Three days ago, a very dark incident occurred in the House of Heather. It led to chaos, tears, a broken heart, and a brand-new fear of closing my eyes at night. Before you jump to conclusions, it had absolutely nothing to do with watching scary movies where people are ripped limb from limb or buried alive. Frankly, I would have preferred that to the events that unfolded.
I yelled at Lola.
Now I’m worried that I’ve charted the path to my own death.
It all began while trying to get into bed. Lola is not able to jump onto the bed, thanks to her ribcage to leg ratio. I was elected the Lola Lifter that night, which was unusual. Lola likes Daddybeast to lift her – it gives her time to steal his pillow and blankets before he lies down. As I lifted her, Lola watched in aggravation as Daddybeast lied down before she could race over to his side of the bed. As he pulled the blankets around him, Lola snorted at me in annoyance.
There are no blankets on my side of the bed for Lola to steal.
Then, as I climbed in, Lola began her death roll. This is a proven move where she flops down onto her side, thrashes her legs with wild abandon, shoves her head into every nearby human, and basically forces everyone to flee from the area before they lose an eye. I was too tired to flee so I moved my arm to stop Lola from encroaching into my zone.
That’s when it all went wrong.
Lola lunged at my arm, sure it was an evil presence in the dark room. As she leapt onto me, I flung wide and knocked her free. I yelled out with a booming voice that startled Lola into a momentary pause – before redoubling her efforts to eliminate the devious octopus tentacle that was in our bed trying to murder us all.
I may be letting Lola watch too many superhero movies.
It took three days, but Lola finally let me snuggle her on the couch and give her kisses and hugs today. I may have also promised her a unicorn and an unlimited supply of cheese.
Anything to make the bulldog glares cease.