Lolita

As if we weren’t crowded enough with seven people and a cat in a two-room apartment, the boys decided that the family needed a dog. A watch dog. On Sunday, we brought Lola home from a neighbor’s house, the saddest specimen of a dog you’d ever see. She’s the runt of the litter, full of fleas, covered in mange, and bursting with worms.

The first night Lola cried and cried in her little plastic box. Karen and I said, “Just leave her alone, she has to learn that night time is for sleeping, not hanging out.” Jackson told us we were heartless. We said, “She can’t grow up whining for attention!”

But Jackson couldn’t handle it. When we got up the next morning, Lola was nested and triumphant, curled up in Jackson’s hands.

The next night we listened to her cry and yelp for two irritating hours, wondering when she would wear out. Karen finally decided to take the situation into her own hands. She got up, and as only a communication major could, gave Lolita a 15 minute lecture on bad behavior and sleep cycles and minding her manners. “Lola,” she kept whispering very loudly, “You MUST go to sleep.”

When the verbal communication wasn’t effective, a few smacks on the head brought our poor puppy to obedient silence.

“Go Karen,” said John, in the darkness.

The fleas have been bathed away and the worms eliminated. We’re still working on the mange, but in the meantime, Lola has become an irreplaceable member of our family. We love her.