From the time she was a puppy, she was a Lulu.
She started by jumping on the dining table and peeing on it. I couldn’t figure out how she even got up there, but she did.
She has no shame, whatsoever. She looked me right in the eyes, proudly, as though she were saying, “yes, that was me. Isn’t it great, I just left you a gift!”
I was too stunned to even correct her.
It’s always something.
Last night when I went to sleep, she was in her bed, next to mine. She knows she’s not allowed on my bed.
I woke up in the middle of the night and she was curled up on the corner of my bed. I pretended not to notice and let her stay.
In the morning, just before sunrise, she heard me shifting around, thinking I might be waking up, so she quietly scurried off my bed and curled up in her own, thinking I was none the wiser.
That’s my Lulu.