Thursday: Good afternoon. Gigi the parti poodle here and I must tell you my novelist still hasn’t returned to take me back to my humble abode. Allie the dachshund went home today. It was a sad thing as I had grown rather fond of her. Twin German Shepherds came to stay with me. One is named Riley, and the other is Durbin. They are quite large, but I seem to get along with them well. They respect my apartment, and I respect their large size. That evening, per my suggestion, we all sat in the living room and watched Paul Blart: Mall Cop. It is a guilty pleasure of mine and the twins liked the romance. Who would have thought?
That night I dreamed of my pillow at home in my novelist’s office. My cozy little place by the window where I can watch the quiet street. Except of course when UPS comes by…or FedEx…or USPS…or even OnTrack. Then I get riled. I dreamed my novelist was sitting in the chair near me. But when I awoke, I was in my own room at this strange place. I wish it had not been a dream.
Friday: No new news from my novelist. It has been nearly a week since she abandoned me. I have officially begun to give up hope. I am considering going on another hunger strike. I think of my bunny friend Bernard and his little sister Belle. I miss them terribly. Have they wondered where I’ve gone? Have they forgotten our tea parties? Our philosophical conversations? I wonder if they have even forgotten my name. I want to go back and run on my plot of grass. I want to travers through the lush tomato plants and sparse blueberry bushes. I want to chase a squirrel. It is strange the things you miss once they have been taken from you.
I spend some of the morning out in the prison yard refereeing the twins as they play fetch. It is quaint enough. But when I finally get some time alone, I cannot find the inspiration to write. It is simply not my yard, and I find it difficult to focus when I am not in my own environment. Although with the way things are going perhaps the prison yard is my own environment. Maybe it is time for me to consider the possibility that not all dogs that come here get to go home. Perchance, this is a place for abandoned dogs. Conceivably this Canis lupis familiaris has been left behind. Perhaps, I am no longer the owner of a novelist. If that is the case, I need to abandon my current tale and start anew. Maybe I should write a story about a parti poodle who was left behind and her heartache and loneliness. I shall reacquaint myself with Call of the Wild by Jack London. That dog’s story started in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe mine has too. I sincerely hope I will not be required to pull a mushing sled.
I withgo the hunger strike and nosh on my food throughout the day. I request a couple of treats from the man. He is kind enough to oblige. They tasted better when my novelist gave them to me, but treats are treats and they will do.
The twins join me in the prison yard again later in the afternoon. We all hear barking. Ripley says it is coming from large puppies down the street, likely owned by hobby breeders. At first the sound frightened me because I didn’t know if these puppies were heading our way. But I was relieved by Ripley’s analysis. Later that afternoon I read Anne of Green Gables. Her situation improved. The brother and sister gave her a home. One hopeful thought is perhaps a new novelist will allow me to adopt them. It breaks my heart because I want my old novelist back. A new novelist would be better than no novelist at all, but there is a small part of me that hopes she will soon return.
Saturday: It is warm and pleasant. I spent more time inside today however because of the smoky air. The twins’ owner comes to gather them, and I am the only dog left here now. I read more about Anne of Green Gables and her new life with the brother and sister. Afterwards, since I am alone in this place for the first time in a week, I attempt to explore my thoughts. I try to immerse myself in my imagination and come up with more ideas for my fictional stories. Nothing. I wait for the man to tell me my owner will be returning. No new news. I listen to the clock tick away the hours. They are long, empty, and fretful. I decided to take a nap until suppertime. It helped some. It was good to let go of reality for a while.
I dined alone this evening. Afterwards I sat on the couch and watched A Star Is Born. I felt depressed afterwards. I went to bed and looked up and watched the shadows move across the ceiling. I cried a little and then I fell asleep.
Sunday: I am awoken by the sound of chirping birds. I cannot remember my dreams. The man lets me outside and I take a lonely stroll in the yard. I sit on the grass and feel the sun on my face. He walks up to me, smiles, and says, “You’re a lucky dog today.” I must tell you I feel anything but lucky. I am anxious because I have no one to herd around or manage. Being in control is important to me and all there is to command is grass. Grass does not listen. However, after a while I start to sense something good. Something positive. I cannot put my paw on it at first, but I know something is on the horizon.
When it gets to be midafternoon and I am roaming the prison yard, I hear an automobile pull up onto the gravel in front of the gate. Ah, I think. Another dog or dogs have arrived. I will have herding to do soon. I must let them know to avoid my apartment and follow my instructions. The man brings my harness over to me, puts it on, and attaches my leash to it. He must be taking me out to greet them. We headed inside to my room where he retrieved my bed and blanket. He picks up my box with a couple of cans of my dog food still in it and we traverse out to the gate.
My heart leaps! I see my novelist approaching. I begin to bark loudly and uncontrollably. When she meets the man and me, she takes the leash, and I jump up and down in front of her. For a moment, terror overcomes me, and I worry she is only here to visit. But she thanks the man, leads me to the car and we leave.
I cannot contain myself. I am delirious. I bark excitedly and shiver all the way home. My novelist seems tired and worn. When we finally pulled up to our home and she took me outside I asked her why did you leave me? Where did you go? She replies, she had to go somewhere far away and dangerous, and I would not have been safe there. She tells me it is a place dogs can get kidnapped and used for practice for dog fighting. Others who get kidnapped are killed and used in rituals. The lucky ones get kidnapped and sold off as pets on the black market. I asked her if she was vacationing in Florida. She said no. She wanted to make sure I was in good hands. I plead with her to never leave me like that again. She tells me she cannot promise me she will not have to leave me again, but she can promise she will always do everything in her power to come back. Somehow, someway she will find a way back to me because she is my novelist, and she loves me. I am satisfied with her answer because it is logical, and I love her too. And now I must go rest so I can return to my writing and continue penning chapter thirty-eight of Certified Sadistic Accountant, which, dear reader, I will present to you next Thursday. Until then, I bid you adieu.
Gigi Catches Air 