden interest in his eyes.
Hmmm… Silas is busy cleaning himself, but Oscar is eying at me. I think he wants to play. I think if I go in kind of softly then pounce, I can get him. One, two, three… Ouch, ouch ouch. Why did you have to do that?
Gibson lays down on the carpet and holding his injured nose with one of his paws.
“Oscar! Why did you hurt Gibson?” Isabell yells.
Thank you for your sympathy.
“Honey, Gibson needs to learn that cats do not like it when he tries to swallow their heads,” Judy looks at the dog in question. “That is just how it goes.”
Ohh, of course, no support there.
“But Mooom,” whines Isabell. “He is just a puppy, and he doesn’t know that.”
“That’s why he needs to learn.”
Ughh… I just wanted to play. I am bored out of my mind. Let’s play tug a war. I like your socks, Isabell. Grrr. Grrrr. Grrr.
“NO! Stop! Gibson, no! Ouch, that hurts!”
“GIBSON! THAT’S ENOUGH! Go to your crate!” yells Judy.
Gibson stands up and dejectedly walks to his crate.
This is ridiculous. I am forever the “bad dog.” Can’t you people go back to work now? I’d like to get back to my routine: Daycare, training, grooming, and lots of dog parks. Please, if someone up there is listening. I need these humans to go back to work.
