Lola makes me want to eat confetti…

I’m sitting with Lola today and we’re having a conversation. I know what most of you are thinking, how can you have a conversation with a bulldog?

I say, look at this face. How can you NOT have a conversation with her?!?!

Lola rehashes her job description with me and wants to clarify some points. She said she’s overworked and underfed.

• She’s a secret service dog tasked with protecting The President of the home
• She must check on The President at least once every half hour, or, every single time she hears The President twitch a muscle
• She must do this even if she is comfortable and sleeping
• She must follow The President everywhere, to include the bathroom
• In the bathroom, secret service dog etiquette decrees she sit with her back to me while scanning outside the door for terrorists, like spiders
• If the secret service locates a spider they immediately alert the Daddybeast
• Her Mommybeast (me!) is The President
• She loves the Daddybeast but she will let him die in order to protect The President
• The Daddybeast feeds her bacon and she loves him
• The Daddybeast lets her on his couch in the Daddybeast room
• She loves the Daddybeast
• The President feeds her in exchange for kisses and The President performs CPR as necessary (which has been necessary much more often than once)

I use this breath-taking moment to point out to Lola that most of these are not a job description. In fact, only the first six are really job descriptions. The rest were just “rules” or thoughts that she came up with at this moment.

Lola ignores my comments and prefers to focus on her list making (which at this point are not even close to a job description).

• I poop outside and only The President picks it up
• I love the Daddybeast because he doesn’t have “poopiehands”
• The Daddybeast doesn’t take me to get shots
• The President makes me gets shots
• The President spanks me when I am just being a good little puppy (Huge eyebrow raise on my end of this conversation, I spanked her once when she ran into the road after escaping me.)
• The Daddybeast never spanks me

I can see where we are heading in this conversation. Lola loves the Daddybeast more than The President. Great, considering I’m the one who wanted a dog while the Daddybeast didn’t want a poop factory slobbering in his home.

Lola pauses to collect her continuing wayward thoughts and says to me “So, now that it’s time for elections, who do you think will win?”

I am thrown, I wasn’t aware I was on a term limit. I guess I just assumed being The President lasted until she died – I guess I was wrong. Lola lets me know that The President’s term is up and she needs to know who to vote for. So I start my appeal with her.

That’s right, I campaigned to my puppy!

I told her that I feed her and have resuscitated her and all the Daddybeast did was panic and yell “what do I do?!?!!!” I also pointed out that if no one cleaned up her poop, she’d have no yard left to poop in. Let’s not forget that one of those shots I make her get prevent her face from decomposing off her skull from some puppy virus that spreads through puppy sneezes. And I squish her fat, which she loves. And if I didn’t spank her the one time she ran away from my grip (the good little puppy, my ass) she would find herself in the woods with broken legs and no one to find her.

She’s quite the little wanderer!

The Navy doesn’t let Daddybeast stay home to search for her. However, the current president in power would close her daycare without a moment’s thought to go hunt down whatever asshole thought he could steal my puppy from me. And his great-grandchildren would feel the pain of that reckoning. Figuring on the fact that he previously had children; he damn sure wouldn’t be having any after I found him.

After all this Lola looks at me and says “ok, you’re the new President.” Then she gives me a welcome speech (as if I haven’t been around since she was born). Which she proceeds to fill with LIES!

“Welcome, The President, my name is Lola. I am a good little puppy who likes to stick my canines out. I am sweet and nice and the old president signed into law the fact that I get a buffet offering nightly from the Spam flavors currently in the house. I also have unlimited access to the snack cabinet and the bacon portion of our grocery bill. I pledge to alert the Daddybeast to the presence of terroristic spiders and if the Daddybeast is deployed, you are on your own, I will be hiding in my chair. I also require CPR on a routine basis because my teeth don’t touch so I can’t chew up my food. I will be holding a 17.6 hour certification course on that tomorrow night. Also, I am allowed to sit on any furniture in the house. And the babies who come to daycare are really just oversized squeaky toys for me to munch on. Welcome to the post!”

When I mention all the other duties (and random thoughts) she earlier stated she is responsible for she looked at me and said with a very serious face “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Like I said, she makes me want to do a completely useless thing…like eat confetti.

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