Gibson, the Glen Guide

     In the 1880s, visitors to Watkins who wanted to see the famous glen often had a most unusual guide.  A dog.  His name was Gibson, a large furry fellow who for nearly twelve years gladly showed the tourists through the glen, as long as they rewarded him with his favorite treat: ice cream.  Gibson was described as a “remarkable animal” with “almost human intelligence.”

     Gibson made his home at the Jefferson Hotel in Watkins, which once stood at the corner of Franklin and Fourth Streets.  He innately knew who was a tourist, and would make his presence known by walking up to them to touch his nose to their hand or touch them with his paw.  He would never take local people to the glen, only the tourists.  All one had to say was, “Gibson, I want to go to the glen,” and their canine guide was ready to go.  He would lead them to the glen on foot or hop in their carriage and ride sitting upright on the seat with them.  Once at the glen, Gibson would lead his charges along the pathways to show them the spectacle of the glen.  If they began to take a wrong path, Gibson would stop and sit, until they came back to him so he could get them on the correct route once again.  If a path was somewhat dangerous, he was known to grasp their clothing in his mouth and pull them the right way.  He would even pause at certain spots as if to get the tourist to enjoy the natural beauty before them.

     Once Gibson began his guided tour, he did not abandon his escorts.  He was not distracted by other people, or even by other dogs—he kept to his mission.  If the people wanted to stop into a place to have a meal or shop, Gibson would lay down outside and wait for them.

     Gibson was very protective of his escorts, and he seemed to exhibit some class consciousness.  He was known to growl at workingmen who came near dressed in shabby clothes and was even known to spring on them to make them move away as he gallantly protected his tourists.  He also was not fond of salesmen, who he instinctively ignored.  But Gibson was gentle as a lamb around the tourists, especially the ladies who gleefully pet and pampered him.

     Many were saddened in December 1888 when they learned that Gibson had died at the Jefferson House.  I hope that those of us who walk the glen today will remember how Gibson’s paws once joyfully tread the same path, regaling in his favorite job.  And have some ice cream at the end of the journey in memory of Gibson.