This is Lola.
Lola is the bulldog my daughter Ashley got for her birthday last year. Ashley really, really loves Lola. She says she is Lola’s mommy.
Ashley says that, since she is Lola’s mommy, this makes me Lola’s grandma. I am not sure how I feel about this.
Ashley is not the only one in the family who loves Lola.
In fact, Andrew is willing to be her pillow. Any time.
Lola is not exactly a picture of conventional beauty. She has wrinkles, she snores and she passes gas. A lot.
Lola is sometimes too lazy to stand up while eating.
She likes to bake cookies, though.
Lola hates the cone of shame.
This is puppy Lola. This is how she looks when she is happy.
This is how Lola looks when she is deep in thought.
Lola’s look is sort of a cross between ET, Yoda and Jaba the Hut.
And I have a secret. I am crazy about her. Maybe it is because she came along right after my mom died, at a time when I really needed a living warm fuzzy to spend hours on the couch with me. It probably didn’t hurt that she was born on the day my mom died and, though I do not for one minute think that there is anything about Lola that suggests she is my mom reincarnated or anything ridiculous like that ( not only do I not really believe in this, but Lola is my mom’s opposite in virtually every way), there is something special about her having been born on that day. Or maybe I just enjoy having someone else wrinkly and shaped like a potato in our house to remind me that you don’t have to be perfectly beautiful to be loved. Or maybe it is just because of this…
But don’t call me her grandma.