Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here and I must tell you I am distressed. I have not been able to write much less sleep or eat. It all started on Friday, the day after my last post, when my novelist took me to this house with a small gate which I had never been to before. My novelist met a man there on the lawn. She followed him inside and before I knew it, she put Tucker’s old bed and my favorite blanket on this picnic table, handed the man my leash, turned around, walked out the gate, turn around again and waved at me and left!
I could hear this rambunctious cattle dog eerily scratching at the window of the door. His name is Wookie. Wookie mind you. Like the giant Wookie from those Star Wars films. I find myself trapped with a giant Wookie! The hair on my head is jet black. What if he mistakes my head for Darth Vader’s helmet? I do not even want to imagine the horrors!
Another dog arrived shortly after. A dachshund named Allie. She seemed reasonable enough though a bit spoiled if you can imagine that. They assigned the three of us our own rooms. I for one could not arrange my blanket in a comfortable position. I lay there in the dark terrified and discomforted. I missed my novelist terribly. I dare say I sobbed dramatically. I could hear the Wookie howling this horrible haunting howl. It was the most restless night of my life. When I finally did fall asleep, I had a nightmare. A pack of wild brown bunnies surround me all howling out the melodies of famous television shows.
In the morning, the man let the three of us out into the yard. It was a fine yard as far as prison yards go. I got into an altercation with Wookie. He kept barking and jumping around me as if he wanted to pew-pew the Darth Vader helmet-headed poodle. Terrified for my life, I snarled warningly at the beast. Wookie, taken aback, snarled at me. Cattle dogs do not take kindly to someone snarling at them. I gathered all my wits and prepared to whip out my proverbial light saber when Allie came between us.
“Stop it at once,” she demanded. “We are not enemies. We are puppies in arms. We must work together to survive this stay away from our owners.”
“I do not have an owner,” I replied. “I am the owner of a novelist.”
She gave me a strange look and said, “Be that as it may, I for one know that Wookie is a veteran of being left behind while his owner goes off on business trips and should know better than to be aggressive towards novice visitors.”
“But I’m lonely,” Wookie sobbed. “I get lonely and restless, and I want to play. To be honest I miss my mommy!”
“And Gigi,” this German wiener dog says to me, “you must make an effort to be less aloof.”
I am gob smacked. I can hardly believe she knows the word “aloof.” And for that matter, I take pride in being aloof. It is who I am. However, I do not know how long my incarceration will last so I must find a way to keep the peace.
“I apologize,” I say to Wookie. “I had no idea you and your owner have such frequent distance between you.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Wookie sniffled. “My owner is wonderful and caring, but I miss her when she goes away, and she goes away too much.”
Wookie began to sob again, and I felt dreadful. But I am a little hopeful too because it implies that my novelist has not left me permanently. She will come back…someday.
Monday…it is Monday I believe, all three of us wish to sit on the couch while the man watches television. It is big enough, all three of us somehow manage to fit. Wookie being the largest gets the middle. Allie takes the right side and I the left. As we watch a vapid game show Wookie insists on, I begin to feel violently homesick. My heart sinks like an elevator that has had its cables cut. I put my head on my front paws and closed my eyes. I try to imagine my novelist snuggled against me. I try to envision her petting me as we watch an independent film. My ears strain to hear her voice. I try to imagine us discussing the pros and cons of the movie. And then I hear Wookie yell, “I can’t believe he sent her home!”
Later that night I lie alone in my room and dream I am in a beautiful garden. My novelist sets down a silver steel bowl of my favorite dog food. It tastes spectacular. Every morsel is a delight. My hunger stuns me. I eat ravenously. Then I run up and put my paws on her leg to let her know I want a dog treat. She gives me one and I swear I have never tasted such a delicious treat. I request another and then another. And then to my great disappointment I wake up alone and starving in my lone little room. It suddenly occurs to me that I have not eaten since my novelist dropped me off. I must agree to partake of sustenance today.
It was not till noon that I was fed. This I must confess was my own fault. I am certain my novelist told the man I eat early in the afternoon. This is the way I conduct my meal schedule. I promptly ended my hunger strike and demanded a snack directly after. After that, the man seemed fine just putting my food in a dish and letting me nosh throughout the day.
That afternoon I made an effort to play with Allie and Wookie. It is difficult but I struggle through. I usually take my afternoons to contemplate and consider my writing. But for the sake of keeping the pace I reluctantly romp around with Wookie and discuss film with Allie. Afterwards I chose a spot in the living room to call my own. It is a chair which does not face the television, so Wookie and Allie do not seem to care.
Tuesday comes and my novelist has still not returned. I worry and wonder if she will ever come back for me. I have not been left alone this long for quite a while. I do recall she came back the last time of course, but I am worried perhaps I have done something to upset her or make her not want to be my novelist anymore. I try to relax and get as much alone time as I am allowed. I have found a book to read, Anne of Green Gables. She is a poor orphan girl of middle school age desperate for a home in a region of Canada and she is mistakenly sent to live with a middle-aged brother and sister. They were expecting a boy, you see, to work on their property. But they quickly come to appreciate Anne and decide to keep her. She seems to come from good stock, perhaps her parents, though poor, exhibited an air of class. I find some similarities between myself and this Anne.
Later that afternoon, Wookie’s owner comes to pick him up. He is overjoyed. I am alone with Allie. This makes for a more peaceful evening, and I consent to watching television. We watch a romance on the Hallmark channel. All things considered; it is a step up.
Wednesday morning arrives and I find myself still incarcerated. I continue to nosh my food and occasionally take treats. Allie and I take a walk about the yard. She tells me she is sad too. She does not like this time away from her owner. However, she says she was glad to have met me and that it is rare to meet someone of my character. I take this as a complement.
I spend the rest of the day feeling homesick. I miss going on my walks. I wonder if my novelist has found a younger, cuter parti poodle. A puppy perhaps. I would not think so, but one wonders if it is possible. Have I been put out to pasture? Is that why I am here?
This afternoon the man tells me my novelist has been in touch. My heart leaps. Is she coming back to get me? He simply says she asked if I was behaving myself. What is that supposed to mean? He tells me he told her I have been an angel and that I have staked out my own apartment as it were. Human humor I suppose. That evening, I sit on the couch with Allie and watch Pretty Woman. A much better choice of entertainment than Wookie is accustomed to.
Which brings us to today, Thursday. My usual blog day. I am left empty handed with no chapter to present you this week, dear reader. I am still without my novelist. I am still blue. She has not checked on my since yesterday. How long will this limbo last? I will keep journaling and let you know next Thursday.
Until then I bid you adieu.
Gigi Catches Air 