It was a calm evening in the TV lounge. The lights were soft and warm, and the room felt quiet and still. The TV was on, but nobody was really watching it. Jeter, a big redbone Coonhound with long ears and a strong bark, was sitting on the soft carpet in front of the couch.
On the couch sat his forever mom. She was cozy with a blanket and holding the TV remote. She looked at Jeter and said, “Jeter, I said stop.”
But Jeter didn’t stop. Instead, he barked back. Not loud or mean, just like he was answering her, like he had something important to say. His bark sounded like he was saying, “Why do I always have to stop? Why can’t I just do my thing?”
Every time she gave him a command, he barked back like he had an answer. She told him to sit. He barked. She asked again. Another bark. It was like Jeter thought he was part of the conversation.
Finally, with a loud sigh, he sat down. But even then, he gave a little bark, as if to say, “Fine, but I’m not happy about it.”
His forever mom looked at him and said, “Enough.”
Jeter slowly turned his head to the other couch. Grandpa Kawa was sitting there, wearing a red shirt and comfy shorts. He was relaxing, watching everything with a small smile.
Jeter looked at Grandpa with big, hopeful eyes and gave a soft bark, like he was asking for help. “Please, Grandpa, help me. This lady is always bossing me around.”
But Grandpa just shook his head, slow and quiet. He wasn’t going to help this time.
Forever Mom saw the look between them and said, “No, Kawa’s not going to do anything. Grandpa’s done playing with you. No more. No more.”
When Jeter heard “no more,” it was like his heart broke a little. He started barking again, this time louder and louder. His barks were full of protest, like he was saying, “What?! No more?! That’s not fair!”
He looked around the room like he was trying to find a way out. But there was no help, and no escape.
Then mom pointed to the carpet and said, “Lay down. Down.”
Jeter looked at her, gave one more long, sad bark, and then slowly laid down. His body stretched out like a floppy blanket. His head rested on the floor. He gave one last quiet huff, like he was giving up, but only for now.
His forever mom smiled and said gently, “Good boy. You can talk back to me all you want… but you still have to lay down and relax.”
Jeter didn’t bark again, but he turned his head one more time toward Grandpa. He gave him a look that said, “You could’ve saved me.”
Grandpa smiled a little but didn’t say a word.
And just like that, the room got quiet again. Jeter’s tail tapped the carpet a few times, soft and slow, still full of feelings.
